Authorial intention in Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur as related to the theories of Vladimir Propp and Heiserman's interpretation of Chariton's Callirhoe
Texts: Sir Thomas Malory, Le Morte D’Arthur; Vladimir Propp, Morphology of the Folktale; Chariton, Callirhoë; Arthur Heiserman, “Aphrodisian Chastity”; traditional Russian folk tales

Sir Thomas Malory’s Launcelot stories in Le Morte D’Arthur present themselves as containing almost no substance as a result of the author’s intent. The very manner in which the tales are told suggests little, of any, involvement on Malory’s part to make them what he wanted, but rather as byproducts of an already existing legend. This can be noted in the complete absence of omniscience on the part of the narrator, the structural similarity of Malory’s method and that of Vladimir Propp, and in turn, the obvious differences between the Launcelot stories and Arthur Heiserman’s interpretation of Chariton’s extremely author-influenced Callirhoë. After examining these elements of Malory’s tales, it is questionable whether the term “author” can be applied to Malory in conjunction with the tales of Launcelot in the first place.

The Arthurian legend, and the story of Launcelot and Guinever, is a widely known and cherished ancient tale; speculations about its origin have been churned out for years, especially regarding whether or not the story has any historical accuracy. In addition, there have been countless versions of this particular story, Malory’s being one among many, although unquestionably one of the first fully told in literature. The entity that writes a story down is usually credited with being the author; however, with a story this well-known, to the point where it has become not only a tale but a legend, one should be more hesitant in attributing its creation to someone who, in Malory’s case, is not even confirmed to ever have existed. Myths, for example, are familiar to many people but not always written down; this doesn’t mean that any random person who picks up a pen and puts the story of Prometheus on paper will be automatically deemed the “author” of the myth.

It would appear more appropriate, therefore, to credit the writing of the Launcelot tales to the public as a whole, or at the very least, a group of storytellers who passed the tale down to so many generations. Indeed, Malory’s own version often refers to previous works on the same subject. Le Morte D’Arthur would then seem to work better with the term “adaptation”; that is, Malory took bits and pieces of stories from other sources telling of Launcelot and threw them together, creating his own book. Such a method does not leave much room for any goals on the part of Malory himself.

Parallels can already be drawn between Malory and Vladimir Propp’s theories in Morphology of the Folktale. Propp’s claims about the structure of stories arises from his study of Russian fairy tales that, like the legend of Launcelot, have no definite origin except that of “the people”, and like the Launcelot episodes, seems essentially the same regarding their content. In his Morphology, Propp proposes that folktales can be broken down into single principal elements, called functions. He also states the hypotheses that, not only are the function the same throughout every tale, the sequence of these elements can be efficiently and easily predicted: “The sequence of events has its own laws... freedom within this sequence is restricted by very narrow limits which can be exactly formulated” (22). That is to say, the tales consist of simply the same things happening over and over again in a specific order. Now, Malory’s Launcelot story runs more as one long story rather than many short tales, like those that Propp worked with. Nevertheless, one can observe that although there is no specific sequence of functions to work with, extremely similar events do take place all through the story of Launcelot - he battles knights, he defeats knights, he performs noble acts, he angers Guinever, he regains the trust and love of Guinever, and so on. Although arranged in a certain order, these same things occur so often that a sense of randomness is almost felt, as if Malory had no particular purpose; he simply relayed the stories in a sensible order. One would be reluctant to degrade Malory to the status of a lowly LMK generator, but his role in writing the Launcelot stories seems to be exactly that of a computerised tool. This is so close to the claim of Propp and his fairy tales that the Launcelot stories take on a definite “Russian folktale” quality, stories that simply generate themselves with no defined author.

Another interesting aspect of this argument is Malory’s narrative technique itself, in disregard to the actual events occurring. Malory writes as if he were a simple scribe on the scene, observing the actions of the characters with little interest. There is little or no involvement in their minds or emotions. Malory seems to have no control over what Launcelot ends up doing or thinking, giving him, in essence, a mind of his own. The same can be said of the supporting cast, including Guinever, as seen when Launcelot upsets her (a common occurrence): “All this while the queen stood still... and when he had all said she brast out on weeping, and so she sobbed and wept a great while” (375). The behavior is present but the mind is not, not even when a character is apparently experiencing severe emotional distress. It’s almost as if Malory doesn’t care about his characters - which rules out the possibility that he could care what happens to them or how they feel, which is the root of authorial intention.

In perfect contrast with Malory’s apathetic style, ancient Greek writer Chariton practically laments along with his characters in his novel Callirhoë. Almost every action falls in perfect accordance with a particular motivation or emotion expounded on in the text. For example, Callirhoë’s husband Chaereas falls victim to the plot of suitors, so that Chaereas suspects Callirhoë of uncouth merrymaking. Both Chaereas’s actions and feelings are described: “... he brust in upon Callirhoë, his anger was changed to sorrow and he tore his clothes and shed tears. When she asked him what had happened, he was speechless, being able neither to disbelieve what he had seen, not yet to believe what he was unwilling to accept” (41). Even the very minor characters have, at the very least, emotions and goals: “The unsuccessful suitors felt anger as well as disappointment” (37). Chariton’s empathy towards the characters reveals his intentional ends for them as well as any goals the people in the story themselves might have.

The thing to take note of with respect to Chariton’s novel is the evident dissonance between Propp’s opinions, for which he has no need of mentioning any author, and the exposition which Arthur Heiserman gives on Callirhoë. Heiserman continuously speaks of the intentions of the author, whether they be of the creation of the story or the characters: “Chariton’s invention seems to have been guided by a single conception... [which] could have led Chariton to the writing of a tragedy... but Chariton... made a story of an admirable, even flawless, woman...” (86-87). The apparent accordance between Propp’s views and Malory’s Launcelot story suggests an extreme anterior position, that of a sequence of tales for whose study the author’s perspective is not needed. And if no author is truly needed, the idea of authorial intention has no relevance whatsoever.

The random, apathetic nature of the Launcelot tales no doubt has something to do with the fact that these people had already been invented prior to Malory writing about them, whether through oral tradition or written legend. Malory, whomever that title belongs to, may have felt that he had no right to delve into already established characters’ personalities, and therefore found a dependable way for them to act and stuck with it. When Sir Bors goes to tell Sir Launcelot of a plight regarding Queen Guinever on page 381 of Morte D’Arthur, there is no doubt that Launcelot will come valiantly to the queen’s rescue. The prospect of Launcelot refusing to come to her aid would be one too out of character for Malory to tamper with, and whether he had intended to or not, it can be deduced that Malory had no intention of following his intention.

The final verdict on authorial intention can be determined in that Propp’s theories and Malory’s plight correlate perfectly, albeit in a negative direction. Propp explains the existence of action and function without a fixed character, or “dramatis personnae” as he calls them: “...functions, as such, are the subjects of the present study - and not their performers nor the objects dependent on them..." (79). The Launcelot stories are, in fact, in the opposite way dependent on their established characters rather than established functions (although repeated and common acts can be identified, as was explained earlier). Both are fixed and predetermined layouts; however, Propp defines character by action and Malory defines action by character - both by preexisting, unoriginal formulas. The very essence of a formula, as in the program for an LMK generator, prevents an author for having substantial intentions other than what is randomly and mechanically produced. It is fundamentally improbable, therefore, for authorial intention to have been any central cause of Malory’s Launcelot stories.


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