known French original; and is strongly English in many characteristics
besides its verse-form.

On the whole, however, one need have no difficulty in admitting that the
majority of these romances _do_ somewhat content themselves with
incident, incident only, and incident not merely of a naïf but of a
stock kind, for their staple. There are striking situations, even striking
phrases, here and there; there is plenty of variety in scene, and more than
is sometimes thought in detail; but the motive-and-character-interest is
rarely utilised as it might be, and very generally is not even suggested.
There is seldom any real plot or "fable"--only a chain of events: and
though no one but a very dull person will object to the supernatural
element, or to the exaggerated feats of professedly natural prowess and
endurance, it cannot be said that on the whole they are artistically
managed. You feel, not merely that the picture would have been better if
the painter had taken more pains, but that the reason why he did not
is that he did not know how.

Sir Thomas Malory, himself most unknown perhaps of all great writers,
did know how; and a cynical person might echo the _I nunc_ of the Roman
satirist, and dwell on the futility of doing great things, in reference
to the fact that it used to be fashionable, and is still not uncommon,
to call Malory a "mere compiler." Indeed from the direction which modern
study so often takes, of putting inquiry into origins above everything,
and neglecting the consideration of the work as work, this practice is
not likely soon to cease. But no mistake about the mysterious
Englishman (the place-names with which the designation is connected are
all pure English) is possible to any one who has read his book, and who
knows what prose fiction is. _The Noble Histories of King Arthur, La
Morte d'Arthur, The Story of the most Noble and Worthy King Arthur, The