“I Thank God for This Trouble”
How to be cheerful when the world is burning
It is hard to be cheerful when civilization itself is threatened with destruction. Especially when you’ve spent your entire adult life fighting and scrapping to achieve the kind of security your parents were born into, and never had to fight for. And so when you finally do achieve that security — or even just some semblance, or approximation of it — seeing the dust kicked up by a barbarian horde on their way to come tear it all down… well, that’s enough to make even the stout-hearted want to lie down and give up.
This is precisely the situation King Arthur faces in the great Middle English poem that scholars call the Alliterative Morte Arthure. It is a masterpiece of medieval narrative verse, and one of the most important texts that Thomas Malory drew on for the now “standard” account of King Arthur’s life, Le Morte d’Arthur.
The poem opens with a freshly triumphant Arthur, who has finally reconquered all the lands that his father, Uther, had ruled. Anyone familiar with Arthur will know that this Arthurian reconquista was required because Arthur had been raised away from the court by foster parents. His identity is revealed when he pulls the sword out of the stone, but even then, no one really believes he is Uther’s son — why would this strange boy be royal? So, Arthur is forced to spend his early reign bringing rebellious nobles to heel in order to restore his father’s kingdom. Which he does, and that is precisely where the Alliterative Morte Arthure begins.
Finally, England and all Arthur’s realms know peace. His lords and nobles can rest. The great work of kingdom-building gets underway. Arthur establishes the brand new city of Caerleon, calls together the Round Table, and goes on a domestic tour with his court until settling into Carlisle. There, they plan a ten-day-long Christmas celebration. You can picture the most nostalgic of all possible scenes: snow falling on the English countryside and covering the trees and the battlements of the castle, fires blazing in hearths big enough for a man to stand in, and tables gleaming with golden dishes piled with every delicacy. The Alliterative poet, in fact, goes into great depth on this point.
At that precise moment, though, as the court eases into the Christmas feast, messengers from Sir Lucius, the Emperor of Rome, arrive. Seeing that Arthur has reconquered all of the lands his father Uther once ruled, they demand that Arthur pay tribute on them all — to Lucius. And if Arthur refuses, the messengers threaten him, Lucius will, “Burn Britain the broad and beat down your knights.” He will hunt Arthur down like a wild animal if he refuses to pay. The Christmas peace, suffice to say, is shattered.
The barbarians, then, are at the gate, clamoring not only for Arthur’s gold, but for his humiliation. For if he gives in and pays tribute to Lucius, he will admit publicly — for all the world to see — that Lucius is his better. Who will stand against Rome? Shall he go back to war and yet again set aside the royal work of ruling his kingdom? Who could be cheerful in such a situation?
Arthur retreats to “the Giant’s Tower” to confer with his advisers while the Roman messengers feast on Arthur’s food. Who is the first to speak? With a twinkle in his eye, or maybe more like a flame burning in his soul, Sir Cador of Cornwall addresses his King:
I thank God for this trouble that threatens us thus!
You will be thrown down, I think, unless you threaten better!
The letters of Sir Lucius lighten my heart.
We have lived like losers many long days
With delights in this land on our lordly estates
We were losing our laud, who looks up to us now?
I have grown sore ashamed in front of strong soldiers,
Despairing and downtrodden, our great deeds had been banned.
Now awakens the war! Worshiped be Christ!
And we shall win it again by man’s wanton strength!
Who knows if Arthur will win a war against Lucius? Cador doesn’t draw up spreadsheets to compare troop capacity of the two sides and run regressions to model out potential outcomes. He looks at his own honor, which in lazy peacetime has grown flabby, and looks at his king’s honor, which has been insulted by the messengers from Rome, and he “thanks God for this trouble that threatens us thus!”
The outcome is not certain — even the details of how to wage a war against the Roman Emperor are not certain. But Cador knows what time it is. My favorite part of his speech is the conclusion:
Now awakens the war! Worshiped be Christ!
And we shall win it again by man’s wanton strength!
As anyone who has endured business meetings knows, the first person to speak, and the energy with which they speak, is decisive: It determines the “vibe” of the whole meeting. And Cador, indeed, prevails. The other lords and nobles encourage Arthur to fight.
The great king looks round at his followers, and ends the meeting with this:
I account no king that under Christ lives;
While I see you all sound, I set by no man.
Kings, find your Cador. Find your Round Table. When the barbarians are at the gates and the future of civilization looks bleak, they will worship Christ with you, and then go win the war. So long as Christ lives, no other kings need be accounted.
N.B.: The translations from the Middle English are my own.
