I never understood why we should care about a stupid king and his stupid wife and her stupid lover.
However, that was the opinion of a 13 year old, carried on for ten years, until I took my second Arthurian literature class, and read two authors on Arthur: first, I was introduced to Gillian Bradshaw's Gwalchmai (Gawain) trilogy (Hawk of May, Kingdom of Summer, and In Winter's Shadow), which finally presented the characters in such a way that I cared about them, and ended in a way both profoundly painful yet sweetly hopeful. Second, I finally reread The Once and Future King. White's ability with words had always enthralled my poetry-starved heart (and yet, I still hate poetry, in general - but find poetic prose unbearably beautiful - as in Tolkien's The Silmarillion - in that and in The Once and Future King, I often find myself reading aloud to myself in a whisper just to hear the sound of the words), but I didn't have the life experience to understand the true emotional weight of the tragedy.
But now, I finally get it. Arthur's tragedy hits me with full force - in Bradshaw, as a man passionate for Light and making the world a better place for the poor and and rich alike to live - in White, a boy, bewildered at becoming king (even as an ancient man), "a simple and affectionate man, because Merlyn had believed love and simplicity were worth having." Never very bright (as a very bright - and arrogant - 13 year old, I found his dimness particularly frustrating - more fool me), but always noble in the very best sense of the word.
Now, as a 23 year old (still bright, still arrogant, but I hope a little wiser), I find myself nearly weeping when I read the book. And so I leave you at present with these two quotations:
"Arthur, who had come pattering through the stone ridors of his palace with a mind fixed on the work in front of him, stood waiting in the doorway without surprise. The men of the chevron and thistle, turning to him, saw the King in the last minute of his glory. They stood for a few heartbeats silent, and Gareth, in a pain of recognition, saw him as he was. He did not see a hero of romance, but a plain man who had doen his best -- not a leader of chivalry but the pupil who had tried to be faithful to his curious master, the magician, by thinking all the time -- not Arthur of Englad, but a lonely old gentleman who had worn the crown for half a lifetime in the teeth of fate.
Gareth threw himself on his knees."
"He [Arthur] smiley gravely, saying: "We hope it will be speedy."
But he was referring to his death...
At the last moment a hand was tugging at his sleeve, reminding him of the friend he had forgotten. He lifted the Hedgehog with both hands under its armpits, and held it at arms length, face to face.
"Ah, tiggy," he said. "Us have thee to thank for royalty. Farewell, tiggy, and a merry life to thee and thy sweet songs."
But the hedgehog paddled its feet as if it were bicycling, because it wanted to be put down. It tugged the sleeve again, when it was safe upon the floor, and the old man lowered his ear to hear the whisper.
"Nay, nay," it mentioned hoarsely, clutching his hand, looking earnestly in his face. "Say not Farewell."
It tugged again, dropping its voice to the brink of silence.
"Orryvoyer," whispered the urchin. "Orryvoyer." (from The Book of Merlyn - unpublished and preachy, but still agonizingly poignant at this ending - conclusion to The Once and Future King)
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