"The Pale and Perfect Measured Parade"
John Steinbecks First Draft of
The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights
Nancy Stork
With thanks to McIntosh and Otis and the Martha Heasley Cox Center
for Steinbeck Studies at San Jose State University, San Jose,
California, for permission to quote from Steinbecks unpublished
first draft, and the kindness of the staff in allowing me to use
their facilities.
When John Steinbeck sent the first draft of his Acts of
King Arthur to his literary agents Elizabeth Otis and Chase
Horton in late April 1959, it was not very well received.
1 Steinbeck wrote back to them on May
13 and said,
Then your comments and Chases almost lack of comment on
the section sent to you. I must think very carefully and not fall
into obscurity in my answer. To indicate that I was not shocked
would be untrue. I was. I wonder if the three thousand miles makes
any difference. It is apparent that I did not communicate my intention.
(Steinbeck, Acts 419)
In the course of this letter, Steinbeck gives perhaps his clearest
statement about what he intended when he set out to write a book
based on the Winchester manuscript of Malorys Morte Darthur,
The Death of Arthur. He couches his answer in the wounded tone of
a man whose work has been insulted by idiots:
Perhaps I thought I had told you that I am presently trying not
to bring up the whole cycle with its thousand ramifications, but
to stick tight to Malory, who wrote in the fifteenth century.
. . . I have no intention of putting it in twentieth-century vernacular
any more than T[homas] M[alory] put it in fifteenth-century vernacular.
. . . I wanted an English that was out of time and place as the
legend is. (Steinbeck, Acts 419)
To further silence his agent critics, who are hopeful of selling
his books and have no interest per se in an "English
out of time and place," he says,
I want the remote feeling of the myth, not the intimate feeling
of todays man who in his daily thought may change tomorrow
but who in his deeper perceptions, I am convinced, does not change
at all. In a word I have not been trying to write a popular book
but a permanent book. (Steinbeck, Acts 420)
And finally, he says quite bluntly, "It doesnt sound
like me because I dont want it to" (Steinbeck, Acts
421).
Clearly, Horton and Otis wanted a book that sounded like Steinbeck
and retold one of the great bestsellers of all time, the legend
of King Arthur. One of the reasons for Otis and Hortons lack
of sympathy for this first draft may be that they did not share
Steinbecks childhood love for Malory. Steinbeck regarded Caxtons
Malory with an almost religious devotion, recounting in his introduction
how it was a childrens version of this book that inspired
him to learn to read. His account appears at the beginning of the
introduction as edited by Otis and Horton:
Some people there are who, being grown, forget the horrible task
of learning to read. . . . I remember that wordswritten
or printedwere devils, and books, because they gave me pain,
were my enemies. . . . And then one day, an aunt gave me a book
and fatuously ignored my resentment. I stared at the black print
with hatred, and then, gradually the pages opened and let me in.
The magic happened. The Bible and Shakespeare and Pilgrims
Progress belonged to everyone. But this was mineit was
a cut version of the Caxton Morte Darthur of Thomas Malory.
I loved the old spelling of the words. . . . The very strangeness
of the language dyd me enchante, and vaulted me into an ancient
scene. (Steinbeck, Acts 3-4)
For those who entered the world of reading by much more mundane
gateways, Malorys prose could seem strange and forbidding.
Most likely, Otis and Horton had never fallen under the spell of
Caxtons Malory, so they came to it with no sentimental childhood
associations to blur the differences between fifteenth-century and
twentieth-century prose. No wonder their criticism came as a shock
to Steinbeck, who retained a love of Malory into his adulthood and
clearly hoped to share with others the strangeness and magic of
Malorys prose. In addition, Steinbeck was excited by the discovery
in 1934 of the original Winchester manuscript of Malory, which promised
to bring much more of Malorys fifteenth-century prose to light.
Steinbeck, as a bibliophile and writer with a scholarly bent, was
very interested in this newly discovered manuscript of the writer
who had so enchanted him as a boy. It was a grand and exciting new
project. And, on a more practical note, Steinbeck had already spent
some time producing at least a portion of the 576-page draft now
at San Jose State. Who would not have been discouraged to have such
an effort greeted with silence or tepid and guarded praise?
Yet is this alone what caused Steinbeck to leave behind his
original intentions and start again? Was it also the enormity of
the project? After all,Vinavers edition of the Winchester
manuscript runs to 726 pages of small type. Was he finally worn
down by the continued criticism of his editors? And why did those
same editors decide to publish the second draft, the one they liked,
and not Steinbecks original? Was there even a chance that
they might have considered Steinbecks first draft of King
Arthur to be closer to his true intentions, or a better piece of
work? In order to answer these questions, we must first see what
happened to Steinbecks version of the Arthur legend between
the first and second drafts. But first we should clarify that previous
scholarship on this issue has not addressed the question of changes
made between the first and second draft because most scholars were
not aware that there were two surviving drafts. Simmonds suggests
that the publication of Keith Baines translation of Malory
in 1961 may have discouraged Steinbeck (Unrealized Dream 41),
while Sundermeier offers a more nuanced explanation and three possibilities:
that Steinbecks creative powers were exhausted; that the Arthurian
legend was too closely identified in his mind with his own life
for him to explore such personal material; or that his artisitic
vision was incoherent (35). There is even some confusion as to whether
or not Steinbeck intended to do two different translations of Malory.
Simmonds reports that Eugene Vinaver thought Steinbeck meant to
produce both a translation of Malory and his own original Arthurian
cycle. He also quotes Elizabeth Otis who stated "that to her
certain knowledge Steineck did not contemplate writing two Arthurian
books" (Unrealized Dream 35).
With both drafts now available for scrutiny, we can more accurately
assess what happened as Steinbeck struggled with Malory. As Otis
and Horton both noticed, the first draft does not sound like Steinbeck.
Nor does it sound like the version published by Horton in 1976.
It sounds quite a lot like Thomas Malory. Though modernized in many
respects (spelling, word choice, sentence length), it retains much
of the rhythm and vocabulary of the original. In fact, it is so
close to Malory that it seems much more a translation than a modern
version of the old tale. Any reader will notice the similarities
instantly, and when Elaine Steinbeck sent the manuscript to San
Jose State University, she wrote a note in which she calls this
first draft a "translation." The note is brief enough
to quote in its entirety:
To Whom it May Concern:
I really dont know what I have here. Some kind of translation
of King Arthur. A bit of it corrected by John. Elizabeth is not
alive to tell me if it was used when we published the book, and
I no longer remember. That was her projectI am tempted to
go on and give these to Stanford and one of the Steinbeck Centers
(San Jose or Ball State in Muncie, Ill. [sic] but I dont
want to stir up anything as long as Chase is alive. (Steinbeck,
SJSU MS)
I am not sure what Elaine Steinbeck was worried about stirring
up as long as Chase Horton was still alive, but she may well have
known about the chilly reception he gave the first draft. Regarding
Elaine Steinbecks uncertainty over whether this draft was
used to prepare the published edition, it is clear that it was not.
The differences are enormous. And yet this first draft is different
enough from Malory that I think it does not deserve to be classified
as "some kind of translation." At least not in the modern
sense of the word "translation."
Translators today do not presume to add or subtract characters,
alter dialogue or change events. A translator simply works for the
benefit of those who lack the skill to read the original language.
Yet translating Middle English to modern is not as well-defined
a task as translating from say, Portugese to German or Spanish to
Korean. Not quite a foreign language, Middle English is strange,
but not completely inaccessible to a modern reader; this
is particularly true at the end of the fifteenth century, when literary
Middle English was becoming standardized and moving toward the Elizabethan
English more familiar to modern readers. Steinbeck certainly
saw this as part of his task; he wanted to render Malory in modern
English, to make it accessible yet retain some of the wonder and
strangeness of its forms. He is aware from the start that his version
will be much more than a word-for-word, slavishly literal, translation.
He says in an earlier letter to Otis (dated March 30, 1959):
I move along with my translation of the Morte but it is
no more a translation than Malorys was. I am keeping it
all but it is mine as much as his was his. I told you I think
that I am not afraid of Malory any more for I know that I can
write better for my time than he could have, just as he wrote
better for his time than anyone else. (Steinbeck, Acts
402)
Steinbeck is clear in his own mind that he is more than a mere
translator. He has something of a didactic intent as well, when
he says his
purpose will be to put it in a language which is understandable
and acceptable to a modern-day reader. I think this is not only
an important thing to do, but also a highly practical thing to
do, since these stories form, with the New Testament, the basis
of most modern English literature. (Steinbeck, Acts 377)
Steinbeck sounds a little like an English professor here, wanting
his students to have the background for reading serious modern literature.
And yet, at this point did he have a clear idea of what a modern
version of Malory would entail? Why not just modernize the spelling
and let clever modern readers work through the Winchester Malory
as Steinbeck did with the Caxton? Malorys language is not
that difficult, and we have the evidence of Steinbeck as a boy using
it to decode the mysteries of the alphabet. Did Steinbeck seek to
render Malory in modern prose to help those less linguistically
gifted than himself? He certainly wanted to transmit the stories
as well as the language, but this poses fresh problems as well.
Could he simply modernize the prose and leave the events, characters
and plot unchanged? Steinbeck, early on, like most readers, bogs
down in Arthurs Roman war and leaves a good bit of it out.
From this, he must know that at least some of the events will have
to change. Steinbecks letters suggest a sympathy for Lancelot
and a fathers perspective on his failure to achieve the Grail,
where his son Galahad succeeds. This might have given an interesting
perspective to a section of the legend that was probably transmitted
to Malory via Cistercian monks (who cant have had a lot of
experience with the fathers perspective on father/son relationships).
Might Steinbeck have left out some of the more bizarre elements
of the Grail Legend? Or might he have successfully recreated the
muddled character of Sir Dinadan whom even Malory did not succeed
in transmitting intact from his French sources? From his letters
we know that Steinbeck thought a great deal about these questions
before he began his work of "translating." And yet, no
matter how much he had thought about what he wanted to do in advance,
he was still faced with putting pen to paper and deciding how to
describe the Duke of Tintagel.
Perhaps a lack of clarity about his own motives and desires
in writing the work is what led to Steinbecks failure to make
this into a complete and coherent work. And this failure to clarify
his own intentions may be illuminated by a fuller investigation
into what the word "translation" really means. For, in
a larger sense of the word, a translation is exactly what Steinbeck
has achieved. The Latin word translatio means literally,
"a carrying or removing from one place to another, a transporting,
transferring," but the word also has a very particular meaning
associated with the medieval cult of relics.
Though many early writers opposed the veneration of relics
on the grounds that it was idolatrous, early in the Christian centuries
there grew up a practice of venerating the relics of saints. This
practice spread from Greek/Byzantine lands (which did not share
the ancient Roman aversion to disinterring or mutilating corpses)
into the Western Empire and was well-established when Roman opposition
to the cult of relics was relaxed and numerous translations of relics
were authorized by eighth- and ninth-century popes. Devotion grew
so frenzied in France that the citizens of Poitiers and Tours fought
a battle over the body of St. Martin. The practice grew, too, as
the Germanic tribes were converted and missionaries desired to have
physical relics to focus devotion and demonstrate the efficacy of
faith. Relics could range from actual pieces of a saints body,
to objects used during a saints lifetime, to pieces of cloth
that had been placed in contact with the saints tomb. Sometimes
the bodies travelled in one piecethe monks of Lindisfarne
brought Cuthberts body intact with them when they fled the
Norse attacks of the early ninth centuryand sometimes they
were split up and travelled as fragments. In either case, the process
of moving the relics from one place to another for purposes of veneration
is called the translatio or "translation" of relics.
In the course of this elaborate and varied process of translation,
the bodies were often cut into small pieces which were placed in
jewelled reliquaries, sometimes in the shape of miniature churches.
These are often made of gold, silver and crystal and allow one to
gaze on the relics, which might include fingers, hands, heads, teeth,
nails and hair of saints and other relics such as the cloak, stool
and milk of the Virgin Mary, the foreskin and tears of Jesus, thorns
from the crown of thorns, pieces of the true cross, the spear, sponge
and nails used in the Crucifixion, and other oddities like hairs
from Noahs beard, soot from the furnace where the three worthies
were burnt, the candle lit by an angel in Christs tomb, feathers
from the wings of the angel Gabriel, etc. Though the more fanciful
of these are clearly fraudulent, others are generally thought to
be quite real. Exactly how these miraculous translationes
takes place is shrouded in a bit of mystery.
Given the fact that Horton chose the version he preferred when
he published Steinbecks work posthumously and my expertise
(or bias, if you prefer) as a medievalist, I hope I can bring a
new perspective to the process of translation and the following
questions: Is Steinbecks first draft a mere translation? Which
of the two drafts is a better piece of work? Was it Steinbecks
intention to venerate Malory and, in so doing, did he end up, figuratively
speaking, placing bits and pieces of Malory into jewelled reliquaries?
In the printed edition of Steinbecks Arthur, Horton
end Steinbecks introduction with a prayer:
For my own part, I can only ask that my readers include me in
the request of Sir Thomas Malory when he says: "And I pray
you all that redyth this tale to pray for him that this wrote
that god sende hym good delyverance and sone and hastelyAmen.
(Steinbeck, Acts 6)
In the first draft of the introduction this prayer is not at
the end, but the beginning. Steinbeck quotes Malory fully in Middle
English:
I praye you all ientyl men and ientyl wymmen that redeth this
book of Arthur and his knyghtes from the begynning to the endyng
pray for me whyle I am on Lyue that god sende me good delyuerancewhan
I am deed I praye you all praye for my soule for this book was
ended the ix yere of the reygne of king edward the fourth by sir
Thomas Maleore knyght do Ihesu helpe hym by hys grete myght as
he is the seruaunt of Ihesu bothe day and nyght.
Immediately after this, Steinbeck adds his own words:
So ended Malorys retelling of the dear story and so may
I with goode herte begin mine. All my remembering life, my mind,
and, it feels, my bone and tissue have been saturated with this
more than tale, so that I would be perplexed to tell where I leave
off and the tone and color and texture of the knyghtely fellowship
begins. (Steinbeck, SJSU MS I)
Steinbeck uses the Middle English spelling "goode herte"
and expresses a corporeal, almost incarnate, identification between
himself and the "subject of Britain." Steinbeck is clearly
trying to break down any boundaries between himself and Malory,
the medieval and the modern, the mythic and the historical. He continues:
We do not receive and welcome and relate to events outside our
own experience. The Arthurian legend is not objective. The subject
of Britain is subjective. It is not popular but private and personal.
No matter how often told, it remains sharp and immediate, and
delicate and I suspect that every man tailors it to fit himself,
much as it may hurt him. There is power in it and a whip and a
glory in it. Once you have it inside theres no frightening
it away like a nervous bird from a low built nestonce it
fits. This has been to me a mystery and a puzzlement. Could it
be that this story lances through to a deeper layer than we know?
(Steinbeck, SJSU MS III)
And later:
Sir Thomas Malory was a very great writer. It was beyond his
ability not to write greatly. I think he tried to reset the pale
and perfect measured parade. And what crept innot all at
once, but gradually, was the shine of beauty and the agony of
failure and the last desperate faith that blunts the edge of despair.
(Steinbeck, SJSU MS XI)
These sections of the draft introduction reveal that at least
part of Steinbecks desire to rewrite Malorys Arthur
was an act of identification with and veneration for a great writer.
In this he follows a great medieval tradition. At the end of
Troilus and Criseyde, Chaucer thanks the authors who came before
him and transmitted the ancient stories of Troy. For him, they were
authors and authorities (the Middle English words auctores
and auctoritates are much closer to each other in meaning
than Modern English author and authority) and etymology
as well as usage support the notion that medieval authors viewed
their predecessors with reverence and respect. Chaucer tells his
personified book not to be envious of other poets but to kiss their
steps as they pass:
But litel book, no makyng thow nenvie,
But subgit be to alle poesye;
And kis the steppes where as thow seest pace
Virgile, Ovide, Omer, Lucan and Stace.
(Tr 5.1789-92)
This veneration for the past, so foreign to the American literary
mind, is what got Steinbeck in trouble with Otis and Horton. Let
us look at the prose of the first draft to see what Steinbeck might
have done with Malory if he had not met his critics so early on
in the project.
Following are four versions of the beginning of the Morte
Darthur. The first is the Middle English version of Malory,
as found in the Vinaver edition, the second is Steinbecks
first draft (sent to Otis and Horton), the third is Steinbecks
corrected first draft (corrections made presumably after he received
Otis and Hortons comments) and the last is the second Steinbeck
version, as printed in 1976 by Horton.
I. MERLIN
Hit befel in the dayes of Uther Pendragon, when he was kynge
of all Englond and so regned, that there was a myghty duke in
Cornewaill that helde warre ageynste hym long tyme, and the duke
was called the duke of Tyntagil. And so by meanes kynge Uther
send for this duk, chargyng hym to brynge his wyf with hym, for
she was called a fair lady and a passynge wyse, and her name was
called Igrayne. (77 words)
ARTHUR
When Uther Pendragon was king of all England, there was a mighty
duke in Cornwall who made war against him. This duke was called
the Duke of Tintagil. After a long time, King Uther sent for the
duke charging him to bring his wife with him, for she was known
as a fair and a wise lady, and her name was Igraine. (62 words)
I
When Uther Pendragon was king of all England, a mighty duke in
Cornwall, called the Duke of Tintagil, defied him. After a time,
King Uther sent for the duke and charged him to bring his wife
with him, for she was known as a fair and a wise lady, and her
name was Igraine. (54 words)
When Uther Pendragon was king of England his vassal, the Duke
of Cornwall, was reported to have committed acts of war against
the land. Then Uther ordered the duke to attend his court and
to bring with him his wife, Igraine, who was famed for her wisdom
and beauty. (49 words)
I am not sure what Steinbeck meant exactly by the "pale
and perfect measured parade," but there is a chance that he
meant it to refer to Malorys actual prose style, which one
could argue is "perfect and measured" (I will discuss
"pale" later). The first thing to note is that the text
grows steadily smaller, this section diminishing from 77 to 62 to
54 to 49 words over the course of revision. Certainly Malory uses
more words, and medieval vernacular prose in general has much longer
sentences than modern English. This was a sign of high rhetorical
style based on Latin models, in which amplificatio was one
of the chief ornaments. The beautiful periodic sentences of Latin
depend on numerous dependent clauses and a strong ending, usually
on a verb. Malory is influenced by this style (as were his French
sources), but he has more flexibility in English and can end strongly
on either a noun or verb.
Note the way that Malory uses this stylistic strategy and puts
names and places at the end of clauses, with emphasis on Pendragon,
England, Cornwall, Tyntagil. In this way, he moves the reader into
the local setting of Tyntagil by closing in on smaller and smaller
places. He also contrasts the two opponents by saying Uther was
king of all England, yet that there was a mighty duke in Cornwall.
The syntax gives further strength to the opposition between the
two men and the coming conflict. There is no value judgement implied,
no right or wrong, no narrator who sits in judgement on these men.
There is only the landscape, the names and the impending war.
We see as well that these clauses are linked not by subordinating
conjunctions (such as although, because, notwithstanding)
but by simpler expressions of sequence and time: hit befel, when,
and, that, that, and, and, for, and. This easy parataxis allows
one event to follow another, like ripples going over the brim of
one of those optically illusive swimming pools that seem to have
no edge. This style leads to a marvelous world of non-logic, and
we see this as well in Malory when he says ". . . and the duke
was called the duke of Tyntagil. And so by meanes kynge Uther send
for this duk." It is as if the king sends for him because he
is called the Duke of Tyntagil and not because he has held war against
the king for a long time. This is the genius of the style of Malory:
the subtle juxtapositions that are not explained by any conjunction,
metaphor or simile. In shortening the sentences and refitting them
to modern sensibilties, Steinbeck loses the paratactic quality of
Malory.
Notice also Malorys second sentence, which begins "And
so by meanes kyng Uther send for this duk." Here is another
difference between Malory and Steinbeck, medieval and modern, romance
and novel. Consider this phrase: "And so by meanes." These
"meanes," whatever they are, do not matter to Malory.
They are simply not made a part of the narrative. King Uther may
have sent a messenger or two or three or four; what does it matter?
Uther may have sent messengers who made various stops along the
way at inns and barnyards to terrorize or fraternize with the local
folk, or who slept out beneath the trees and were caught out in
a great rain storm, or one of whose horses threw a shoe and was
lamed and sold at a great loss to a lout of a blacksmith. Or Uther
may have sent a messenger who rode fast and hard through the night
while trails of vaporous fog hung about him like the ghosts of ancient
barrow wights. There are any number of possible "meanes"
by which Uther sent for the duke of Tintagel, and none of them is
in the least bit relevant for Malory. Yet this is the stuff of the
novel, the stuff that Otis and Horton find lacking in Steinbecks
first draft. It is the stuff they will, in my opinion, alas, convince
him to put in.
The other archaisms that made Steinbeck sound too much like
Malory are all gradually weeded out. The phrases "it befell
that . . . king of all England . . . held war against him . . .
charging him to bring his wife . . . passing wise . . . her name
was called Igrayne" are replaced with their dutiful, modern
counterparts: "when . . . king of England . . . was reported
to have committed acts of war against the land . . . ordered the
duke to attend his court . . . famed for her wisdom . . . and her
name was Igraine." Thus was Steinbecks "medieval"
prose "translation" dragged into the modern world. How
did this same process occur on the level of the story itself?
The Marhalt Story: "A Pretty Piece of Medievalism"
(apologies to William Wordsworth and John Keats)
I would like to investigate the modernizing of Steinbecks
content by looking specifically at descriptions of landscape. I
have chosen two from the story of Marhalt, a knight who shares a
quest with Gawain and Ewain in which each must choose one of three
ladies: the oldest being sixty years of age, the middle thirty years
of age, and the youngest fifteen. Here is Malorys description
of the valley where these three ladies await the three knights:
And so they rode and cam into a depe valey full of stonys, and
thereby they sawe a fayre streme of watir. Aboven thereby was
the hede of the streme, a fayre founteyne, and three damesels
syttynge thereby. And than they rode to them and ayther salewed
othir. (Malory 97)
The following is Steinbecks version from his first draft:
And so they rode and came into a deep valley, full of stones.
And nearby they saw a fair stream of water, and a little above
there was the head of the streama fountainand three
damsels were sitting by it. And the three knights rode to them
and they saluted one another, and the eldest had a garland of
gold about her head and she was threescore winters of age, or
more, and her hair was white under the garland. The second damsel
was of thirty winters of age, and she wore a circlet of gold about
her head. And the third damsel was but fifteen years of age, and
she had a garland of flowers about her head. And when these knights
beheld them, they asked why they sat by the fountain. (Steinbeck,
SJSU MS 273)
Here is the version printed by Horton:
It was a forest of oak and beech, laced with may and white thorn,
tangled and guarded with briars. No opening showed on its dark
frontier, so that they had to hack an entrance with their swords,
but in a short time they came upon a path opened through the undergrowth
by red deer and they followed the passage knowing it would lead
to water and to pasturage, for deer must drink and graze. After
a time they came to a valley of stone, square cut and tumbled
about as though some ancient city had been pillaged and destroyed.
Among the stones they saw a few hovels of piled stones like sheep
cotes roofed with branches. A little stream of turbulent water
gabbled down from the farther hill, and after they had refreshed
their horses and themselves they followed the watercourse up the
slope to the source, where it bubbled from a spring that opened
from the mossy mountainside. Above the spring on a ferny shelf
three ladies sat under a cluster of birch trees. When the knights
were close enough to see, they drew up and regarded the strange
trio. (Steinbeck, Acts 164-5)
Note the mythic, folklore elements added to this description: the
presence of deer, and the thorns guarding the secret glade, a bit
like the briars guarding Briar-Rose. Particularly interesting and
actually quite modern is Steinbecks interpretation of the
"stones" as some sort of Neolithic ruin. Given Malorys
spare descriptions of landscape, Steinbeck may well be right to
expand his stones into something more than just a valley naturally
strewn with rocks. This is a modern recreation of an idealized medieval
landscape; it has the requisite medieval sounding plantsoak,
beech, may, white thornand the hovels like sheep cotes suggest
an impoverished medieval British world as well. Any hint of agricultural
is quite lacking in Malory and a particularly apt addition by the
author of The Grapes of Wrath, East of Eden, Of Mice and Men.
With the possible exception of the "ferny shelf" (ferns
not being common in medieval literature) he has captured our modern
notion of the medieval landscape admirably. It is perhaps not quite
as good as Steinbeck at his best on landscape (think of the openings
of East of Eden and Grapes of Wrath), but it is a
pleasing enough scene and it is based on Malory.
Now lets look ahead a bit as Marhalt and his thirty-year
old lady continue on their adventure and make an encampment at a
sort of "lovers bower":
In a little glade beside a spring of cold bubbling water he built
a cunning little house of boughs hacked off with a sword, and
bedded it deep with dried sweet-smelling ferns. Nearby he fitted
stones in a structure to hold the little pot, and gathered a heap
of dry wood cloven from the underside of a fallen tree, and he
tethered his horse in nearby grass. His armor hung on the oak
beside the bower and his shield and lance beside it. The damsel
was not still. When he had robed himself she washed his underthings
and hung them on a gooseberry bush to dry. She filled her little
pot with gooseberries and watching and listening followed the
flight of bees and brought wild honey from a hollow tree for sweetening.
And in the bower she busied herself spreading wild thyme to perfume
the couch, rolling sweet grasses in her tight-woven cloth to make
a rich soft pillow, arranging her little store of needments in
domestic order, and with her small strong knife she cut and notched
saplings from which to hang her clothing. Her knight begged the
golden pin that held her hair, and he pulled tail hair from his
horse and braided a line, and he went toward the sound of water
falling in a pool and gathered mayflies as he went. And shortly
he returned with four fine speckled trout, straightened her hairpin,
and gave her it. And then he wrapped the trout in a blanket of
green fern and laid them by to place in hot ashes in the evening.
(Steinbeck, Acts 195)
It should be stressed that this is entirely Steinbecks
invention. The glade with its gooseberry bushes and bubbling spring
is the lovers paradise, the locus amoenus, the archetypal
pleasant place. It has the requisite number of folkloric elements:
the glade, spring, plants, thyme, honey, pillow, couch. This is
the Forest of Arden, Book Nine of Paradise Lost, Spensers
Bower of Bliss, Hesters daughter Pearl across the stream,
Act Two of Tristan und Isolde. The catching of the trout
conjures up the Fisher King and the world of the Grail Castle. This
is the peaceful refuge amidst the world of blood and weaponry; it
is the world of the Grail and the rituals of the Eucharist transmuted
into folk legend. This could be some Cistercian monk transmuting
his own monastic existence into a love for the world.
Marhalt taking his damsels hairpin is another nice touch
that draws on romance and folk tale elements. This is a familiar
topos that belongs with other devices of romance, such as magical
rings that turn up in the bellies of fishes or medallions cut in
half that reveal the long lost twin brother to his twin sister.
A hairpin carries enormous erotic significance if the love between
the knight and damsel is forbidden. The weaving of the fish line
out of the horsehair is another folklore element, though the scene
could gain in intimacy if the knight were to use some of the ladys
hair, rather than the horses. But perhaps Steinbecks
concern is to downplay the eroticism and focus on getting a fish
on the fire. The fantasy elements give this landscape its "medieval"
quality, yet realism in the form of the fish, gooseberry bush and
underwear is threatening all the time to break in. This is our warning
that this charming set piece is about to descend into joky dialogue,
trite aphorism, clichéd archaism, false-sounding Anglicisms,
and popular psychologizing about what makes giants so disagreeable:
He smiled and took his seat and smelled the gooseberries bubbling
in honey at the fire. He stretched his limbs and raised his arms
over his head. "Contentment requires so little and so much,"
he said. . . . She stirred the gooseberries with a twig, smiling
with contentment and good humor. "As a damsel errant I am
an old hand," she said. . . . "Ahead of us we have the
giant I spoke of. How are you with giants, my lord?"
"Ive had a go with a giant or so," he said. "Ive
always felt sorry for them. No one will have them about, and in
their loneliness they turn angry and sometimes dangerous."
(Steinbeck, Acts 196)
The whole thing comes to a rather lamentable conclusion in which
the lady stretches "with ecstasy like a kitten in the grass"
and says, "My lord . . . my dear lord." (Steinbeck, Acts
197)
Why does Steinbeck drown his recreation of Malory with such
clumsy humor? Steinbeck never finds the tone he needs to recreate
Arthur and please both himself and his critics. His first draft
is neither humorous nor ironic. The humor that he adds to the second
version is often misplaced or forced. There seems to be a fundamental
incompatability between what Steinbeck wanted to do and what he
was good at. His early critics, hostile to the perceived strangeness
of his early drafts prose style, forced him to turn his King
Arthur into a novel. He does not see clearly just how non-ironic
and non-humorous a genre romance is.
Both Malorys Arthur and romance as a whole are not humorous
or aggressively comic. There are very few overtly comic moments
in all of Malory. One occurs when Sir Dinadan is on one of his endless
quests; he has grown a bit weary of fighting and when an anonymous
"errant knight" challenges him to another battle, Dinadan
asks wearily if he wishes to joust for love or for hate (Malory
372). Another occurs when Lancelot is tricked into climbing a tree
without his armor and he then snaps off a tree branch to use as
a lance against his adversary. On the other hand, the humor of Tortilla
Flat lies in the dramatic irony of placing chivalrous characters
in the real world, as when Pilon agrees to rent Dannys house:
Danny became a great man, having a house to rent, and Pilon went
up the social scale by renting a house. It is impossible to say
whether Danny expected any rent, or whether Pilon expected to
pay any. If they did, both were disappointed. Danny never asked
for it, and Pilon never offered it. (16)
Clearly, fiscal matters remain far outside the realm of romance.
Don Quixote works in the same way that Tortilla Flat
or Pippin IV works. Don Quixote wears the barbers bowl
as his helmet, Danny and his friends look for the Grail and find
a US Geodetic Survey Marker, reading "+1915+ Elevation 6000
feet." Pippin IV rules over modern France, while the Princess
Clothilde and her American boyfriend, Tod, son of the Egg King of
Petaluma, fall in love on motorbikes. The campesinos are
the knights of the Round Table. The humor is situational and the
dramatic irony is there from the start. There may still be room
for a Steinbeckian rendition of Malory that would capture the sweep,
tragedy, and moral landscape of romance, but it is not found
in either of the versions we have today.
Why was it not enough for Steinbeck to bring the language and
landscape up to date? We can surmise that Otis and Horton felt there
was something novelistic lacking from the first draftmetaphors,
details, interaction between character and landscape, more personal,
intimate dialogue, a realistic landscapebut why humor? Why
not a serious modern prose rendition of Arthur? The description
of the valley of stones above shows that it could have been done.
What Steinbeck set out to do originally was a straightforward translation
of Malory; it can be set in modern English with very few changes.
When he starts to recast the characters, plot, setting and everything
else is when he loses his way. Romance is not novelistic, nor is
it dramatic. It can be comedic or tragic in theme and in the ultimate
destiny of its characters, but these are not essential to its nature,
to its style. Also, it also does not deal with the common folk;
there are no Lennys, no Curlys, no Dannys, no campesinos.
It is about the nobility, as Frye and others have noted:
The romance is nearest of all literary forms to the wish-fulfillment
dream, and for that reason it has socially a curiously paradoxical
role. In every age the ruling social or intellectual class tends
to project its ideals in some form of romance, where the virtuous
heroes and beautiful heroines represent the ideals and villains
the threats to their ascendancy. (Frye 186)
And yet, this is not how Steinbeck saw it. He says in his introduction,
referring to the "ancient scene" created by Malorys
language:
And in that scene were all the vices that ever were. And courage
and sadness and frustration, but particularly gallantryperhaps
the only single quality of man that the West has invented. I think
my sense of right and wrong, my feeling of noblesse oblige, and
any thought I may have had against the oppressor and for the oppressed,
came from this secret book. (Steinbeck, Acts 4)
Perhaps Steinbeck, with his emphasis on the scene created by the
language itself, sees more clearly than Frye how medieval romance
is understood today. Famed for his democratic spirit, Steinbeck
has no natural affinity with the upper classes and one would think
that his characters would be the "villains" above. Yet,
Steinbeck readily accepts the medieval notion of a nobility of spirit
that transcends social concerns. Nonetheless, he claims to have
learned about oppression from Malory. It is only a small step for
Steinbeck from the Grapes of Wrath to Malory. But, while
the ideal of noblesse oblige appeals to Steinbecks modern
western democratic spirit, the further elaborations of the Grail
Legend may have proven difficult for him to translate into the modern
world. By the time Malorys knights arrive at the Grail Quest,
the Arthurian ideals of chivalry and noblesse are so further layered
over with Cistercian piety, humility and celibacy as to be entirely
foreign to someone like Steinbeck.
Whether this alone would have deterred him we do not know,
but Steinbecks critics dont let him continue with his
original vision of sticking close to Malory, and he ends up with
a curious earnestness leavened with burlesque humor. He finishes
by sounding like an earnest American trying to compete at satire
with a British Member of Parliament. Pity the poor American writer
who strays from his native earnestness and outrage and, without
the benefit of a dramatically ironic conceit for a book, tries to
achieve this satirical tone single-handedly.
With the shift in tone between his first and second draft,
Steinbeck is off on a completely new project, the one that Otis
and Horton encouraged him to write and liked well enough to publish
after his death. Where Steinbeck saw in his first draft the "beauty
and agony . . . and faith that blunts the edge of despair"
(Steinbeck, SJSU MS XI), Otis and Horton
saw fragments of fifteenth-century prose too faithfully rendered
into modern English. In some sense, Otis and Horton were right.
Reverence may not be the best tone to choose for a long narrative
filled with adventure. Reverence belongs in psalms, sermons, lives
of saints, hagiography. And this may be where Steinbeck fails to
see clearly what Malorys Morte Darthur is. The language,
the lack of novelistic detail and the strangely empty, yet profoundly
moral, landscape have misled more than one modern reader into feeling
a sort of reverence for the material. Yet Thomas Malory wrote with
no sense of reverence or irreverence for his characters or his French
book. The moral judgements of romance are implicit in the tale and
its setting and have nothing to do with authorial attitude. And
this is why Steinbeck ends up with pieces of Malory, encased in
the jewelled reliquaries of a modern prose style, psychology and
attitude toward landscape. Where Steinbeck sees the miracle wrought
by the relics of the saint (i.e. learning to read), Otis and Horton
see a piece of a bony finger encased in a silver box.
Modern tellers of the Arthur legend need to have a quest of
their own, and this is what Steinbeck fails to find between the
Scylla of his critics and the Charybdis of the Winchester manuscript.
He describes his frustration with searching for Arthur in his unpublished
introduction:
One does not discover Arthur. One recognizes him, so that it
is conceivable that we are Avalon and Arthur is here. It has taken
many years of my life to come to this astonishing simplicity.
I followed wildly and blindly this tale as though itself had been
a questing beast, flushed it from the lost hills of Wales, glimpsed
it in Ireland, in Somerset and Cornwall, and there it was in Brittany,
in Provence, in Sicily, back to England of the tidy alliterative,
back to the France of Chrétien. The questing which started
with Thomas Malory came back to him and so ended. For I had thought
that the more I could learn, the more I would know and I found
myself in a howling wildernesss of books each one clamouring "Look
at me! I am the one." And so I came back to Malory, rapist,
stealer of sheep, breaker of church furniture, plotter against
a dukes life, twice escaped from prison, until he became
knyght presoner and great master of the tale. It might have been
better if I had never left. No, thats not true. Malory becomes
greater by comparison. (Steinbeck, SJSU MS IV-V)
Steinbeck never completes the quest he set out on and in the end,
he has one clear desire: to recapture his own experience of learning
to read. This ultimately turns out not to be a very compelling vision
for a book. And I think Steinbeck knew this, even after all his
long work. The whole thing could (should?) have been left unpublished.
Many reviews intimated as much at the time: "A complete Arthurian
cycle from Steinbeck would have been good to have. The present version
remains an erratically charming curiosity" (Non-fiction
44), and the following, clearly in error about how many drafts there
are but perfectly astute in assessing how unfinished the work remains:
"Steinbeck died in New York in 1968. We are left with the first
draft. This is not strange in itself (although strange in its achievement
or lack of it) but frankly it is not good" (Kitely 540).
2
Steinbeck has tried to portray modern, novelistic relationships
between men and women and fill in the conversations they might have
had (and the domestic details, like underthings, gooseberries, pillows,
etc.). This may work for some of the peripheral adventures but what
is Lancelot going to say to Guenevere when he rescues her from the
fire? How will Gawain react when his unarmed brothers are killed
by Lancelot? Malorys prose reaches its pinnacle of expression
in the tragedy that will eventually engulf the kingdom. The understatement
is devastating. We do not need to know whether Gawain tears his
hair or clutches his sword in agony. The conversation is all. Now
to be fair to Steinbeck, I dont know what he would have done
when he got to the fall of the kingdom, but I think he could see
it coming. His critics had taken him down another path, and there
was no way he was going to desecrate the tragedy of Arthur with
this burlesque humor. What could Lancelot have said at the end?
The shift in tone would have been too great. On the other hand,
Steinbeck creates a compelling vernacular tragedy in Of Mice
and Men, so he might have been the writer to succeed here as
well. Yet he gave up the project after two good efforts and retreated
to his writing studio, named Joyous Garde, on Long Island.
Elaine Steinbeck, in her introduction to the 1995 edition of Tortilla
Flat, says "This big, brawny western-style middle-aged
manhe was Lancelot, wasnt he?" And here we come
back to Steinbecks bodily and mystical identification with
the Arthurian myths.
Steinbeck describes Malorys work as a "pale and
perfect measured parade." Is it the parade of Arthurian characters,
which makes them sound rather dread and otherworldly, a bit like
Keats "knight-at-arms / Alone and palely loitering"
(La Belle Dame sans Merci 1-2), or is he referring, as I
suggest above, to the pale and measured parade of Malorys
language? Though the latter is more certain, he probably had both
in mind. And somehow this pale and perfect measured parade was never
properly brought to life as a Steinbeck novel. It remains pale,
lifeless and measured, as if cut to fit the reliquary box that Malorys
prose became as Steinbeck rendered it into modern English. Romance
requires characters to be unaware of their own motivations and states
of mind, characters who dont know themselves because there
is no knower to know them, as if the matter of Britain simply told
the story by itself. The novel needs an author and Steinbeck, in
his veneration of Malory, was unable to wrest the story from Malorys
words and revivify it.
The Arthurian myths abound in Steinbecks world. Danny
with his faithful knights and his fight against a nameless evil,
Lenny as a giant or Beowulf-like figure with strength in his hands,
Catherine Trask as a Morgan le Fay-type enchanter. George tragically
destined to kill Lenny in the cause of justice, like Arthur who
must condemn Guinevere and Lancelot, the Dust Bowl as the Wasteland,
the blood feuds and dangerous women of East of Eden. Steinbeck
wanted to recapture the golden world of Arthur, as did Malory. The
story recedes from us infinitely; Arthur lived a thousand years
before Malory told his tale. There has been forever the mismatch
between this tale and the words to tell it. Steinbeck loved the
language of fifteenth-century England and the legends of Arthur.
If only he could have spoken Middle English as his native tongue,
think of what wonders he might have wrought.
APPENDICES
These two appendices present Steinbecks versions of the first
draft up to the point where he stopped editing. The third appendix
is a description of the typescript.
Appendix A
This is the first version typed as found in the SJSU MS. Later
pencil corrections are NOT included:
ARTHUR
When Uther Pendragon was king of all England, there was a mighty
duke in Cornwall who made war against him. This duke was called
the Duke of Tintagil. After a long time, King Uther sent for the
duke charging him to bring his wife with him, for she was known
as a fair and a wise lady, and her name was Igraine. When the duke
and his wife came to the king, he gave them great honor and entertained
them both. The king loved the Lady Igraine and he desired her. But
she was a good woman and would not consent to the king. She told
the duke her husband, "I suppose we were sent for that I should
be dishonored; wherefore, my husband, let us depart and ride secretly
into the night to our own castle." So they departed secretly.
When King Uther knew of their escape, he was angry. He called
his privy council and told them what had happened. The council advised
the king to order the duke and his wife to return. They said, "If
he will not come at your summons, then you will have cause to make
war upon him." The messengers rode and brought the answer back.
The answer was that neither the duke nor his wife would come. Then
the king was furious. He sent hard word again and told the duke
to get ready to defend himself, for within forty days he would fetch
him out of the biggest castle he had.
When the duke had this warning, he prepared two strong castles
for defense, the castle of Tintagil and the Castle Terrabil. Igraine,
he put in the Castle Tintigil, and himself went to defend the castle
of Terrabil.
And King Uther marched with a great army and laid siege to
the Castle Terrabil. He pitched his tents before it and attacked
the walls so that many people on both sides were killed. Then from
anger and for great love of Igraine, King Uther fell sick.
At this time, Sir Ulfius a noble knight, came to King Uther
and asked him why he was sick.
"I shall tell you," said the king. "I am sick
from rage and I am sick from love of the fair Igraine. And I may
not be cured."
"Well my Lord," said Sir Ulfius, "I shall seek
Merlin, the wizard. He will cure you and your heart will be happy."
So Sir Ulfius departed and by chance he met Merlin, dressed
in beggars clothes. Merlin asked Ulfius whom he sought; and
he would not tell him.
"Well," said Merlin, "I know whom you seek.
You seek Merlin and therefore seek no farther for I am he. And if
the king will reward me and will be sworn to fulfill what I wish,
then shall he get what he wishes for I shall cause him to have all
his desire."
"All of this I will undertake," said Sir Ulfius,
"so long as there is nothing unreasonable in what you desire."
"Well," said Merlin, "I will grant him his desire;
and therefore, ride on your way and I will follow you not far behind."
Then Sir Ulfius was glad and rode with great speed back to
King Uther Pendragon and told him he had met Merlin.
"Where is he?" asked the king.
"Sir," said Ulfius, "he will come before long."
Then Sir Ulfius saw Merlin standing before the tent. Then King
Uther saw him and welcomed him.
"Sir," said Merlin, "I know your heart and I
know your wishes. If you will swear as a true king to fulfill my
desire, you shall have your desire."
Then the king swore on the gospel that he would do so.
"Sir," said Merlin, "you shall lie with Igraine
and she will have a child. And when the child is born, you must
give it to me to take care of. I promise that this will be good
for you and for the child."
"I promise," said the king.
"Now make you ready," said Merlin. "I shall
put a spell on you this night and you shall lie with Igraine in
the castle of Tintagil, for she will think you are her husband the
duke. But do not speak with her nor with her men. Say only that
you are not well and must go to rest. And so, hie you to bed and
rise not on the morning until I come to you."
And so it was agreed.
But the Duke of Tintagil saw from the castle walls that the
king rode away; and that night he charged out of the castle and
attacked the kings army. During the fight, the duke himself
was killed; even before the king came to the castle of Tintigil
and to Igraine.
King Uther, under Merlins spell looking like the the
[sic] duke, lay with Igraine and she conceived the child Arthur.
In the morning, Merlin came to the king and bade him make ready.
And so he kissed the Lady Igraine and departed in all haste. Then
the lady heard the news that her husband was killed the night before,
and she marvelled whom it might be that lay with her in the likeness
of her lord. But she mourned alone and did not speak of it.
Then all the barons, by one voice, begged the king to make
peace between himself and the Lady Igraine. And the king said that
he would have it so for he wanted to keep peace with her. And he
put his trust in Ulfius to beg a meeting between them.
"Consider," said Ulfius to Igraine, "That our
kings a lusty knight and wifeless, and my Lady Igraine is
a passing fair lady. It would be a great joy to us all if it might
please the king to make Igraine his queen." (NB This seems
to be a slip in who is addressing whom.)
The barons were very much in favor of this and they begged
the king to make her his queen, and Arthur [hard to read], like
the good knight he was, he consented with good will. And so in all
haste they were married in the morning with great mirth and joy
all around.
And King Lot of Lothian and of Orkney, then wedded Margawse
that was Gawains mother, and King Nentres of the Land of Garlot
wedded Elaine. All this was done at the request of King Arthur.
The third sister, Morganlefay [sic], was put to school in a nunnery
where she learned so much that she became an expert in magic and
later she was wedded to King Uryens of the Land of Gore, who was
the brother of Sir Ewyans le Blanche Mains.
Then Igraine waxed great with child and after half a year,
as King Uther lay beside his queen, he asked her by the faith she
owed him, who was the father of her child and she was embarassed
to answer him.
"Do not be dismayed," said the king, "but tell
me the truth and I will love you the better for it, I promise."
"Sire," said she, "I shall tell you the truth.
The same night that my lord was killed, at the same hour by the
knights report, there came into my castle of Tintagil a man
exactly like my lord in speech and face; and two knights with him
in the likeness of his two knights, Barcias and Jordans. And so
I went unto bed with him as I ought to do with my lord, and on the
same nightas I shall answer to Godthis child was conceived."
"That is the truth," said the king, "for it
was myself who came to you."
And he told her how it was done with Merlins counsel
and help.
Then the queen was glad when she knew who was the father of
her child. Soon Merlin came to the king and said,
"Sire, you must provide for the care of you child."
"As you wish, so be it," said the king.
Appendix B
This is the second Steinbeck version, including all the pencilled
changes found in the SJSU MS.
I
When Uther Pendragon was king of all England, a mighty duke
in Cornwall, called the Duke of Tintagil, defied him. After a time,
King Uther sent for the duke and charged him to bring his wife with
him, for she was known as a fair and a wise lady, and her name was
Igraine.
When the duke and his wife came to Uther, he gave them great
honor and entertained them and the king loved the Lady Igraine and
desired her, but she was a good woman and would not consent to the
king.
She told the duke her husband, "I believe we were sent
for that I should be dishonored; wherefore, my husband, let us depart
in haste and ride in the night to our own castle." So they
departed secretly.
When King Uther learned of their escape, he was angry. He called
his privy council and told them what had happened. The council advised
the king to order the duke and his wife to return.
They said, "If he will not come at your summons, then
you will have cause to make war upon him." The messengers rode
and brought the answer back that neither the duke nor his wife would
come.
Then the king was furious. He sent an angry message telling
the duke to get ready to defend himself, for within forty days the
king would fetch him out of the biggest castle he had.
When the duke had this warning, he prepared two strong castles
for defense, the castle of Tintagil and the Castle Terrabil. Igraine,
he put in the Castle Tintagil, and himself went to defend the castle
of Terrabil.
And King Uther marched with a great army and laid siege to
the Castle Terrabil. He pitched his tents before it and attacked
the walls so that many people on both sides were killed. Then from
anger and from longing for Igraine, King Uther fell despondent.
At this time, Sir Ulfius a noble knight, came to King Uther
and asked him about his sickness.
"I shall tell you," said the king. "I am sick
from rage and I am sick from love of the fair Igraine. And I may
not be cured."
"Well my Lord," said Sir Ulfius, "I shall seek
Merlin, the wizard. He will cure you and make your heart be happy."
So Sir Ulfius departed and by chance he met Merlin, dressed
as a beggar. Merlin asked Ulfius whom he sought; and he would not
tell a beggar.
Merlin said, "I know whom you seek. You seek Merlin and
therefore seek no farther for I am Merlin. And if the king will
reward me and will swear to do what I wish, then shall he get what
he wishes for I shall cause him to have all his desire."
"All of this I will undertake," said Sir Ulfius,
"so long as there is nothing unreasonable in what you desire."
"Well," said Merlin, "I will grant him his desire;
and therefore, ride back to the king, and I will follow you not
far behind."
Then Sir Ulfius was glad and rode with great speed back to
King Uther Pendragon and told him he had met Merlin.
"Where is he?" asked the king.
"Sir," said Ulfius, "he will come before long."
Then Sir Ulfius saw Merlin standing before the tent, and King
Uther saw him and welcomed him.
"Sir," said Merlin, "I know your heart and I
know your wishes. If you will swear as a true king to fulfill my
desire, you shall have your desire."
Then the king swore on the gospel that he would do so.
"Sir," said Merlin, "you shall lie with Igraine
and she will have a child. And when the child is born, you must
give it to me to care for. I promise that this will be good for
you and for the child."
"I promise," said the king.
"Then make you ready," said Merlin. "For you
shall go to Igraine in the castle of Tintagil. I will put a spell
on you so that she will think you are her husband the duke. But
do not speak with her nor with her men. Say only that you are not
well and must go to rest. Then get you to bed and rise not on the
morning until I come to you."
And so it was agreed.
But the Duke ["castle walls" is not erased and makes
no sense here] of Terrabil saw that the king rode away from his
camp and that night he charged out of the castle and attacked the
kings army. During the fight, the duke himself was killed
even before the king came to the castle of Tintigil [sic] and to
Igraine.
King Uther, under Merlins spell seemed like the the [sic]
duke and he lay with Igraine and she conceived the child Arthur.
In the morning, Merlin came for the king and bade him make
ready. And so he kissed the Lady Igraine and departed in all haste.
Soon the lady heard the news that her husband was killed the night
before, and she marvelled whom it might be that lay with her in
the likeness of her lord. But she mourned alone and did not speak
of it.
Then all the barons, with one voice, begged the king to make
peace between himself and the Lady Igraine. And the king agreed
that he would have it so. He put his trust in Ulfius to arrange
a meeting between them.
"Consider," said Ulfius to Igraine, "that our
king is a lusty knight and wifeless, and my Lady Igraine is a passing
fair lady. It would be a great joy to us all if it might please
the king to make you his queen."
The barons were very much in favor of this. They begged the
king to make her his queen, and, like the good knight he was, he
consented gladly. And so in all haste they were married in the morning
with great mirth and joy all around.
Then at the request of Uther Pendragon King Lot of Lothian
and Orkney wedded Margawse that was Gawains mother, and King
Nentres of the Land of Garlot wedded Elaine. The third sister, Morgan
le Fay, was put to school in a nunnery where she learned so much
that she became an expert in magic.
Igraine waxed great with child, and, after half a year, as
King Uther lay beside his queen, he asked her by the loyalty she
owed him, who was the father of her child. And Igraine was embarassed
to answer him.
"Do not be dismayed," said the king, "Tell me
the truth and I will love you the better for it, I promise."
"Sire," said she, "The same night that my lord
was killed, at the same hour, there came into my castle of Tintagil
a man exactly like my lord in speech and face; and two knights with
him in the likeness of his two knights, Barcias and Jordans. I went
to bed with him as I ought to do with my lord. And on that same
nightas I shall answer to Godthis child was conceived."
"That is the truth," said the king, "It was
myself who came to you."
And he told her how it was done with Merlins counsel
and magic and the queen was glad when she knew he was the father
of her child.
Soon Merlin came to the king and said,
"Sire, you must provide for the care of your child."
"As you wish, so be it," said the king.
Appendix C
Description of the Martha Heasley Cox Center for
Steinbeck Studies Typescript
The typescript of John Steinbecks Acts of King Arthur
consists of an original typed, doubled-spaced text on 8-1/2 by 11"
paper. A carbon copy of this typescript is found in the Steinbeck
Collection of the Arthur Ransom Humanities Library, University of
Texas at Austin. The Texas manuscript has 529 pages. The San Jose
typescript has 576 pages and is divided into the following chapters:
Introduction (unfinished) I-XI
Arthur (title effaced) 1
Knight of the Two Swords 101
Torre and Pellinor 163
Death of Merlin and the War with the Five Kings 211
Arthur and Accolon 227
Gawain, Ewain and Marhalt 261
Sir Lancelot du Lacke 311
The Tale of Gareth of Orkney 386
one blank sheet after 419
The Book of Sir Tristram de Lyones Isode the Fair 540
Pages 1-8 contain numerous editorial changes in pencil. No other
pages have any editing (except the Newgate comment on the introduction).
The manuscript is currently housed in a green, somewhat dilapidated
Abercrombie and Fitch box, in which it was sent to San Jose State
University by Elaine Steinbeck in the late 1990s. A handwritten
letter on small notepaper in pencil is attached with an envelope
to the outside of the box (see text of article for this letter printed
in full).
A photocopy of the typescript of the second draft of Steinbecks
Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights is found in the
Steinbeck collection of the Bracken Library, Ball State University,
Muncie, Indiana. This was given to Ball State by Dr. Tetsumaro Hayashi,
who received it from Elizabeth Otis in July 1976.
NOTES
1 The history of this text is somewhat complex. Steinbecks
first draft was put away sometime after 1959, was never published
and dropped from sight. He worked on a completely new draft some
years later, and this second draft is the text that was published
posthumously in an edition that included selected letters and journal
entries relating to the entire writing process of his Acts.
Though Otis and Horton were aware of the first draft, it was not
consulted or used for the published version. Later commentators
seem unaware of the existence of this earlier draft. As far as I
can tell, this paper is the first to distinguish between the two
drafts. See Appendix C for further details of these manuscripts.
Return
2 With the discovery of the San Jose State manuscript,
we know now that the reviewer here is referring to the second draft.
Return
WORKS CITED
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Hayashi, Tetsumaro, ed. Steinbeck and the Arthurian Theme.
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Simmonds, Roy S. "A Note on Steinbecks Unpublished
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Steinbeck, John. The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights.
Ed. Chase Horton. New York: Ballantine, 1976. This edition includes
an extensive appendix drawn from Steinbecks letters and
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-----. Manuscript of The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble
Knights. (First Draft typed and annotated in pencil.) Martha
Heasley Cox Center for Steinbeck Studies, San Jose State University,
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Sundermeier, Michael. "Why Steinbeck Didnt Finish
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CONTENTS
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