of making one or two syllables, as the metre may require, of Charles, Neimes, and Guenes; and of similarly treating past participles. The vowels of “to,” “the,” and some other words I have treated as elided before initial vowels: “The Archbishop” and “The Emperour” are invariably three syllables; “That Archbishop” and “That Emperour” are four.
The light thrown by Prosody, a science that once heard my vows of lifelong service is, I find after five years spent in reading Routine Orders and writing on Army Forms, dazzling rather than illuminant. I have therefore asked the Historian of Prosody, of French and of English Literature, and (incidentally) of Criticism, to review my work in its relation to the original, asperging both with the blessings of his unexhausted pen.
Scottish Presbyterian readers may, meanwhile, like to be reminded that the whole poem can be sung, both in French and English, to the favourite tune of their metrical Psalm:
“Now Israel may say, and that truly.”
And, as of Prosody, so of Chivalry I can, after this war, speak with no certain voice. But Mr. Chesterton has shewn, as I think he only is now qualified to shew, that my work is not a mere exercise in a dead dialect, but may be read in the light of many of the aspirations, the intentions, even the despairs of to-day.
I am indebted also to some who have let themselves be charged with my manuscript at different stages of its progress; namely, Lord Howard de Walden, Mr. C. E. Montague, Mr. J. C. Squire, Mr. Robert Graves, and Mr. Alec Waugh.
To three others, on whose sympathy I can still rely, I have dedicated this book; and, when the time comes, I will thank them.
Charles Scott Moncrieff.
xv
