While Arthur is usually assumed to have been a Briton leading the British kings, one medieval author refers to him as a Pictish general, from the area north of Hadrian’s Wall (i.e. present-day Scotland). This author is Lambert of St Omer, who compiled his encyclopedia Liber Floridus before 1120 (that is, before Geoffrey of Monmouth had written his History of the Kings of Britain, which made King Arthur famous). Lambert is clearly relying on the 9th-c. Historia Brittonum (“Nennius”), written in Wales, for much of his material, but he had also heard about a round “palace” in Pictland dedicated to the local hero Arthur, and he inserted information about this Arthur in a couple of places, combining it with material from Nennius and also attributing it to Bede.

The palace in question is probably the round Roman temple near Falkirk, Scotland, which was destroyed in 1743. It was known as Arthur’s O’on (Arthur’s Oven), though it had also been associated with Julius Caesar, the god Mars, etc.

I present here all the Latin texts referring to Arthur from Nennius, out of order, and the corresponding passages from Lambert. Translations below.

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Outline of a story about a fairy lover

At the end of this outline is a table tracking the main motifs of Chretien’s Yvain.

Texts considered in the outline: Yvain, or the Knight of the Lion by Chretien de Troyes; Lanval and Guigemar, by Marie de France; three anonymous lais, Desiré, Graelant Mor, Guingamor; Three of these begin in locations in the north of Britain or lowlands Scotland (Yvain, Lanval, and Desiré). One point is noted about a story in which Perceval tries to prevent Morgan le Fay’s lover Urban from defending a ford (in the “Didot Perceval”). The association of fairy ladies with islands or bodies of water is widespread in folklore (sirens, selkies, the goddess Diana and her nymphs, Venus, etc.), and female saints are also often associated with springs or wells.

When this came up on the Arthurnet list, part of the effort was to look at how this type of story might be reflected in the story of the begetting of St. Kentigern: Owein, son of Urien (the same hero as Yvain) disguises himself as a woman in order to meet Teneu, daughter of King Leudonus (a name very similar to that of Yvain’s wife’s father, Laudunet de Landuc); Owein meets Teneu at a fountain and rapes or seduces her, begetting the saint, and then drops out of her life. In the course of her many travails while pregnant, Teneu is also thrown off a cliff and, in landing, causes a spring to start up where her foot touches it. In the stories considered here, only Desiré’s lover bears him children, though in Marie de France’s lai Yonec a married woman bears a child to a fairy lover, who comes to her disguised as a bird; she calls him Yonec, a form based on Yvain.

The hero is isolated from society.

•    His lord’s wife tries to seduce him–Potiphar’s wife motif (Graelant Mor, Guingamor; also Lanval later in the story)
•    He is not being heard or attended to in Arthur’s court (Lanval, Yvain)
•    He has never known love –Narcissus motif (Guigemar, Graelant Mor, Guingamor)

The hero goes off on his own.

•    He wanders cheerfully (Desiré)
•    He wanders sadly (Lanval)
•    He is on a quest (Yvain)
•   He hunts an unusual animal (Guigemar, Graelant Mor, Guingamor)

The hero comes to a body of water

• A fountain or spring (Yvain, Desiré, Graelant Mor, Guingamor)
• A river or stream (Lanval)
• The sea with a ship on it (Guigemar)
• A ford or a fountain defended on behalf of a lady by her husband (Yvain, Didot Perceval)

He finds a woman or women

• with basins and/or towels (Lanval, Desiré)
• bathing–Diana motif (Graelant Mor, Guingamor)
• associated with a castle, who helps him (Guigemar, Yvain)
• whom he assaults:
  • tries to rape secondary woman (Desiré)
  • rapes the lady (Graelant Mor)
  • tries to steal clothes but does not rape (Guingamor)
  • causes storm which distresses lady (Yvain)

He becomes the lover or husband of the lady (all stories)

The lady exacts a promise from the hero before he leaves her.

• Never to tell (Desiré, Graelant Mor, Lanval)
• To remain in the area for a year (Graelant Mor)
• To eat nothing (Guingamor)
• To return to her within a year (Yvain) or 3 days (Guingamor)
• To love only the woman who can undo the knot she puts in his shirt (Guigemar)

The hero breaks the promise (all stories) and suffers

• Goes mad (Yvain)
• Is sad and languishes (Desiré, Graelant Mor, Lanval, Guigemar)
• Is suddenly 300 years old (Guingamor)

The lady rescues her lover

• By coming to church or court (Desiré, Graelant Mor, Lanval)
  • Note: in Yvain, a different lady heals the hero and when he meets his own lady at a court she does not recognize him.
• By sending her maidens to bring him back to fairyland (Guingamor)
•  At a chance meeting (Guigemar)

The hero returns to the lady’s world

•  Riding on the same horse (Desiré, Lanval)
• Riding on two horses (Graelant Mor)
• In a boat (Guingamor)
• By returning to defend her fountain (Yvain).

 Table of motifs and their possible sources or analogues in the first half of Chretien de Troyes’ Yvain

Yvain is about 6800 lines long. Morgan le Fay’s ointment, which brings Yvain back to his senses, is applied  by line 3020.

Motif, names, etc. in Chretien’s Yvain	Possible sources/analogues
Arthur asleep at Pentecost	Contradicts tradition of Arthurian display at this feast, from Geoffrey of Monmouth
Knights telling stories	classical dialogues?
The ugly herdsman	Custennin the son of Dyfnedig, in Culwch and Olwen? Rhetorical exercise in describing ugliness.
The marvelous fountain in Broceliande (water causes storm)	Wace, Roman de Rou (direct quotation)
Birds singing in harmony	Voyage of St. Brendan
Husband defending lady associated w/body of water	Diana of Nemi, cf. Ovid
Desire to avenge cousin
Desire to beat Arthur to the marvel
Desire to travel to see the marvels described	St. Brendan
Horse cut in two by portcullis
Room within castle wall
Yvain & Laudine & a fountain	Life of St. Kentigern
Laudine difficult of access, requiring duplicity	Kentigern
Ring of invisibility (stone turned in or out)	Gyges story in Cicero’s De Officiis
Female bestows protective invisibility on man while he encounters hostile but desirable woman ruler	Virgil’s Aeneid I
Man falls in love with woman seen through window	Pyramus & Thisbe? (from Ovid or the French lai of Piramus)
Body bleeds in presence of murderer	Nibelungenlied? Folklore
Hero kills eminent man, marries widow	Gyges (various versions)
Hero kills defender of woman/water; becomes defender	Nemi
Woman persuades widow to remarry to defend her lands	Anna and Dido in the Aeneid
Widow grieves violently then bonds immediately to new man	Widow of Ephesus fable (Marie de France)
Arthur comes to visit marvel	Chretien’s Erec
Kay & Gauvain fight hero	Chretien’s Erec and Perceval
Gauvain flirts	Chretien’s Perceval
Conflict of uxoriousness and chivalry	Chretien’s Erec);  Mercury rebuking Aeneas?
Protective ring of love	Scottish Lai of  Desiré, Marie de France’s Yonec
Lover forgets/betrays promise, loses woman’s love	Desiré, Marie de France’s Lai of Lanval
Ring withdrawn by maiden
Lover goes mad on losing ring, becomes “wild man”	Desiré; images of wild men with rings cited by Ken Waldron
Raw and cooked meat; vegetarianism	Ovid’s interest in meat-eating?
Hermit cares for knight/madman	Saints’ lives (e.g. Lailoken episode of life of St. Kentigern)
Ointment to recover senses
Morgan’s ointment	Chretien’s Erec

 

Posted on Arthurnet, May 1997
Copyright May 1997, Judith P. Shoaf

The Romance of Arthur, Vortigern’s Daughter

Part 1: Ardora and Ardurius

Vortigern, tyrant over Britain, fell in love with Renwin, daughter of the pagan Hengist, and married her.  By her he had three sons and a daughter:  Vortimer, Catigern, Paschent, and  the youngest, Ardora, so named by her mother to commemorate the passion that, she hoped, would join the British natives and Saxon colonists under these children.  Ardora grew up very fair and lovely.  When she was but thirteen she was already a woman, a fact alas proven by her father’s lust and her subsequent pregnancy.  Her parents sent her to a convent in Auxerre, under the care of St. Germanus, to await her confinement, and she gave birth to a beautiful boy.

While at Auxerre, Ardora grew in piety and sought comfort for her shame in prayer to the Virgin Mary.  She listened to St. Germain preaching and learned to read how Eve had tempted Adam, and Delilah Samson.  She found comfort for her pain by resolving never to tempt any man again; she cut off her hair and, feeling unworthy of  a nun’s dress, began to wear a harsh leather byrnie instead of soft cloth over her breasts.

Finally Germain wished to return her and her son, Faustus, to her family.  The two of them travelled to Britain to the family villa, in  a caravan of travellers, horsemen who roamed the former Empire, finding pasture for their animals and a good dinner always in exchange for news and the tools they still knew how to make. Ardora became friendly with them, particularly with a boy who admired her; he loaned her some trousers and taught her to ride like a boy, and in a few weeks she acquired a smattering of their Alan tongue. Those weeks on the road with young Lancelot, as she called him, were the happiest and freeest she had even known.

Alas, when she was delivered to her family’s villa, her father repudiated Faustus and her mother repudiated her.  She found herself cast out in the countryside with her little boy, not knowing where to turn.

Her brother Paschent, however, offered to accompany her and Faustus back to Auxerre, where she would take the veil and Faustus would be raised in the monastery.  Alas, as they were crossing the channel Paschent showed himself too much his father’s son, and lay with her on board ship.  In her fury, she fled from the party on landing and told herself that the family that had nurtured her must indeed be the enemy of all goodness, and also her own particular enemy.  From a copse she watched as Paschent took the Auxerre road with little Faustus, and resolved somehow to have revenge.

She made her way, by theft and begging, into Brittany, and found the camp of two brothers, Aurelius Ambrosius and Uther Pendragon, men whose claim to the crown was even better than her father’s, for they were of imperial Roman blood;  with them she resolved to plot. She realized soon enough that she was again pregnant, but in her passion supposed that the child in her womb might be the means of inflicting crueller pain on its father.  The two brothers welcomed her and offered her shelter; their wives and sisters and  daughters assisted her through this second labor. Again she bore a son, and called him “Morther,” in her mother’s language, “secret killing.”

Now Uther had a daughter, Morgause, who was to be married to the King of the Orkneys far away.  This young maiden took a tender interest in Ardora’s child, and offered to adopt him and take him on the journey with her. Ardora agreed, but said that the child must be brought up to hate the kings of Britain and make war on them always.  Morgause, who did not quite grasp that her own brothers meant to be kings of Britain, gave her most solemn promise.  However, not liking the child’s name, she changed it to “Moderatus,” which had a similar sound but accorded better with her own ideas of childish good fortune.

Ardora asked Uther and Ambrosius to allow her to train in swordsmanship with them and their sons, so that if ever again she tempted some man she would be able at least to prevent him from sinning.  She began to dress as a man, and when travelling in Brittany and Gaul would pose as the son, now of Ambrosius, now of Uther.  She learned to walk like a man and wield a sword and lance as well as any young man, too.  She called herself Ardurius, now, for the hardships she had undergone.  The assault on Greater Britain was now in preparation, and she was invaluable to the brothers in planning how and where to find and slay Vortigern and his sons.

The day came when they sailed their keels over the Channel and drew them up on the beach.  They landed just at nightfall and saw a warning beacon lit on the hill.  At dawn, an army was coming over the hill towards them, but Ambrosius and Uther were well prepared, and by the next evening they had marched far inland, leaving many a dead soldier on the road and swelling their number with loyal men tired of Vortigern’s tyranny.

Ambrosius was greatly excited by this first taste of victory–already he could feel the crown on his head. At the last farmhouse he had found a family whose father rushed out sword in hand, and whom he himself slew: inside were mother, son, and a daughter about twelve.  He slung the maiden over his shoulder and brought her along to the camp, where he prepared to assault her.  Arthur (as we may now call her), outraged, rushed in with her spear to prevent the rape. Arthur wounded Ambrosius in the thigh, but stood back in horror as she realized what she had done to her benefactor and general.  The frightened child scrambled away into the night.  Now Ambrosius faced Arthur, and in his madness disarmed the girl with a blow and thrust himself upon her.  Arthur thought of the child running away in the night, and of her own father’s cruelty when she was such a child; she wept but did not struggle any longer.  When Ambrosius rose and left her, Arthur also rose and crept off into the night.  She found the little girl and guided her to her mother, then set off by herself, armed and on foot, but pregnant again, into the night. The spear with which she had wounded Ambrosius she did not clean, but wrapped the head carefully and put it in a little bag.

Stay tuned to Arthurnet for Part 2 of *Arthur lived (Vortigern’s daughter)* “The Cup and the Sword.”

Part 2: The Cup and the Sword

For the next nine months, Vortigern and his sons and Uther and Ambrosius fought back and forth over the crown.  Arthur only heard the news because she had found, to her great joy, a group of travellers who spoke the same language as those Alans whom she had met so long ago, it seemed, when she had hoped to return with Faustus to her family. These people looked askance at a pregnant woman dressed like a man, but allowed her to travel with them. She proved handy both in her mastery of languages–for she spoke many British dialects, her mother’s Germanic tongue, French, Latin, and the Alan tongue as well–and in her mastery of weapons and horsemanship.

The day came when her third son was born, and the midwife asked her what its name should be:  Ambrosius Merdatus, she said, miserably, and turned away from the baby. Still, after a day or two, she took the little boy to her breast and began to feed it, thinking that this child at least she might keep by her, filling it with a milk, not of virtue as she had Faustus, or vengefulness as she had Morther, but of such wisdom as might make this child the one man in the world (except perhaps for that boy Lancelot) whom she could trust.

Now the news came, one thing and another, as young Myrddin grew–Arthur’s brother Vortimer wore the crown for a while, then  the monk Constans, elder brother of Ambrosius and Uther; now old Vortigern had again schemed to take the throne back. Paschent died in battle, and Arthur was glad to hear it; her mother also died, and Arthur felt even gladder, suddenly realizing how much she hated this woman who had not protected her from Vortigern but had thrown her out when she could not protect herself.  Few men now would have been roused to lust by Arthur, for she seemed like a beardless youth, but older than her years; her hair roughly cut like a man’s, her tender skin weathered, her hands harsh with callouses.

She heard news also of Lancelot, who was nearly her own age and had become part of a cavalry militia formed to ward off the Angles and Saxons who began to exact tribute from the towns along the coast, and even to try to settle there.  Her heart warmed towards him as it hardened towards her mother’s people.

One night, as the travellers were camping in Cornwall, she heard that the castle there by the sea was playing host to the women of Ambrosius and Uther.  She recalled their names, Ygerna, Eopa,  Morgause, Morgan, Anna–and their kindness.  Perhaps even Morther would be there, and he could meet his little brother Myrddin.  She took Myrddin and went up to the castle at dawn, and asked for admittance.  Ygerna and Eopa, the wives of Uther and Ambrosius, were there, along with Iseut the lady of the castle, but neither Morgause nor Ambrosius’s daughters Morgan and Anna.  At first the ladies had no idea who Arthur might be; she asked for a room, a bath, and  a chemise and gown, however, and emerged recognizable as the British princess whom they had helped and watched grow up in Brittany a few years earlier.

They told her Ambrosius had reported her slain, claiming he had been wounded defending her and had buried her himself. She told them the truth, and both Ygerna and Eopa were horrified.  In proof, Arthur unwrapped the spearhead with Ambrosius’s blood on it.  To prove her story, she told Eopa, Eopa should take that spearhead into Ambrosius’s presence; if the dried blood on the  spear began to flow again and Ambrosius’s old wound in the thigh also bled, Eopa would know the truth of her story.  She also gave Eopa a shallow silver dish with some ointment in it.  When Ambrosius’s wound began to bleed, Arthur said, Eopa should offer to heal it with the ointment in the gradale.  And then they would both be avenged.

Now the women began to sigh and to speak of the Britain they longed to see:  a land at peace, where every man offered his protection to every woman, where lords sat at peace with each other instead of building towers in which to hide from each other, where travellers and Germans and Britons shared the British plenty without hating each other.  Arthur spoke of Lancelot and his horseman, who were trying to subdue and contain the Germans; but she held out little hope of this unless the Alans could get the help of the British army, which Vortigern would never turn against the people of Hengist.  Myrddin spoke up then:  “Mother, you could lead them all!  You will be a mother and a father to your people, as you have been to me.”  He looked at the women gathered there, and asked:  “Do you not have some good sword for our king?”

Ygerna rose and took Arthur by the hand.  With the others following, the two women walked from the fortress and along a path into the hills, where there was a lake with a little stone chapel beside it.  Uther and Aurelius had built this chapel to commemorate a recent victory, and hung up their swords inside. Ygerna took Arthur inside, and pulled Uther’s great sword off the wall–“A sword for a king,” she said.  Arthur buckled on the scabbard and swore always to defend women and fatherless children,  and to forge a Britain all of whose peoples would live together in peace.

Now they dressed Arthur as befitted a king, not a wandering tinker, and indeed she looked like a king, young and shining with her new purpose. The sword given her by the lady at the lake hung at her side, and the travellers, admiring her, gave her the best of all their mounts to ride forth on.  Myrddin she left in the care of Ygerna and Eopa.  She rode out to find the armies that would make her king of all Britain.  First, she sought out Lancelot’s cavalry and his enemies the Saxons, fighting under Cerdic, whom she well remembered as a friend of her uncles.

In the meantime, Myrddin went to his grandfather  Vortigern and told him to lock himself in a tower, and went to his father Ambrosius and told him to come burn Vortigern in the tower, which he did.

When Ambrosius returned to his wife with the crown of Britain on his head, she had few questions to ask him.  When they were to go to bed that night, she unwrapped the spearhead and saw that it dripped blood; she went to her husband and touched his thigh and found that it also bled.  “Let me heal your old wound, dear husband, with the ointment in this silver grail,” she murmured, and spread the poison on it.  Next day, Ambrosius was found dead in his bed and Uther became king.  But Ambrosius’s daughter Morgan heard some of the news about this, and knew that the strange man who had visited her mother, whose name was Arthur, had given her the poison and the reason to kill Ambrosius. She had been very young when Arthur lived among them in Brittany, and she did not realize that Arthur was Morther’s mother, or Myrddin’s, or a woman at all; but she vowed to bring about Arthur’s downfall at some time.
Yes, there is a Part 3–hang on there, Arthurnetters, so you can be in at the Morte!

 Part 3: Morte de la belle Artu

Quid plus?  This is getting mighty long.

Arthur found Lancelot and their warm friendship was re-established.  She made a good treaty with Cerdic and the Saxons of that region,  who recognized her as the descendent of Hengist, and turned her attention to pacifying the rest of the island.  She collected the remnants of Vortigern’s army and, with the Sarmatian cavalry, the Saxon keels, and the British army, began to fight against the Angles and Jutes who were overrunning the south.  Battle after battle she fought, the last and greatest for Bath (but I am silent as to what happened between her and Lancelot when they went to wash the blood off in the Roman pools).  Now Uther, whom she had never attacked, died, and the boy Myrddin called for a new king, the king who wielded Uther’s sword.  All Britain was glad to acknowledge the victor of Bath as king, and an era of peace ensued.

Only, growing up in the North, Moderatus whose other name was Morther was bred to destroy the king of Britain; and in the south, Morgan hated Arthur and longed to avenge her father’s death.

When Arthur’s lords insisted that she find herself a wife and beget sons, she took the precaution of sending Lancelot to accompany the princess Guinevere to the wedding.  Arthur had told Lancelot the story of her former hostess Iseut, how Tristan had won her love before she married king Mark, and Lancelot undertook to protect Arthur’s secret by doing the same.  For a long time, Arthur ruled with Guinevere as queen and Lancelot at their side, and no-one supposed that a cuckold could be so happy.  Yet no son was born, and the people became restless, and Moderatus and Morgan began to spread rumors that Arthur would never have a son at all.  Myrddin denied this and tried to protect his mother, but finally Moderatus raised an army and marched against Arthur, who was holding winter court at Camlaan.

Now Moderatus, advised by Morgan, challenged Arthur to single combat.  Arthur of course did not want to fight her own son, but supposed that somehow she could save both of them and prevent the bloodshed of battle.  She took her excellent sword and strode out into the place cleared between the armies, astonished at her first sight of the son she had nursed three decades earlier. When Moderatus charged, Arthur moved to parry the blow, but her sword slipped and found its way through a seam in Moderatus’s armor. She felt him sink, his sword drop.  A great cry went up from both sides.  The young man gazed up at her in terrible pain. “Morther!” she whispered, kneeling over him and stripping off her helmet and byrnie, tearing open her shirt in grief to expose her breasts.  “Mother,” he said, and swooned, with death in his eyes.

Now the cry of the crowd turned to anger and shock at the sight of the king’s breasts.  Lancelot rode up and lifted the fainting Arthur, now wearing only a shift with her trousers, onto his horse. He rode off with her, and the people stood dazed at the sight.  They stared dumbfounded at the man lying on the field.  Now the women of Moderatus’s  family  came up to him, lifted him and also the sword that had been Uther’s, and Arthur’s helm and byrnie.  Ygerne, Eopa and Anna, Morgause his foster mother, and Morgan bore the young man’s dying body off the field. The crowds, confused by what they had seen, reported that it was Arthur who had been wounded and taken away.  Bereft of the king who had been like a father and mother to them, they mourned Arthur and yet told each other he would return.

As for Arthur…. Who shall measure the heat and violence of the king’s heart when caught and tangled in a woman’s body? She killed herself that winter’s night and lies buried at some cross-roads where the omnibuses now stop outside the Elephant and Castle.

Note from Judy–YES, I MADE THIS ONE UP  (except for most of the last sentence)!!! NONE OF IT IS TRUE, NOT PART 1, PART 2, OR PART 3!!!

Scroll down to read the Arthurian episode in the medieval Life of St. Efflam

 Arthur and/or St. Efflam fighting a dragon

It turns out that there are TWO sculptures in the Breton church of St-Jacques at Perros-Guirec which have been interpreted as Arthur and St. Efflam fighting a dragon. It is not impossible that the two sculptures, one of which represents violent conflict an the other some kind of deliverance, could be related to each other; however, their styles are quite different.

On the south portal of the church is a sculpture showing, apparently, two men attacking a dragon; in the nave is a sculpture showing a man with a crozier apparently helping a naked man away from a coiled mass which could be a dead dragon. Recently a paper was delivered at a conference by Esther Dehoux (histoire médiévale, Poitiers),”« Pour la colère du plus grand roi des Bretons» ? Arthur, l’évêque, l’apôtre et les dragons au portail de l’église de Perros-Guirec,” a title which suggests (For the anger of the greatest king of the Britons? Arthur, the bishop, the apostle, and the dragons on the Perros-Guerec church portal) that current opinion identifies the sculptures on the porch as representing Arthur, the dragon, and holy men.

De la Monneraye’s original 1849 article on the church can be read here: http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k2074644.image.f305.langFR . He describes both capitals, but it is the external (porch or portal) one which he identifies as the story of Efflam.

Below are three photos. two of the porch sculpture and one of the nave sculpture.

The first two are of the porch (portal) sculpture, courtesy of Chris Lovegrove. Chris’s description: “the image of a helmeted warrior with a shield with, to the viewer’s right, another figure with a sword (a squire, perhaps?), confronting a headless monster crawling around the capital.” It looks as if the monster would originally have had a head, though.

De la Monneraye’s remarks on this capital (p. 159): “Six columns take the weight of the archivolt [of the portal], two by two; they are crowned by very strongly flared capitals, decorated with people or animals. The first capital on the left represents an episode in the life of Saitn Efflam: great Arthur, head of the knights of the Round Table, had been fighting vainly against a terrible dragon which had laid waste the parish of Plestin and the whole shoreline; Efflam, recently arrived from the British coast, comes on the scene just as the warrior is about to succumb from exhaustion and the torments of a cruel thirst. Arming himself, according to the legend, with the sign of the Cross, he touches with his apostolic staff the monster, which withdraws in terror and throws itself into the sea, to disappear forever. This last part of the scene is the subject of the first capital.” Loomis indicates this page as the description of the other capital (#2, below). However, there is no question but that this is the outermost capital on the left of the portal, and therefore the one De la Monneraye identified as portaying Efflam. Oddly enough, it does not correspond very well to his description, since one sees Arthur actively fighting the dragon and the figure behind him has a sword, not something which could be interpreted as “an apostolic staff.” Perhaps there was an extension of the scene on lost portions of the capital.

 

 

The nave sculpture (above) is also a carving on a capital, this one inside the church. Loomis (p. 31) mistakenly cites De la Monneraye’s description of the portal capital (#1 above) as applying to this one, although he is aware that other scholars believe it is the portal capital which is indicated. According to Loomis, we see Arthur, having exhausted his shield and arms, being drawn away from the slain dragon by St. Efflam, identified by his crozier.

De la Monneraye’s description of this portal: On p. 160, the author enters the church (“En penetrant dans l’eglise…) and finds there more capitals, but not flared (there is no doubt a technical in English for this; anyway, the ones outside are wider at the top than at the bottom, while the ones inside are cylindrical). He remarks that the sacrifice of Abraham is carved on one of these, and then: “On another capital of the same style, we see a man whose pose and form seem to personify the Lustful, the Debauched. A second character, standing beside him and holding in his left hand a curving crozier, reaches out with his right to lift up the other man, to draw him closer and away from vice.”

As Chris Lovegrove noted on the list, the arrangement of the figures might also suggest the Harrowing of Hell (Christ, with a bishop’s crozier instead of the usual triumphant cross, drawing Adam from Hell, Hell being represented as a dragon).

Many more ( recent, color) pictures of of St-Jacques and its 12th-century capitals are available on the web.

Sorrento66 photostream includes 12 photos of capitals (exterior and interior) and of the church in general, including both of the capitals above.

Certif 3’s album “Visiting a few churches in Brittany and France” includes 17 photos of the church, including many nave capitals.

Renaud Camus’s photostream–nice picture of the church and another of the “Arthurian” portal capital.

 

Life of Efflam (also called Euflam, Eflam, Eflamm, etc.)

This life of a Breton saint may have been written as early as 1090 or so, but maybe considerably later. Its presentation of Arthur makes it clear that the author does not know anything about King Arthur.

The story so far: Efflam, born a king’s son in Ireland, has decided to leave his wife (without consummating the marriage). He finds a ship and boards it with some holy men as companions. It steers by God’s will and lands them in Brittany, on a beach near a huge cave (today’s Plestin-les-Grèves). They see a monster come out of the cave, walking backwards so that its footprints cannot be tracked (see the story of Hercules and Cacus, Aeneid VIII).

[The monster] was careful to avoid Arthur, a very strong man, who in those days was hunting monsters in that part of Brittany. Finally, by God’s will, the wicked wily thing was outsmarted. Arthur, concentrating his whole mind on its activities, tracked it down. While he was investigating the rocks where it might be hiding, he met the holy men on the shore; he expressed admiration at their courage in living in such a horrible solitary wasteland. He asked them carefully who they were and where they had come from; as he questioned them, they told him about the monster and pointed out its cave. Arthur was delighted by the arrival of the holy men and rejoiced with all his heart at the indication of the monster’s cave. So often he had gone away sad, humiliated as if the monster had beaten him, because he could not [find it to] overcome it. He armed himself therefore with a triple-knotted club; with a shield covered by a lion-skin he defended his brave chest. Then, manfully, one man fighting for all, he attacked the public enemy.
Against him, the horrible monster protected itself with its own weapons. Moreover, it attacked Arthur first, indignant that any man should come hunting it, since it had won so many battles against so many groups of people. So, attacking with all its strength, it struck Arthur’s strong shield, which it easily pierced with its sharp claws. No surprise: even the hard stones had been scratched by their points, so that the whole area bore witness by these marks. Arthur, having pulled his body back, remained unwounded, and, angry now, he struck his enemy fiercely. He could have knocked down walls with a blow like that, but the enemy, protected by its hard skin, did not receive a mortal wound. All the same, it felt to the depths of its being the terrible pain of the blow. All day they fought in this way, but the serpent did not get a lethal wound.
Arthur, realizing that night was coming, put off the battle until the next day. He went back to the holy men, tired from his work and weak from the struggle; his mouth was parched by a powerful thirst, and he asked the men for water. Efflam replied for them all: “My lord, we do not have water, and we, like you, need it; therefore it remains for us to ask our God for it.” Arthur praised the righteous advice of the good man. Bending their knees, they all knelt on the ground. Stretching out his whole body, Efflam, the voice of all his companions, prayed, saying: “God, your immutable power created everything without preexisting matter, and all things serve you according to their properties, and at your order all things change their qualities, so that hard things melt to softness and rough things are made smooth. Proclaim your strength over us, and, as you once ordered water to flow from a rock in the desert for the thirsty people when your servant Moses prayed [Exodus 17:1-7], so, Lord, deign in your great mercy to pour forth water for us.” When he had finished praying, he climbed up on a tall rock, made a little sign of the holy cross, and struck the stone. An abundance of water burst forth into the air. Giving thanks, the thirsty man [Arthur] drank this water, and then threw himself down at the feet of Saint Efflam, beseeching him with humble prayers to deign to bless him with a laying on of hands, and pray with prayers for him to God. [He needed such prayers,] since he often undertook deeds to free people where he was in doubt of his life. Efflam, that man of God, blessing him, promised him the gift of prayers.
Arthur withdrew, filled with joy, his thirst gone, his strength restored by the divine drink, fortified by the holy blessing. Confident in the strength of the holy man, he left the question of his battle with the monster up to him. The athlete of Christ [Efflam; see 1 Corinthians 9:25], armed with the weapons of faith [Ephesians 7:10-17],  ordered the horrible monster to come forth. So that he might strengthen his companions’ faith, he spoke thus with a loud voice: “Lord Jesus Christ, you gave your disciples such power that they might bind and loose whatever they wished [Matthew 16:19], and indeed you said of them, ‘they order demons to flee, and they remove serpents’ [Mark 16:17-18]. Order the departure of this serpent so that this region, freed from such a plague, will be able to give you praise and thanks.” And when they replied “Amen” the monster, which had drawn itself up on a rock, rolled its eyes in all directions and gave forth a cry mixed with a deep miserable sigh, a noise which made far-off places tremble. Then, hanging its head, it brought forth a bloody vomit from its sobbing mouth and nostrils. In witness to this miracle, the rocks in that place seem to shine red as if with recently shed blood. Then, with the holy men watching, it went down to the sea, stretching itself out on the wave, and left, never to return. By these two miracles, God wished to show the power of his servant Efflam at the beginning of his exile: that a man who left his father and mother, and renounced all he possessed in order to follow Him righteously, could have confidence in His grace.

Translations J. Shoaf

 

The memorial of L. Artorius Castus, as it survived in two pieces used as part of the wall of the cemetery of the church of St. Martin, Postrana, Croatia. It explains that he erected this description of his career on his own behalf, at a time when he was serving in as a Roman governor (procuarator) in Liburnia, in Dalmatia, probably early in the 200s CE.. This “autobiography” outlines his various military posts and can be interpreted to show that he was stationed in Britain, presumably along Hadrian’s Wall, around the year 180.

For more information on Castus’ career, see the 1999 article by Dr. Linda A. Malcor in Heroic Age online.

For more photos and an attempt to show the surviving letters clearly, see Chris Gwinn’s page http://christophergwinn.com/arthuriana/lac-sourcebook/

 

Images (c) copyright 2007 Ladislav Petrus (www.petrus.sk), and are distributed under the http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.5/ license.

Modifications that increase readability in this chapter are allowed by the original author and are also to be distributed under the http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.5/ license.

 

Patrick Roper transcribes,
‘Nyns yw marow maghtern Arthur’, Cornish for ‘King Arthur is not dead’.