words," and all that Tennyson gives, and, in Mr Harrison's theory,
gives without authority in the romance, my quotations from Malory
demonstrate. They are chosen at a casual opening of his book. That
there "had not arisen in the world" "the idea of reverencing
conscience" before the close of the fifteenth century A.D. is an
extraordinary statement for a critic of history to offer.

Mr Harrison makes his protest because "in the conspiracy of silence
into which Tennyson's just fame has hypnotised the critics, it is
bare honesty to admit defects." I think I am not hypnotised, and I
do not regard the Idylls as the crown of Tennyson's work. But it is
not his "defect" to have introduced generosity, gentleness,
conscience, and chastity where no such things occur in his sources.
Take Sir Darras: his position is that of Priam when he meets
Achilles, who slew his sons, except that Priam comes as a suppliant;
Sir Darras has Tristram in his hands, and may slay him. He is "too
polite," as Mr Harrison says: he is too good a Christian, or too
good a gentleman. One would not have given a tripod for the life of
Achilles had he fallen into the hands of Priam. But between 1200
B.C. (or so) and the date of Malory, new ideas about "living sweet
lives" had arisen. Where and when do they not arise? A British
patrol fired on certain Swazis in time of truce. Their lieutenant,
who had been absent when this occurred, rode alone to the stronghold
of the Swazi king, Sekukoeni, and gave himself up, expecting death by
torture. "Go, sir," said the king; "we too are gentlemen." The idea
of a "sweet life" of honour had dawned even on Sekukoeni: it lights
up Malory's romance, and is reflected in Tennyson's Idylls, doubtless
with some modernism of expression.

That the Idylls represent no real world is certain. That Tennyson