Questing Beast
Jul. 28th, 2017 03:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sadoeuphemistThe Questing Beast was not named for the fact that it was quested after (although it was, perennially), but for the howls and yelps that emanated from its belly, "the noise of thirty couple hounds questing." Such confusion is understandable (and perhaps intrinsic), as the Beast by its nature conflates two different definitions of what it means to quest:
As a transitive verb, to quest means to ask, or to search for, and thus is necessarily used with an object: there must be something to quest for, be it treasure or an ending or an answer. As an intransitive verb, however, quest refers to the baying of hounds on the hunt, and necessitates no such object of desire. The Questing Beast's name derives from the latter definition: the sound of thirty pairs of hounds howling aimlessly, never ceasing or relenting, never biting down, never satiated, constant as the rushing of blood through the Beast's arteries.
Questing after said Beast was thus a confusing proposition, as it was difficult to determine whether it was being hunted or not - whether or not the questing was transitive or intransitive, and what exactly (if anything) one was tracking. From a distance there was only the baying echoing through the woods, which might have been the sound of one's own hounds, or the hounds from another hunting party, or (very rarely) the Questing Beast itself. The hounds themselves were similarly confused at trying to track down something that sounded exactly like they did, and at times kept up the baying simply out of a confused excitement, or sheer comradely instinct. Attempts to capture the Beast thus frequently devolved into a farce of hunting parties chasing each other around in circles.
Adding to the confusion was the fact that there was never quite a clear consensus on just what the Questing Beast looked like. The most widely-distributed description held the Beast to have the neck of a snake, the body of a leopard, the tail of a lion, and the hooves of a hart - in other words, a medieval attempt to construct a giraffe. Perlesvaus, on the other hand, described it as a snowy white creature somewhat larger than a hare and smaller than a fox; i.e., some sort of stoat or weasel in its winter coat. So at the very least the boundaries were set: the Questing Beast must be no larger than a giraffe and no smaller than a hare, its color anywhere between a tawny orange and a snowy white (though theorists would differ on where white should stand on the color scale, and thus on which spectrum of colors was plausible). In the heightened atmosphere of a hunt, with the baying of the hounds omnipresent, any hapless animal that should happen to cross paths with the party could easily be taken for the Questing Beast - and who knows, any of them could very well have been the Beast itself.
From strict point of fact, there was no reason to hunt the Questing Beast at all. There was no danger it posed if left to roam free, no rewards promised for its capture. Even the howling emanating from its belly was interpreted as a sign that the Beast's days were numbered: it hosted a brood of snarling children that would eventually tear it apart from within. Any mystical significance it held was as a symbol of some internal threat that would eventually lead to society's collapse - for some it was the tragedy of King Arthur's incestuous coupling with his own half-sister; for others, it was the Jews. In any case, the Questing Beast was merely a grim portent rather than a threat itself, and certainly was nothing to be deliberately sought after.
We may imagine that those who hunted the Questing Beast were simply confused by its name, and took it as an imperative rather than a description. Or, rather, we may imagine that the Beast successfully conflated the two possibilities such that there was no longer such a distinction. King Pellinore, for example, hunted the Beast simply because his father had, as had his father's father before him, and so on - a duty passed down hereditarily, like kingship, and with no more justification for it. For Sir Palamedes, on the other hand, hunting the Questing Beast functioned as a form of displacement for his frustrated romantic impulses - as Palamedes could never win the favor of his love, neither could he slay the Beast (a parallel that defeats the purpose of displacement entirely). In any case, both men hunted the Questing Beast without any hope of ever catching it, suggesting that, much like a hound, they were preoccupied with the action of questing itself.
Hunting for sport, after all, is an end on its own, and may be counted as a success regardless of whether or not one returns with game. The goal of hunting becomes simply to be hunting, to feel the thrill of the chase, to view all of nature as potential prey, to take the sound of hounds baying for blood as music. For a knight, this would be akin to the fulfillment of a single-minded devotion, taking up their swords for a quest of unimpeachable cause. Perhaps, then, it was to the benefit of all concerned that the Questing Beast could never be caught, could never be narrowed down into a single form or species, could never be resolved or be found wanting. Rather, as a portent of some impending calamity, it was ever just beyond reach and yet imminently attainable. It lurked in every forest, its howls emitting from every mouth, it wore a thousand furs and skins. It was monstrous and yet endlessly pursued. It justified every expense and effort taken to capture it. With every fresh hunting party and every pack of hounds, the Questing Beast was again born into existence.
We may then be tempted to imagine, given all these ambiguities, that the Questing Beast simply never existed to begin with, that it was a convenient fiction invented by those in power in order to justify their murderous excursions. And yet, when we turn our attention to the woods and from the depths hear the sounds of questing - ever-present, inexplicable, keening and bloodthirsty, the sounds of a savage brood tearing apart its mother from within - the Beast unmistakably sounds its call and it becomes impossible to deny the truth.
As a transitive verb, to quest means to ask, or to search for, and thus is necessarily used with an object: there must be something to quest for, be it treasure or an ending or an answer. As an intransitive verb, however, quest refers to the baying of hounds on the hunt, and necessitates no such object of desire. The Questing Beast's name derives from the latter definition: the sound of thirty pairs of hounds howling aimlessly, never ceasing or relenting, never biting down, never satiated, constant as the rushing of blood through the Beast's arteries.
Questing after said Beast was thus a confusing proposition, as it was difficult to determine whether it was being hunted or not - whether or not the questing was transitive or intransitive, and what exactly (if anything) one was tracking. From a distance there was only the baying echoing through the woods, which might have been the sound of one's own hounds, or the hounds from another hunting party, or (very rarely) the Questing Beast itself. The hounds themselves were similarly confused at trying to track down something that sounded exactly like they did, and at times kept up the baying simply out of a confused excitement, or sheer comradely instinct. Attempts to capture the Beast thus frequently devolved into a farce of hunting parties chasing each other around in circles.
Adding to the confusion was the fact that there was never quite a clear consensus on just what the Questing Beast looked like. The most widely-distributed description held the Beast to have the neck of a snake, the body of a leopard, the tail of a lion, and the hooves of a hart - in other words, a medieval attempt to construct a giraffe. Perlesvaus, on the other hand, described it as a snowy white creature somewhat larger than a hare and smaller than a fox; i.e., some sort of stoat or weasel in its winter coat. So at the very least the boundaries were set: the Questing Beast must be no larger than a giraffe and no smaller than a hare, its color anywhere between a tawny orange and a snowy white (though theorists would differ on where white should stand on the color scale, and thus on which spectrum of colors was plausible). In the heightened atmosphere of a hunt, with the baying of the hounds omnipresent, any hapless animal that should happen to cross paths with the party could easily be taken for the Questing Beast - and who knows, any of them could very well have been the Beast itself.
From strict point of fact, there was no reason to hunt the Questing Beast at all. There was no danger it posed if left to roam free, no rewards promised for its capture. Even the howling emanating from its belly was interpreted as a sign that the Beast's days were numbered: it hosted a brood of snarling children that would eventually tear it apart from within. Any mystical significance it held was as a symbol of some internal threat that would eventually lead to society's collapse - for some it was the tragedy of King Arthur's incestuous coupling with his own half-sister; for others, it was the Jews. In any case, the Questing Beast was merely a grim portent rather than a threat itself, and certainly was nothing to be deliberately sought after.
We may imagine that those who hunted the Questing Beast were simply confused by its name, and took it as an imperative rather than a description. Or, rather, we may imagine that the Beast successfully conflated the two possibilities such that there was no longer such a distinction. King Pellinore, for example, hunted the Beast simply because his father had, as had his father's father before him, and so on - a duty passed down hereditarily, like kingship, and with no more justification for it. For Sir Palamedes, on the other hand, hunting the Questing Beast functioned as a form of displacement for his frustrated romantic impulses - as Palamedes could never win the favor of his love, neither could he slay the Beast (a parallel that defeats the purpose of displacement entirely). In any case, both men hunted the Questing Beast without any hope of ever catching it, suggesting that, much like a hound, they were preoccupied with the action of questing itself.
Hunting for sport, after all, is an end on its own, and may be counted as a success regardless of whether or not one returns with game. The goal of hunting becomes simply to be hunting, to feel the thrill of the chase, to view all of nature as potential prey, to take the sound of hounds baying for blood as music. For a knight, this would be akin to the fulfillment of a single-minded devotion, taking up their swords for a quest of unimpeachable cause. Perhaps, then, it was to the benefit of all concerned that the Questing Beast could never be caught, could never be narrowed down into a single form or species, could never be resolved or be found wanting. Rather, as a portent of some impending calamity, it was ever just beyond reach and yet imminently attainable. It lurked in every forest, its howls emitting from every mouth, it wore a thousand furs and skins. It was monstrous and yet endlessly pursued. It justified every expense and effort taken to capture it. With every fresh hunting party and every pack of hounds, the Questing Beast was again born into existence.
We may then be tempted to imagine, given all these ambiguities, that the Questing Beast simply never existed to begin with, that it was a convenient fiction invented by those in power in order to justify their murderous excursions. And yet, when we turn our attention to the woods and from the depths hear the sounds of questing - ever-present, inexplicable, keening and bloodthirsty, the sounds of a savage brood tearing apart its mother from within - the Beast unmistakably sounds its call and it becomes impossible to deny the truth.
