The Dolorous Stroke

The Post-Vulgate Cycle

Then he sprang from the table and said to all the others, “Take care that none of you be so bold as to lay a hand on him, for I hope to settle the matter all alone.” Then he ran to a great wooden rod that was in the middle of the room and raised it up, and he ran to attack the other knight, who held his sword drawn—not the one with which he had delivered the maiden to death but another. When the Knight with Two Swords saw the king coming, he did not refuse him but raised his sword. The king surprised him from one side and struck against the sword so hard that he broke it just below the hilt, so that the blade fell to the ground and the hilt remained in his hand. When the Knight with Two Swords saw this, he was more than a little frightened. He sprang quickly into a room, for he thought he would find a weapon there. But when he got there he found nothing at all, and then he was more frightened than before, for he saw that the king was after him with his club raised.

He ran into another room, which was longer, but he found no more there than in the first, except that he saw that the rooms were the most beautiful in the world and the richest he had ever seen. He looked and saw the open door of a third room, which was longer yet, and he headed that way to go inside, for he thought all the while to find some weapon there with which to defend himself against the man who pursued him so closely. When he wanted to enter the room, he heard a voice, which cried to him, “Woe to you if you enter, for you are not worthy to enter such a noble place.”

He heard the voice clearly but did not, for that, leave his path but dashed into the room and found that it was so beautiful and rich that he did not think the whole world held its equal for beauty. The room was square and marvelously large and sweet smelling, as if all the spices in the world had been brought there. In one part of the room was a silver table, broad and tall, supported on three silver legs. On the table, right in the middle, was a vessel of silver and gold, and standing in this vessel was a lance, the point up and the shaft down. And whoever looked long at the lance wondered how it stood upright, for it was not supported on any side. The Knight with Two Swords looked at the lance, but he did not recognize it. He headed that way and heard another voice, which cried loudly to him, “Do not touch it! You will sin!”

In spite of this warning, he took the lance in both hands and struck King Pellehan, who was behind him, so hard that he pierced both his thighs. The king fell to the ground, severely wounded. The knight drew the lance back to himself and put it back in the vessel from which he had taken it. As soon as it was back there, it held itself as erect as it had before. When he had done this, he turned quickly toward the palace, for it seemed to him that he was well avenged, but before he got there the whole palace began to shake; all the rooms did the same, and all the walls shook as if they would instantly fall down and disintegrate. Everyone in the palace was so dumbfounded at this marvel that there was no one brave enough to remain standing, but they began to fall, one here, the other there, just as if they were all dead. They all had their eyes closed, so as not to see the hour they would all fall into the abyss. Because they saw that the palace shook and trembled as hard as if it would fall down at once, they thought that the end of the world had come and that they must now die.

Then came among them a voice as loud as a wild man’s, which said clearly, “Now begin the adventures and marvels of the Kingdom of Adventures, which will not cease until a high price is paid for soiled, befouled hands having touched the Holy Lance and wounded the most honored of princes, and the High Master will avenge it on those who have not deserved it.”

This excerpt is from:

The Merlin Continuation, trans. Martha Asher, in Lancelot-Grail: The Old French Arthurian Vulgate and Post-Vulgate in Translation, ed. Norris J. Lacy (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2010), Vol. 8.

Malory’s Version

The Post-Vulgate Cycle’s account of the Dolorous Stroke, written in the early 13th century, emphasizes the sacred nature of the Holy Lance and the gravity of Balin’s transgression. When Sir Thomas Malory adapted this story for his Le Morte d’Arthur in the late 15th century, he drastically condensed the narrative, stripping away much of its mystical and theological weight. Gone are the warnings against entering the sacred chamber, the detailed description of the lance standing miraculously upright in its golden vessel, and the explicit identification of the weapon as the Holy Lance that pierced Christ’s side. Malory reduces what was a profound meditation on sacrilege and divine judgment to a mere plot device—a warrior seeking any weapon at hand in the heat of combat. This editorial choice diminishes one of the Arthurian cycle’s most powerful images of Christ: the Lance that wounded the Savior becomes, in Malory’s hands, merely “a marvellous spear strangely wrought,” its sacred significance buried beneath the demands of narrative economy.

Anon all the knights arose from the table for to set on Balin, and King Pellam himself arose up fiercely, and said, Knight, hast thou slain my brother? thou shalt die therefor or thou depart. Well, said Balin, do it yourself. Yes, said King Pellam, there shall no man have ado with thee but myself, for the love of my brother. Then King Pellam caught in his hand a grim weapon and smote eagerly at Balin; but Balin put the sword betwixt his head and the stroke, and therewith his sword burst in sunder. And when Balin was weaponless he ran into a chamber for to seek some weapon, and so from chamber to chamber, and no weapon he could find, and always King Pellam after him. And at the last he entered into a chamber that was marvellously well dight and richly, and a bed arrayed with cloth of gold, the richest that might be thought, and one lying therein, and thereby stood a table of clene gold with four pillars of silver that bare up the table, and upon the table stood a marvellous spear strangely wrought. And when Balin saw that spear, he gat it in his hand and turned him to King Pellam, and smote him passingly sore with that spear, that King Pellam fell down in a swoon, and therewith the castle roof and walls brake and fell to the earth, and Balin fell down so that he might not stir foot nor hand. And so the most part of the castle, that was fallen down through that dolorous stroke, lay upon Pellam and Balin three days.

This excerpt is from:

Le Morte d’Arthur, Book II, Chapter XV.