SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN
translated by JESSIE L. WESTON
After the siege and the assault of Troy,
when that burg was destroyed and burnt to ashes, and the traitor tried for his treason,
the noble Æneas and his kin sailed forth to become princes and patrons of well-nigh all
the Western Isles. Thus Romulus built Rome (and gave to the city his own name, which it
bears even to this day); and Ticius turned him to Tuscany; and Langobard raised him up
dwellings in Lombardy; and Felix Brutus sailed far over the French flood, and founded the
kingdom of Britain, wherein have been war and waste and wonder, and bliss and bale,
And in that kingdom of
Britain have been wrought more gallant deeds than in any other; but of all British kings
Arthur was the most valiant, as I have heard tell, therefore will I set forth a wondrous
adventure that fell out in his time. And if ye will listen to me, but for a little while,
I will tell it even as it stands in story stiff and strong, fixed in the letter, as it
hath long been known in the land.
King Arthur lay at Camelot upon a
Christmas-tide, with many a gallant lord and lovely lady, and all the noble brotherhood of
the Round Table. There they held rich revels with gay talk and jest; one while they would
ride forth to joust and tourney, and again back to the court to make carols;1
for there was the feast holden fifteen days with all the mirth
that men could devise, song and glee, glorious to hear, in the daytime, and dancing at
night. Halls and chambers were crowded with noble guests, the bravest of knights and the
loveliest of ladies, and Arthur himself was the comeliest king that ever held a court. For
all this fair folk were in their youth, the fairest and most fortunate under heaven, and
the king himself of such fame that it were hard now to name so valiant a hero.
Now the New Year had but newly come in, and on that
day a double portion was served on the high table to all the noble guests, and thither
came the king with all his knights, when the service in the chapel had been sung to an
end. And they greeted each other for the New Year, and gave rich gifts, the one to the
other (and they that received them were not wroth, that may ye well believe!), and the
maidens laughed and made mirth till it was time to get them to meat. Then they washed and
sat them down to the feast in fitting rank and order, and Guinevere the queen, gaily clad,
sat on the high daïs. Silken was her seat, with a fair canopy over her head, of rich
tapestries of Tars, embroidered, and studded with costly gems; fair she was to look upon,
with her shining grey eyes, a fairer woman might no man boast himself of having seen.
But Arthur would not eat till all were
served, so full of joy and gladness was he, even as a child; he liked not either to lie
long, or to sit long at meat, so worked upon him his young blood and his wild brain. And
another custom he had also, that came of his nobility, that he would never eat upon an
high day till he had been advised of some knightly deed, or some strange and marvellous
tale, of his ancestors, or of arms, or of other ventures. Or till some stranger knight
should seek of him leave to joust with one of the Round Table, that they might set their
lives in jeopardy, one against another, as fortune might favour them. Such was the king's
custom when he sat in hall at each high feast with his noble knights, therefore on that
New Year tide, he abode, fair of face, on the throne, and made much mirth withal.
Thus the king sat before the high tables,
and spake of many things; and there good Sir Gawain was seated by Guinevere the queen, and
on her other side sat Agravain, à la dure main;2
both were the king's sister's sons and full gallant knights. And at the end of the table
was Bishop Bawdewyn, and Ywain, King Urien's son, sat at the other side alone. These were
worthily served on the daïs, and at the lower tables sat many valiant knights. Then they
bare the first course with the blast of trumpets and waving of banners, with the sound of
drums and pipes, of song and lute, that many a heart was uplifted at the melody. Many were
the dainties, and rare the meats, so great was the plenty they might scarce find room on
the board to set on the dishes. Each helped himself as he liked best, and to each two were
twelve dishes, with great plenty of beer and wine.
Now I will say no more of the service, but that ye may
know there was no lack, for there drew near a venture that the folk might well have left
their labour to gaze upon. As the sound of the music ceased, and the first course had been
fitly served, there came in at the hall door one terrible to behold, of stature greater
than any on earth; from neck to loin so strong and thickly made, and with limbs so long
and so great that he seemed even as a giant. And yet he was but a man, only the mightiest
that might mount a steed; broad of chest and shoulders and slender of waist, and all his
features of like fashion; but men marvelled much at his colour, for he rode even as a
knight, yet was green all over.
For he was clad all in green, with a straight
coat, and a mantle above; all decked and lined with fur was the cloth and the hood that
was thrown back from his locks and lay on his shoulders. Hose had he of the same green,
and spurs of bright gold with silken fastenings richly worked; and all his vesture was
verily green. Around his waist and his saddle were bands with fair stones set upon silken
work, 'twere too long to tell of all the trifles that were embroidered thereon--birds and
insects in gay gauds of green and gold. All the trappings of his steed were of metal like
enamel, even the stirrups that he stood in stained of the same, and stirrups and
saddle-bow alike gleamed and shone with green stones. Even the steed on which he rode was
of the same hue, a green horse, great and strong, and hard to hold, with broidered bridle,
meet for the rider.
The knight was thus gaily dressed in green,
his hair falling around his shoulders; on his breast hung a beard, as thick and green as a
bush, and the beard and the hair of his head were clipped all round above his elbows. The
lower part of his sleeves were fastened with clasps in the same wise as a king's mantle.
The horse's mane was crisp and plaited with many a knot folded in with gold thread about
the fair green, here a twist of the hair, here another of gold. The tail was twined in
like manner, and both were bound about with a band of bright green set with many a
precious stone; then they were tied aloft in a cunning knot, whereon rang many bells of
burnished gold. Such a steed might no other ride, nor had such ever been looked upon in
that hall ere that time; and all who saw that knight spake and said that a man might
scarce abide his stroke.
bore no helm nor hauberk, neither gorget nor breast-plate, neither shaft nor buckler to
smite nor to shield, but in one hand he had a holly-bough, that is greenest when the
groves are bare, and in his other an axe, huge and uncomely, a cruel weapon in fashion, if
one would picture it. The head was an ell-yard long, the metal all of green steel and
gold, the blade burnished bright, with a broad edge, as well shapen to shear as a sharp
razor. The steel was set into a strong staff, all bound round with iron, even to the end,
and engraved with green in cunning work. A lace was twined about it, that looped at the
head, and all adown the handle it was clasped with tassels on buttons of bright green
The knight rideth through the entrance of the
hall, driving straight to the high daïs, and greeted no man, but looked ever upwards; and
the first words he spake were, "Where is the ruler of this folk? I would gladly look
upon that hero, and have speech with him." He cast his eyes on the knights, and
mustered them up and down, striving ever to see who of them was of most renown.
Then was there great gazing to behold that
chief, for each man marvelled what it might mean that a knight and his steed should have
even such a hue as the green grass; and that seemed even greener than green enamel on
bright gold. All looked on him as he stood, and drew near unto him wondering greatly what
he might be; for many marvels had they seen, but none such as this, and phantasm and
faërie did the folk deem it. Therefore were the gallant knights slow to answer, and gazed
astounded, and sat stone still in a deep silence through that goodly hall, as if a slumber
were fallen upon them. I deem it was not all for doubt, but some for courtesy that they
might give ear unto his errand.
Arthur beheld this adventurer before his high daïs, and knightly he greeted him, for
fearful was he never. "Sir," he said, "thou art welcome to this place--lord
of this hall am I, and men call me Arthur. Light thee down, and tarry awhile, and what thy
will is, that shall we learn after."
"Nay," quoth the stranger, "so
help me He that sitteth on high, 'twas not mine errand to tarry any while in this
dwelling; but the praise of this thy folk and thy city is lifted up on high, and thy
warriors are holden for the best and the most valiant of those who ride mail-clad to the
fight. The wisest and the worthiest of this world are they, and well proven in all
knightly sports. And here, as I have heard tell, is fairest courtesy, therefore have I
come hither as at this time. Ye may be sure by the branch that I bear here that I come in
peace, seeking no strife. For had I willed to journey in warlike guise I have at home both
hauberk and helm, shield and shining spear, and other weapons to mine hand, but since I
seek no war my raiment is that of peace. But if thou be as bold as all men tell thou wilt
freely grant me the boon I ask."
And Arthur answered, "Sir Knight, if
thou cravest battle here thou shalt not fail for lack of a foe."
And the knight answered, "Nay, I ask no fight, in
faith here on the benches are but beardless children, were I clad in armour on my steed
there is no man here might match me. Therefore I ask in this court but a Christmas jest,
for that it is Yule-tide, and New Year, and there are here many fain for sport. If any one
in this hall holds himself so hardy3, so bold both
of blood and brain, as to dare strike me one stroke for another, I will give him as a gift
this axe, which is heavy enough, in sooth, to handle as he may list, and I will abide the
first blow, unarmed as I sit. If any knight be so bold as to prove my words let him come
swiftly to me here, and take this weapon, I quit claim to it, he may keep it as his own,
and I will abide his stroke, firm on the floor. Then shalt thou give me the right to deal
him another, the respite of a year and a day shall he have. Now haste, and let me see
whether any here dare say aught."
Now if the knights had been astounded at the
first, yet stiller were they all, high and low, when they had heard his words. The knight
on his steed straightened himself in the saddle, and rolled his eyes fiercely round the
hall, red they gleamed under his green and bushy brows. He frowned and twisted his beard,
waiting to see who should rise, and when none answered he cried aloud in mockery,
"What, is this Arthur's hall, and these the knights whose renown hath run through
many realms? Where are now your pride and your conquests, your wrath, and anger, and
mighty words? Now are the praise and the renown of the Round Table overthrown by one man's
speech, since all keep silence for dread ere ever they have seen a blow!"
With that he laughed so loudly that the blood
rushed to the king's fair face for very shame; he waxed wroth, as did all his knights, and
sprang to his feet, and drew near to the stranger and said, "Now by heaven foolish is
thy asking, and thy folly shall find its fitting answer. I know no man aghast at thy great
words. Give me here thine axe and I shall grant thee the boon thou hast asked."
Lightly he sprang to him and caught at his hand, and the knight, fierce of aspect, lighted
down from his charger
Then Arthur took the axe and gripped the
haft, and swung it round, ready to strike. And the knight stood before him, taller by the
head than any in the hall; he stood, and stroked his beard, and drew down his coat, no
more dismayed for the king's threats than if one had brought him a drink of wine.
Then Gawain, who sat by the queen, leaned forward to
the king and spake, "I beseech ye, my lord, let this venture be mine. Would ye but
bid me rise from this seat, and stand by your side, so that my liege lady thought it not
ill, then would I come to your counsel before this goodly court. For I think it not seemly
when such challenges be made in your hall that ye yourself should undertake it, while
there are many bold knights who sit beside ye, none are there, methinks, of readier will
under heaven, or more valiant in open field. I am the weakest, I wot, and the feeblest of
wit, and it will be the less loss of my life if ye seek sooth. For save that ye are mine
uncle naught is there in me to praise, no virtue is there in my body save your blood, and
since this challenge is such folly that it beseems ye not to take it, and I have asked it
from ye first, let it fall to me, and if I bear myself ungallantly then let all this court
Then they all spake with one voice that the
king should leave this venture and grant it to Gawain.
Then Arthur commanded the knight to rise, and
he rose up quickly and knelt down before the king, and caught hold of the weapon; and the
king loosed his hold of it, and lifted up his hand, and gave him his blessing, and bade
him be strong both of heart and hand. "Keep thee well, nephew," quoth Arthur,
"that thou give him but the one blow, and if thou redest him rightly I trow thou
shalt well abide the stroke he may give thee after."
Gawain stepped to the stranger, axe in hand,
and he, never fearing, awaited his coming. Then the Green Knight spake to Sir Gawain,
"Make we our covenant ere we go further. First, I ask thee, knight, what is thy name?
Tell me truly, that I may know thee."
"In faith," quoth the good knight, "Gawain am I, who give thee
this buffet, let what may come of it; and at this time twelvemonth will I take another at
thine hand with whatsoever weapon thou wilt, and none other."
Then the other answered again, "Sir
Gawain, so may I thrive as I am fain to take this buffet at thine hand," and he quoth
further, "Sir Gawain, it liketh me well that I shall take at thy fist that which I
have asked here, and thou hast readily and truly rehearsed all the covenant that I asked
of the king, save that thou shalt swear me, by thy troth, to seek me thyself wherever thou
hopest that I may be found, and win thee such reward as thou dealest me to-day, before
"Where shall I seek thee?" quoth
Gawain. "Where is thy place? By Him that made me, I wot never where thou dwellest,
nor know I thee, knight, thy court, nor thy name. But teach me truly all that pertaineth
thereto, and tell me thy name, and I shall use all my wit to win my way thither, and that
I swear thee for sooth, and by my sure troth."
"That is enough in the New Year, it
needs no more," quoth the Green Knight to the gallant Gawain, "if I tell thee
truly when I have taken the blow, and thou hast smitten me; then will I teach thee of my
house and home, and mine own name, then mayest thou ask thy road and keep covenant. And if
I waste no words then farest thou the better, for thou canst dwell in thy land, and seek
no further. But take now thy toll, and let see how thy strikest."
"Gladly will I," quoth Gawain, handling his
Then the Green Knight swiftly made him ready,
he bowed down his head, and laid his long locks on the crown that his bare neck might be
seen. Gawain gripped his axe and raised it on high, the left foot he set forward on the
floor, and let the blow fall lightly on the bare neck. The sharp edge of the blade
sundered the bones, smote through the neck, and clave it in two, so that the edge of the
steel bit on the ground, and the fair head fell to the earth that many struck it with
their feet as it rolled forth. The blood spurted forth, and glistened on the green
raiment, but the knight neither faltered nor fell; he started forward with out-stretched
hand, and caught the head, and lifted it up; then he turned to his steed, and took hold of
the bridle, set his foot in the stirrup, and mounted. His head he held by the hair, in his
hand. Then he seated himself in his saddle as if naught ailed him, and he were not
headless. He turned his steed about, the grim corpse bleeding freely the while, and they
who looked upon him doubted them much for the covenant.
For he held up the head in his hand, and
turned the face towards them that sat on the high daïs, and it lifted up the eyelids and
looked upon them and spake as ye shall hear. "Look, Gawain, that thou art ready to go
as thou hast promised, and seek leally till thou find me, even as thou hast sworn in this
hall in the hearing of these knights. Come thou, I charge thee, to the Green Chapel, such
a stroke as thou hast dealt thou hast deserved, and it shall be promptly paid thee on New
Year's morn. Many men know me as the knight of the Green Chapel, and if thou askest, thou
shalt not fail to find me. Therefore it behoves thee to come, or to yield thee as
With that he turned his
bridle, and galloped out at the hall door, his head in his hands, so that the sparks flew
from beneath his horse's hoofs. Whither he went none knew, no more than they wist whence
he had come; and the king and Gawain they gazed and laughed, for in sooth this had proved
a greater marvel than any they had known aforetime.
Though Arthur the king was
astonished at his heart, yet he let no sign of it be seen, but spake in courteous wise to
the fair queen: "Dear lady, be not dismayed, such craft is well suited to
Christmas-tide when we seek jesting, laughter and song, and fair carols of knights and
ladies. But now I may well get me to meat, for I have seen a marvel I may not
forget." Then he looked on Sir Gawain, and said gaily, "Now, fair nephew, hang
up thine axe, since it has hewn enough," and they hung it on the dossal above the
daïs, where all men might look on it for a marvel, and by its true token tell of the
wonder. Then the twain sat them down together, the king and the good knight, and men
served them with a double portion, as was the share of the noblest, with all manner of
meat and of minstrelsy. And they spent that day in gladness, but Sir Gawain must well
bethink him of the heavy venture to which he had set his hand.
This beginning of adventures had Arthur at
the New Year; for he yearned to hear gallant tales, though his words were few when he sat
at the feast. But now had they stern work on hand. Gawain was glad to begin the jest in
the hall, but ye need have no marvel if the end be heavy. For though a man be merry in
mind when he has well drunk, yet a year runs full swiftly, and the beginning but rarely
matches the end.
For Yule was now
over-past4, and the year after, each season in its
turn following the other. For after Christmas comes crabbed Lent, that will have fish for
flesh and simpler cheer. But then the weather of the world chides with winter; the cold
withdraws itself, the clouds uplift, and the rain falls in warm showers on the fair
plains. Then the flowers come forth, birds make ready to build, and sing sweetly for
solace of the soft summer that follows thereafter. The blossoms bud and blow in the
hedgerows rich and rank, and noble notes enough are heard in the fair woods.
After the season of summer, with the soft
winds, when zephyr breathes lightly on seeds and herbs, joyous indeed is the growth that
waxes thereout when the dew drips from the leaves beneath the blissful glance of the
bright sun. But then comes harvest and hardens the grain, warning it to wax ripe ere the
winter. The drought drives the dust on high, flying over the face of the land; the angry
wind of the welkin wrestles with the sun; the leaves fall from the trees and light upon
the ground, and all brown are the groves that but now were green, and ripe is the fruit
that once was flower. So the year passes into many yesterdays, and winter comes again, as
it needs no sage to tell us.
When the Michaelmas moon was come in with
warnings of winter, Sir Gawain bethought him full oft of his perilous journey. Yet till
All Hallows Day he lingered with Arthur, and on that day they made a great feast for the
hero's sake, with much revel and richness of the Round Table. Courteous knights and comely
ladies, all were in sorrow for the love of that knight, and though they spake no word of
it, many were joyless for his sake.
after meat, sadly Sir Gawain turned to his uncle, and spake of his journey, and said,
"Liege lord of my life, leave from you I crave. Ye know well how the matter stands
without more words, to-morrow am I bound to set forth in search of the Green Knight."
Then came together all the noblest knights,
Ywain and Erec, and many another. Sir Dodinel le Sauvage, the Duke of Clarence, Launcelot
and Lionel, and Lucan the Good, Sir Bors and Sir Bedivere, valiant knights both, and many
another hero, with Sir Mador de la Porte, and they all drew near, heavy at heart, to take
counsel with Sir Gawain. Much sorrow and weeping was there in the hall to think that so
worthy a knight as Gawain should wend his way to seek a deadly blow, and should no more
wield his sword in fight. But the knight made ever good cheer, and said, "Nay,
wherefore should I shrink? What may a man do but prove his fate?"
He dwelt there all that day, and on the morn
he arose and asked betimes for his armour; and they brought it unto him on this wise:
first, a rich carpet was stretched on the floor5
(and brightly did the gold gear glitter upon it), then the knight stepped on to
it, and handled the steel; clad he was in a doublet of silk, with a close hood, lined
fairly throughout. Then they set the steel shoes upon his feet, and wrapped his legs with
greaves, with polished knee-caps, fastened with knots of gold. Then they cased his thighs
in cuisses closed with thongs, and brought him the byrny of bright steel rings sewn upon a
fair stuff. Well burnished braces they set on each arm with good elbow-pieces, and gloves
of mail, and all the goodly gear that should shield him in his need. And they cast over
all a rich surcoat, and set the golden spurs on his heels, and girt him with a trusty
sword fastened with a silken bawdrick. When he was thus clad his harness was costly, for
the least loop or latchet gleamed with gold. So armed as he was he hearkened Mass and made
his offering at the high altar. Then he came to the king, and the knights of his court,
and courteously took leave of lords and ladies, and they kissed him, and commended him to
With that was Gringalet ready,
girt with a saddle that gleamed gaily with many golden fringes, enriched and decked anew
for the venture. The bridle was all barred about with bright gold buttons, and all the
covertures and trappings of the steed, the crupper and the rich skirts, accorded with the
saddle; spread fair with the rich red gold that glittered and gleamed in the rays of the
Then the knight called for his helmet, which
was well lined throughout, and set it high on his head, and hasped it behind. He wore a
light kerchief over the vintail, that was broidered and studded with fair gems on a broad
silken ribbon, with birds of gay colour, and many a turtle and true-lover's knot
interlaced thickly, even as many a maiden had wrought diligently for seven winter long.
But the circlet which crowned his helmet was yet more precious, being adorned with a
device in diamonds. Then they brought him his shield, which was of bright red, with the
pentangle painted thereon in gleaming gold6. And
why that noble prince bare the pentangle I am minded to tell you, though my tale tarry
thereby. It is a sign that Solomon set ere-while, as betokening truth; for it is a figure
with five points and each line overlaps the other, and nowhere hath it beginning or end,
so that in English it is called "the endless knot." And therefore was it well
suiting to this knight and to his arms, since Gawain was faithful in five and five-fold,
for pure was he as gold, void of all villainy and endowed with all virtues. Therefore he
bare the pentangle on shield and surcoat as truest of heroes and gentlest of knights.
For first he was faultless in his five senses; and his
five fingers never failed him; and all his trust upon earth was in the five wounds that
Christ bare on the cross, as the Creed tells. And wherever this knight found himself in
stress of battle he deemed well that he drew his strength from the five joys which the
Queen of Heaven had of her Child. And for this cause did he bear an image of Our Lady on
the one half of his shield, that whenever he looked upon it he might not lack for aid. And
the fifth five that the hero used were frankness and fellowship above all, purity and
courtesy that never failed him, and compassion that surpasses all; and in these five
virtues was that hero wrapped and clothed. And all these, five-fold, were linked one in
the other, so that they had no end, and were fixed on five points that never failed,
neither at any side were they joined or sundered, nor could ye find beginning or end. And
therefore on his shield was the knot shapen, red-gold upon red, which is the pure
pentangle. Now was Sir Gawain ready, and he took his lance in hand, and bade them all Farewell,
he deemed it had been for ever.
Then he smote the steed with his spurs, and
sprang on his way, so that sparks flew from the stones after him. All that saw him were
grieved at heart, and said one to the other, "By Christ, 'tis great pity that one of
such noble life should be lost! I'faith, 'twere not easy to find his equal upon earth. The
king had done better to have wrought more warily. Yonder knight should have been made a
duke; a gallant leader of men is he, and such a fate had beseemed him better than to be
hewn in pieces at the will of an elfish man, for mere pride. Who ever knew a king to take
such counsel as to risk his knights on a Christmas jest?" Many were the tears that
flowed from their eyes when that goodly knight rode from the hall. He made no delaying,
but went his way swiftly, and rode many a wild road, as I heard say in the book.
So rode Sir Gawain through the realm of Logres, on an
errand that he held for no jest. Often he lay companionless at night, and must lack the
fare that he liked. No comrade had he save his steed, and none save God with whom to take
counsel. At length he drew nigh to North Wales, and left the isles of Anglesey on his left
hand, crossing over the fords by the foreland over at Holyhead, till he came into the
wilderness of Wirral7, where but few dwell who
love God and man of true heart. And ever he asked, as he fared, of all whom he met, if
they had heard any tidings of a Green Knight in the country thereabout, or of a Green
Chapel? And all answered him, Nay, never in their lives had they seen any man of such a
hue. And the knight wended his way by many a strange road and many a rugged path, and the
fashion of his countenance changed full often ere he saw the Green Chapel.
Many a cliff did he climb in that unknown
land, where afar from his friends he rode as a stranger. Never did he come to a stream or
a ford but he found a foe before him, and that one so marvellous, so foul and fell, that
it behoved him to fight. So many wonders did that knight behold, that it were too long to
tell the tenth part of them. Sometimes he fought with dragons and wolves; sometimes with
wild men that dwelt in the rocks; another while with bulls, and bears, and wild boars, or
with giants of the high moorland that drew near to him. Had he not been a doughty knight,
enduring, and of well-proved valour, and a servant of God, doubtless he had been slain,
for he was oft in danger of death. Yet he cared not so much for the strife, what he deemed
worse was when the cold clear water was shed from the clouds, and froze ere it fell on the
fallow ground. More nights than enough he slept in his harness on the bare rocks, near
slain with the sleet, while the stream leapt bubbling from the crest of the hills, and
hung in hard icicles over his head.
in peril and pain, and many a hardship, the knight rode alone till Christmas-Eve, and in
that tide he made his prayer to the Blessed Virgin that she would guide his steps and lead
him to some dwelling. On that morning he rode by a hill, and came into a thick forest,
wild and drear; on each side were high hills, and thick woods below them of great hoar
oaks, a hundred together, of hazel and hawthorn with their trailing boughs intertwined,
and rough ragged moss spreading everywhere. On the bare twigs the birds chirped piteously,
for pain of the cold. The knight upon Gringalet rode lonely beneath them, through marsh
and mire, much troubled at heart lest he should fail to see the service of the Lord, who
on that self-same night was born of a maiden for the cure of our grief; and therefore he
said, sighing, "I beseech Thee, Lord, and Mary Thy gentle Mother, for some shelter
where I may hear Mass, and Thy mattins at morn. This I ask meekly, and thereto I pray my
Paternoster, Ave, and Credo." Thus he rode praying, and lamenting his misdeeds, and
he crossed himself, and said, "May the Cross of Christ speed me."
Now that knight had crossed himself but
thrice ere he was aware in the wood of a dwelling within a moat, above a lawn, on a mound
surrounded by many mighty trees that stood round the moat. 'Twas the fairest castle that
ever a knight owned8; built in a meadow with a
park all about it, and a spiked palisade, closely driven, that enclosed the trees for more
than two miles. The knight was ware of the hold from the side, as it shone through the
oaks. Then he lifted off his helmet, and thanked Christ and S. Julian that they had
courteously granted his prayer, and hearkened to his cry. "Now," quoth the
knight, "I beseech ye, grant me fair hostel." Then he pricked Gringalet with his
golden spurs, and rode gaily towards the great gate, and came swiftly to the bridge end.
The bridge was drawn up and the gates close shut; the
walls were strong and thick, so that they might fear no tempest. The knight on his charger
abode on the bank of the deep double ditch that surrounded the castle. The walls were set
deep in the water, and rose aloft to a wondrous height; they were of hard hewn stone up to
the corbels, which were adorned beneath the battlements with fair carvings, and turrets
set in between with many a loophole; a better barbican Sir Gawain had never looked upon.
And within he beheld the high hall, with its tower and many windows with carven cornices,
and chalk-white chimneys on the turreted roofs that shone fair in the sun. And everywhere,
thickly scattered on the castle battlements, were pinnacles, so many that it seemed as if
it were all wrought out of paper, so white was it.
The knight on his steed deemed it fair
enough, if he might come to be sheltered within it to lodge there while that the Holy-day
lasted. He called aloud, and soon there came a porter of kindly countenance, who stood on
the wall and greeted this knight and asked his errand.
"Good sir," quoth Gawain,
"wilt thou go mine errand to the high lord of the castle, and crave for me
"Yea, by S.
Peter," quoth the porter. "In sooth I trow that ye be welcome to dwell here so
long as it may like ye."
Then he went, and came again swiftly, and
many folk with him to receive the knight. They let down the great drawbridge, and came
forth and knelt on their knees on the cold earth to give him worthy welcome. They held
wide open the great gates, and courteously he bid them rise, and rode over the bridge.
Then men came to him and held his stirrup while he dismounted, and took and stabled his
steed. There came down knights and squires to bring the guest with joy to the hall. When
he raised his helmet there were many to take it from his hand, fain to serve him, and they
took from him sword and shield.
Sir Gawain gave good greeting to the noble
and the mighty men who came to do him honour. Clad in his shining armour they led him to
the hall, where a great fire burnt brightly on the floor; and the lord of the household
came forth from his chamber to meet the hero fitly. He spake to the knight, and said:
"Ye are welcome to do here as it likes ye. All that is here is your own to have at
your will and disposal."
"Gramercy!" quote Gawain, "may
Christ requite ye."
As friends that were fain each embraced the
other; and Gawain looked on the knight who greeted him so kindly, and thought 'twas a bold
warrior that owned that burg.
Of mighty stature he was, and of high age;
broad and flowing was his beard, and of a bright hue. He was stalwart of limb, and strong
in his stride, his face fiery red, and his speech free: in sooth he seemed one well fitted
to be a leader of valiant men.
Then the lord led Sir Gawain to a chamber,
and commanded folk to wait upon him, and at his bidding there came men enough who brought
the guest to a fair bower. The bedding was noble, with curtains of pure silk wrought with
gold, and wondrous coverings of fair cloth all embroidered. The curtains ran on ropes with
rings of red gold, and the walls were hung with carpets of Orient, and the same spread on
the floor. There with mirthful speeches they took from the guest his byrny and all his
shining armour, and brought him rich robes of the choicest in its stead. They were long
and flowing, and became him well, and when he was clad in them all who looked on the hero
thought that surely God had never made a fairer knight: he seemed as if he might be a
prince without peer in the field where men strive in battle.
Then before the hearth-place, whereon the fire burned,
they made ready a chair for Gawain, hung about with cloth and fair cushions; and there
they cast around him a mantle of brown samite, richly embroidered and furred within with
costly skins of ermine, with a hood of the same, and he seated himself in that rich seat,
and warmed himself at the fire, and was cheered at heart. And while he sat thus the
serving men set up a table on trestles, and covered it with a fair white cloth, and set
thereon salt-cellar, and napkin, and silver spoons; and the knight washed at his will, and
set him down to meat.
The folk served him courteously with many
dishes seasoned of the best, a double portion. All kinds of fish were there, some baked in
bread, some broiled on the embers, some sodden, some stewed and savoured with spices, with
all sorts of cunning devices to his taste. And often he called it a feast, when they spake
gaily to him all together, and said, "Now take ye this penance, and it shall be for
your amendment." Much mirth thereof did Sir Gawain make.
Then they questioned that prince courteously
of whence he came; and he told them that he was of the court of Arthur, who is the rich
royal King of the Round Table, and that it was Gawain himself who was within their walls,
and would keep Christmas with them, as the chance had fallen out. And when the lord of the
castle heard those tidings he laughed aloud for gladness, and all men in that keep were
joyful that they should be in the company of him to whom belonged all fame, and valour,
and courtesy, and whose honour was praised above that of all men on earth. Each said
softly to his fellow, "Now shall we see courteous bearing, and the manner of speech
befitting courts. What charm lieth in gentle speech shall we learn without asking, since
here we have welcomed the fine father of courtesy. God has surely shewn us His grace since
He sends us such a guest as Gawain! When men shall sit and sing, blithe for Christ's
birth, this knight shall bring us to the knowledge of fair manners, and it may be that
hearing him we may learn the cunning speech of love."
By the time the knight had risen from dinner it was
near nightfall. Then chaplains took their way to the chapel, and rang loudly, even as they
should, for the solemn evensong of the high feast. Thither went the lord, and the lady
also, and entered with her maidens into a comely closet, and thither also went Gawain.
Then the lord took him by the sleeve and led him to a seat, and called him by his name,
and told him he was of all men in the world the most welcome. And Sir Gawain thanked him
truly, and each kissed the other, and they sat gravely together throughout the service.
Then was the lady fain to look upon that
knight; and she came forth from her closet with many fair maidens. The fairest of ladies
was she in face, and figure, and colouring, fairer even than Guinevere, so the knight
thought. She came through the chancel to greet the hero, another lady held her by the left
hand, older than she, and seemingly of high estate, with many nobles about her. But unlike
to look upon were those ladies, for if the younger were fair, the elder was yellow. Rich
red were the cheeks of the one, rough and wrinkled those of the other; the kerchiefs of
the one were broidered with many glistening pearls, her throat and neck bare, and whiter
than the snow that lies on the hills; the neck of the other was swathed in a
a white wimple of her black chin. Her forehead was wrapped in silk with many folds, worked
with knots, so that naught of her was seen save her black brows, her eyes, her nose and
her lips, and those were bleared, and ill to look upon. A worshipful lady in sooth one
might call her! In figure was she short and broad, and thickly made--far fairer to behold
was she whom she led by the hand.
When Gawain beheld that fair lady, who
looked at him graciously, with leave of the lord he went towards them, and, bowing low, he
greeted the elder, but the younger and fairer he took lightly in his arms, and kissed her
courteously, and greeted her in knightly wise. Then she hailed him as a friend, and he
quickly prayed to be counted as her servant, if she so willed. Then they took him between
them, and talking, led him to the chamber, to the hearth, and bade them bring spices, and
they brought them in plenty with the good wine that was wont to be drunk at such seasons.
Then the lord sprang to his feet and bade them make merry, and took off his hood, and hung
it on a spear, and bade him with the worship thereof who should make most mirth that
Christmas-tide. "And I shall try, by my faith, to fool it with the best, by the help
of my friends, ere I lose my raiment." Thus with gay words the lord made trial to
gladden Gawain with jests that night, till it was time to bid them light the tapers, and
Sir Gawain took leave of them and gat him to rest.
In the morn when all men call to mind how Christ our
Lord was born on earth to die for us, there is joy, for His sake, in all dwellings of the
world; and so was there here on that day. For high feast was held, with many dainties and
cunningly cooked messes. On the daïs sat gallant men, clad in their best. The ancient
dame sat on the high seat, with the lord of the castle beside her. Gawain and the fair
lady sat together, even in the midst of the board, when the feast was served; and so
throughout all the hall each sat in his degree, and was served in order. There was meat,
there was mirth, there was much joy, so that to tell thereof would take me too long,
though peradventure I might strive to declare it. But Gawain and that fair lady had much
joy of each other's company through her sweet words and courteous converse. And there was
music made before each prince, trumpets and drums, and merry piping; each man hearkened
his minstrel, and they too hearkened theirs.
So they held high feast that day and the
next, and the third day thereafter, and the joy on S. John's Day was fair to hearken, for
'twas the last of the feast and the guests would depart in the grey of the morning.
Therefore they awoke early, and drank wine, and danced fair carols, and at last, when it
was late, each man took his leave to wend early on his way. Gawain would bid his host
farewell, but the lord took him by the hand, and led him to his own chamber beside the
hearth, and there he thanked him for the favour he had shown him in honouring his dwelling
at that high season, and gladdening his castle with his fair countenance. "I wis,
sir, that while I live I shall be held the worthier that Gawain has been my guest at God's
"Gramercy, sir," quoth Gawain,
"in good faith, all the honour is yours, may the High King give it you, and I am but
at your will to work your behest, inasmuch as I am beholden to you in great and small by
Then the lord did his
best to persuade the knight to tarry with him, but Gawain answered that he might in no
wise do so. Then the host asked him courteously what stern behest had driven him at the
holy season from the king's court, to fare all alone, ere yet the feast was ended?
"Forsooth," quoth the knight,
"ye say but the truth: 'tis a high quest and a pressing that hath brought me
for I am summoned myself to a certain place, and I know not whither in the world I may
wend to find it; so help me Christ, I would give all the kingdom of Logres an I might find
it by New Year's morn. Therefore, sir, I make request of you that ye tell me truly if ye
ever heard word of the Green Chapel, where it may be found, and the Green Knight that
keeps it. For I am pledged by solemn compact sworn between us to meet that knight at the
New Year if so I were on life; and of that same New Year it wants but little--I'faith, I
would look on that hero more joyfully than on any other fair sight! Therefore, by your
will, it behoves me to leave you, for I have but barely three days, and I would as fain
fall dead as fail of mine errand."
Then the lord quoth, laughing, "Now must
ye needs stay, for I will show you your goal, the Green Chapel, ere your term be at an
end, have ye no fear! But ye can take your ease, friend, in your bed, till the fourth day,
and go forth on the first of the year and come to that place at mid-morn to do as ye will.
Dwell here till New Year's Day, and then rise and set forth, and ye shall be set in the
way; 'tis not two miles hence."
Then was Gawain glad, and he laughed gaily.
"Now I thank you for this above all else. Now my quest is achieved I will dwell here
at your will, and otherwise do as ye shall ask."
Then the lord took him, and set him beside
him, and bade the ladies be fetched for their greater pleasure, tho' between themselves
they had solace. The lord, for gladness, made merry jest, even as one who wist not what to
do for joy; and he cried aloud to the knight, "Ye have promised to do the thing I bid
ye: will ye hold to this behest, here, at once?"
"Yea, forsooth," said that true knight,
"while I abide in your burg I am bound by your behest."
"Ye have travelled from far," said
the host, "and since then ye have waked with me, ye are not well refreshed by rest
and sleep, as I know. Ye shall therefore abide in your chamber, and lie at your ease
tomorrow at Mass-tide, and go to meat when ye will with my wife, who shall sit with you,
and comfort you with her company till I return; and I shall rise early and go forth to the
chase." And Gawain agreed to all this courteously.
"Sir knight," quoth the host,
"we shall make a covenant. Whatsoever I win in the wood shall be yours, and whatever
may fall to your share, that shall ye exchange for it. Let us swear, friend, to make this
exchange, however our hap may be, for worse or for better."
"I grant ye your will," quoth
Gawain the good; "if ye list so to do, it liketh me well."
"Bring hither the wine-cup, the bargain
is made," so said the lord of that castle. They laughed each one, and drank of the
wine, and made merry, these lords and ladies, as it pleased them. Then with gay talk and
merry jest they arose, and stood, and spoke softly, and kissed courteously, and took leave
of each other. With burning torches, and many a serving-man, was each led to his couch;
yet ere they gat them to bed the old lord oft repeated their covenant, for he knew well
how to make sport.
Full early, ere daylight, the folk rose up;
the guests who would depart called their grooms, and they made them ready, and saddled the
steeds, tightened up the girths, and trussed up their mails. The knights, all arrayed for
riding, leapt up lightly, and took their bridles, and each rode his way as pleased him
The lord of the land was not the
last. Ready for the chase, with many of his men, he ate a sop hastily when he had heard
Mass, and then with blast of the bugle fared forth to the field.9
He and his nobles were to horse ere daylight glimmered upon the earth.
Then the huntsmen coupled their hounds,
unclosed the kennel door, and called them out. They blew three blasts gaily on the bugles,
the hounds bayed fiercely, and they that would go a-hunting checked and chastised them. A
hundred hunters there were of the best, so I have heard tell. Then the trackers gat them
to the trysting-place and uncoupled the hounds, and forest rang again with their gay
At the first sound of the hunt the game
quaked for fear, and fled, trembling, along the vale. They betook them to the heights, but
the liers in wait turned them back with loud cries; the harts they let pass them, and the
stags with their spreading antlers, for the lord had forbidden that they should be slain,
but the hinds and the does they turned back, and drave down into the valleys. Then might
ye see much shooting of arrows. As the deer fled under the boughs a broad whistling shaft
smote and wounded each sorely, so that, wounded and bleeding, they fell dying on the
banks. The hounds followed swiftly on their tracks, and hunters, blowing the horn, sped
after them with ringing shouts as if the cliffs burst asunder. What game escaped those
that shot was run down at the outer ring. Thus were they driven on the hills, and harassed
at the waters, so well did the men know their work, and the greyhounds were so great and
swift that they ran them down as fast as the hunters could slay them. Thus the lord passed
the day in mirth and joyfulness, even to nightfall.
So the lord roamed the woods, and Gawain,
that good night, lay ever a-bed, curtained about, under the costly coverlet, while the
daylight gleamed on the walls. And as he lay half slumbering, he heard a little sound at
the door, and he raised his head, and caught back a corner of the curtain, and waited to
see what it might be. It was the lovely lady, the lord's wife; she shut the door softly
behind her, and turned towards the bed; and Gawain was shamed, laid him down softly and
made as if he slept. And she came lightly to the bedside, within the curtain, and sat
herself down beside him, to wait till he wakened. The knight lay there awhile, and
marvelled within himself what her coming might betoken; and he said to himself,
"'Twere more seemly if I asked her what hath brought her hither." Then he made
feint to waken, and turned towards her, and opened his eyes as one astonished, and crossed
himself; and she looked on him laughing, with her cheeks red and white, lovely to behold,
and small smiling lips.
morrow, Sir Gawain," said that fair lady; "ye are but a careless sleeper, since
one can enter thus. Now are ye taken unawares, and lest ye escape me I shall bind you in
your bed; of that be ye assured!" Laughing, she spake these words.
"Good morrow, fair lady," quoth
Gawain blithely. "I will do your will, as it likes me well. For I yield me readily,
and pray your grace, and that is best, by my faith, since I needs must do so." Thus
he jested again, laughing. "But an ye would, fair lady, grant me this grace that ye
pray your prisoner to rise. I would get me from bed, and array me better, then could I
talk with ye in more comfort."
"Nay, forsooth, fair sir," quoth
the lady, "ye shall not rise, I will rede ye better. I shall keep ye here, since ye
can do no other, and talk with my knight whom I have captured. For I know well that ye are
Sir Gawain, whom all the world worships, wheresoever ye may ride. Your honour and your
courtesy are praised by lords and ladies, by all who live. Now ye are here and we are
alone, my lord and his men are afield; the serving men in their beds, and my maidens also,
and the door shut upon us. And since in this hour I have him that all men love, I shall
use my time well with speech, while it lasts. Ye are welcome to my company, for it behoves
me in sooth to be your servant."
good faith," quoth Gawain, "I think me that I am not him of whom ye speak, for
unworthy am I of such service as ye here proffer. In sooth, I were glad if I might set
myself by word or service to your pleasure; a pure joy would it be to me!"
"In good faith, Sir Gawain," quoth
the gay lady, "the praise and the prowess that pleases all ladies I lack them not,
nor hold them light; yet are there ladies enough who would liefer now have the knight in
their hold, as I have ye here, to dally with your courteous words, to bring them comfort
and to ease their cares, than much of the treasure and the gold that are theirs. And now,
through the grace of Him who upholds the heavens, I have wholly in my power that which
they all desire!"
Thus the lady, fair to look upon, made him
great cheer, and Sir Gawain, with modest words, answered her again: "Madam," he
quoth, "may Mary requite ye, for in good faith I have found in ye a noble frankness.
Much courtesy have other folk shown me, but the honour they have done me is naught to the
worship of yourself, who knoweth but good."
"By Mary," quoth the lady, "I
think otherwise; for were I worth all the women alive, and had I the wealth of the world
in my hand, and might choose me a lord to my liking, then, for all that I have seen in ye,
Sir Knight, of beauty and courtesy and blithe semblance, and for all that I have hearkened
and hold for true, there should be no knight on earth to be chosen before ye!"
"Well I wot," quoth Sir Gawain, "that
ye have chosen a better; but I am proud that ye should so prize me, and as your servant do
I hold ye my sovereign, and your knight am I, and may Christ reward ye."
So they talked of many matters till mid-morn
was past, and ever the lady made as though she loved him, and the knight turned her speech
aside. For though she were the brightest of maidens, yet had he forborne to shew her love
for the danger that awaited him, and the blow that must be given without delay.
Then the lady prayed her leave from him, and
he granted it readily. And she bade him good-day, with laughing glance, but he must needs
marvel at her words:
"Now He that speeds fair speech reward
ye this disport; but that ye be Gawain my mind misdoubts me greatly."
"Wherefore?" quoth the knight
quickly, fearing lest he had lacked in some courtesy.
And the lady spake: "So true a knight
as Gawain is holden, and one so perfect in courtesy, would never have tarried so long with
a lady but he would of his courtesy have craved a kiss at parting."
Then quoth Gawain, "I wot I will do even as it
may please ye, and kiss at your commandment, as a true knight should who forbears to ask
for fear of displeasure."
At that she came near and bent down and
kissed the knight, and each commended the other to Christ, and she went forth from the
Then Sir Gawain arose and called his
chamberlain and chose his garments, and when he was ready he gat him forth to Mass, and
then went to meat, and made merry all day till the rising of the moon, and never had a
knight fairer lodging than had he with those two noble ladies, the elder and the younger.
And even the lord of the land chased the
hinds through holt and heath till eventide, and then with much blowing of bugles and
baying of hounds they bore the game homeward; and by the time daylight was done all the
folk had returned to that fair castle. And when the lord and Sir Gawain met together, then
were they both well pleased. The lord commanded them all to assemble in the great hall,
and the ladies to descend with their maidens, and there, before them all, he bade the men
fetch in the spoil of the day's hunting, and he called unto Gawain, and counted the tale
of the beasts, and showed them unto him, and said, "What think ye of this game, Sir
Knight? Have I deserved of ye thanks for my woodcraft?"
"Yea, I wis," quoth the other,
"here is the fairest spoil I have seen this seven year in the winter season."
"And all this do I give ye, Gawain," quoth
the host, "for by accord of covenant ye may claim it as your own."
"That is sooth," quoth the other,
"I grant you that same; and I have fairly won this within walls, and with as good
will do I yield it to ye." With that he clasped his hands round the lord's neck and
kissed him as courteously as he might. "Take ye here my spoils, no more have I won;
ye should have it freely, though it were greater than this."
"'Tis good," said the host,
"gramercy thereof. Yet were I fain to know where ye won this same
favour, and if it were by your own wit?"
"Nay," answered Gawain, "that
was not in the bond. Ask me no more: ye have taken what was yours by right, be content
They laughed and jested together, and sat
them down to supper, where they were served with many dainties; and after supper they sat
by the hearth, and wine was served to them; and oft in their jesting they promised to
observe on the morrow the same covenant that they had made before, and whatever chance
might betide to exchange their spoil, be it much or little, when they met at night. Thus
they renewed their bargain before the whole court, and then the night-drink was served,
and each courteously took leave of the other and gat him to bed.
By the time the cock had crowed thrice the
lord of the castle had left his bed; Mass was sung and meat fitly served. The folk were
forth to the wood ere the day broke, with hound and horn they rode over the plain, and
uncoupled their dogs among the thorns. Soon they struck on the scent, and the hunt cheered
on the hounds who were first to seize it, urging them with shouts. The others hastened to
the cry, forty at once, and there rose such a clamour from the pack that the rocks rang
again. The huntsmen spurred them on with shouting and blasts of the horn; and the hounds
drew together to a thicket betwixt the water and a high crag in the cliff beneath the
hillside. There where the rough rock fell ruggedly they, the huntsmen, fared to the
finding, and cast about round the hill and the thicket behind them. The knights wist well
what beast was within, and would drive him forth with the bloodhounds. And as they beat
the bushes, suddenly over the beaters there rushed forth a wondrous great and fierce boar,
long since had he left the herd to roam by himself. Grunting, he cast many to the ground,
and fled forth at his best speed, without more mischief. The men hallooed loudly and
cried, "Hay! Hay!" and blew the horns to urge on the hounds, and rode
swiftly after the boar. Many a time did he turn to bay and tare the hounds, and they
yelped, and howled shrilly. Then the men made ready their arrows and shot at him, but the
points were turned on his thick hide, and the barbs would not bite upon him, for the
shafts shivered in pieces, and the head but leapt again wherever it hit.
But when the boar felt the stroke of the arrows he
waxed mad with rage, and turned on the hunters and tare many, so that, affrightened, they
fled before him. But the lord on a swift steed pursued him, blowing his bugle; as a
gallant knight he rode through the woodland chasing the boar till the sun grew low.
So did the hunters this day, while Sir
Gawain lay in his bed lapped in rich gear; and the lady forgat not to salute him, for
early was she at his side, to cheer his mood.
She came to the bedside and looked on the knight, and Gawain gave her fit
greeting, and she greeted him again with ready words, and sat her by his side and laughed,
and with a sweet look she spoke to him:
Sir, if ye be Gawain, I think it a wonder
that ye be so stern and cold, and care not for the courtesies of friendship, but if one
teach ye to know them ye cast the lesson out of your mind. Ye have soon forgotten what I
taught ye yesterday, by all the truest tokens that I knew!"
"What is that?" quoth the knight.
"I trow I know not. If it be sooth that ye say, then is the blame mine own."
"But I taught ye of kissing, "
quoth the fair lady. "Wherever a fair countenance is shown him, it behoves a
courteous knight quickly to claim a kiss."
"Nay, my dear," said Sir Gawain,
"cease that speech; that durst I not do lest I were denied, for I were forbidden I
wot I were wrong did I further entreat."
"I'faith," quoth the lady merrily,
"ye may not be forbid, ye are strong enough to constrain by strength an ye will, were
any so discourteous as to give ye denial."
"Yea, by Heaven," said Gawain,
"ye speak well; but threats profit little in the land where I dwell, and so with a
gift that is given not of good will! I am at your commandment to kiss when ye like, to
take or to leave as ye list."
Then the lady bent her down and kissed him courteously.
And as they spake together
she said, "I would learn somewhat from ye, an ye would not be wroth, for young ye
bare and fair, and so courteous and knightly as ye are known to be, the head of all
chivalry, and versed in all wisdom of love and war--'tis ever told of true knights how
they adventured their lives for their true love, and endured hardships for her favours,
and avenged her with valour, and eased her sorrows, and brought joy to her bower; and ye
are the fairest knight of your time, and your fame and your honour are everywhere, yet I
have sat by ye here twice, and never a word have I heard of love! Ye who are so courteous
and skilled in such love ought surely to teach one so young and unskilled some little
craft of true love! Why are ye so unlearned who art otherwise so famous? Or is it that ye
deemed me unworthy to hearken to your teaching? For shame, Sir Knight! I come hither alone
and sit at your side to learn of ye some skill; teach me of your wit, while my lord is
"In good faith," quoth Gawain,
"great is my joy and my profit that so fair a lady as ye are should deign to come
hither, and trouble ye with so poor a man, and make sport with your knight with kindly
countenance, it pleaseth me much. But that I, in my turn, should take it upon me to tell
of love and such like matters to ye who know more by half, or a hundred fold, of such
craft than I do, or ever shall in all my lifetime, by my troth 'twere folly indeed! I will
work your will to the best of my might as I am bounden, and evermore will I be your
servant, so help me Christ!"
Then often with guile she questioned that
knight that she might win him to woo her, but he defended himself so fairly that none
might in any wise blame him, and naught but bliss and harmless jesting was there between
them. They laughed and talked together till at last she kissed him, and craved her leave
of him, and went her way.
Then the knight arose and went forth to
Mass, and afterward dinner was served and he sat and spake with the ladies all day. But
the lord of the castle rode ever over the land chasing the wild boar, that fled through
the thickets, slaying the best of his hounds and breaking their backs in sunder; till at
last he was so weary he might run no longer, but made for a hole in a mound by a rock. He
got the mound at his back and faced the hounds, whetting his white tusks and foaming at
the mouth. The huntsmen stood aloof, fearing to draw nigh him; so many of them had been
already wounded that they were loth to be torn with his tusks, so fierce he was and mad
with rage. At length the lord himself came up, and saw the beast at bay, and the men
standing aloof. Then quickly he sprang to the ground and drew out a bright blade, and
waded through the stream to the boar.
the beast was aware of the knight with weapon in hand, he set up his bristles and snorted
loudly, and many feared for their lord lest he should be slain. Then the boar leapt upon
the knight so that beast and man were one atop of the other in the water; but the boar had
the worst of it, for the man had marked, even as he sprang, and set the point of his brand
to the beast's chest, and drove it up to the hilt, so that the heart was split in twain,
and the boar fell snarling, and was swept down by the water to where a hundred hounds
seized on him, and the men drew him to shore for the dogs to slay.
Then was there loud blowing of horns and
baying of hounds, the huntsmen smote off the boar's head, and hung the carcase by the four
feet to a stout pole, and so went on their way homewards. The head they bore before the
lord himself, who had slain the beast at the ford by force of his strong hand.
It seemed him o'er long ere he saw Sir
Gawain in the hall, and he called, and the guest came to take that which fell to his
share. And when he saw Gawain the lord laughed aloud, and bade them call the ladies and
the household together, and he showed them the game, and told them the tale, how they
hunted the wild boar through the woods, and of his length and breadth and height; and Sir
Gawain commended his deeds and praised him for his valour, well proven, for so mighty a
beast had he never seen before.
they handled the huge head, and the lord said aloud, "Now, Gawain, this game is your
own by sure covenant, as ye right well know."
"'Tis sooth," quoth the knight,
"and as truly will I give ye all I have gained." He took the host round the
neck, and kissed him courteously twice. "Now are we quits," he said, "this
eventide, of all the covenants that we made since I came hither."
And the lord answered, "By S. Giles, ye
are the best I know; ye will be rich in a short space if ye drive such bargains!"
Then they set up the tables on trestles, and
covered them with fair cloths, and lit waxen tapers on the walls. The knights sat and were
served in the hall, and much game and glee was there round the hearth, with many songs,
both at supper and after; song of Christmas, and new carols, with all the mirth one may
think of. And ever that lovely lady sat by the knight, and with still stolen looks made
such feint of pleasing him, that Gawain marvelled much, and was wroth with himself, but he
could not for his courtesy return her fair glances, but dealt with her cunningly, however
she might strive to wrest the thing.
When they had tarried in the hall so long as
it seemed them good, they turned to the inner chamber and the wide hearthplace, and there
they drank wine, and the host proffered to renew the covenant for New Year's Eve; but the
knight craved leave to depart on the morrow, for it was nigh to the term when he must
fulfil his pledge. But the lord would withhold him from so doing, and prayed him to tarry,
"As I am a true knight I
swear my troth that ye shall come to the Green Chapel to achieve your task on New Year's
morn, long before prime. Therefore abide ye in your bed, and I will hunt in this wood, and
hold ye to the covenant to exchange with me against all the spoil I may bring hither. For
twice have I tried ye, and found ye true, and the morrow shall be the third time and the
best. Make we merry now while we may, and think on joy, for misfortune may take a man
whensoever it wills."
Then Gawain granted his request, and they
brought them drink, and they gat them with lights to bed.
Sir Gawain lay and slept softly, but the
lord, who was keen on woodcraft, was afoot early. After Mass he and his men ate a morsel,
and he asked for his steed; all the knights who should ride with him were already mounted
before the hall gates.
'Twas a fair frosty morning, for the sun rose
red in ruddy vapour, and the welkin was clear of clouds. The hunters scattered them by a
forest side, and the rocks rang again with the blast of their horns. Some came on the
scent of a fox, and a hound gave tongue; the huntsmen shouted, and the pack followed in a
crowd on the trail. The fox ran before them, and when they saw him they pursued him with
noise and much shouting, and he wound and turned through many a thick grove, often
cowering and hearkening in a hedge. At last by a little ditch he leapt out of a spinney,
stole away slily by a copse path, and so out of the wood and away from the hounds. But he
went, ere he wist, to a chosen tryst, and three started forth on him at once, so he must
needs double back, and betake him to the wood again.
Then was it joyful to hearken to the hounds;
when all the pack had met together and had sight of their game they made as loud a din as
if all the lofty cliffs had fallen clattering together. The huntsmen shouted and
threatened, and followed close upon him so that he might scarce escape, but Reynard was
wily, and he turned and doubled upon them, and led the lord and his men over the hills,
now on the slopes, now in the vales, while the knight at home slept through the cold
morning beneath his costly curtains.
the fair lady of the castle rose betimes, and clad herself in a rich mantle that reached
even to the ground, left her throat and her fair neck bare, and was bordered and lined
with costly furs. On her head she wore no golden circlet, but a network of precious
stones, that gleamed and shone through her tresses in clusters of twenty together. Thus
she came into the chamber, closed the door after her, and set open a window, and called to
him gaily, "Sir Knight, how may ye sleep? The morning is so fair."
Sir Gawain was deep in slumber, and in his
dream he vexed him much for the destiny that should befall him on the morrow, when he
should meet the knight at the Green Chapel, and abide his blow; but when the lady spake he
heard her, and came to himself, and roused from his dream and answered swiftly. The lady
came laughing, and kissed him courteously, and he welcomed her fittingly with a cheerful
countenance. He saw her so glorious and gaily dressed, so faultless of features and
complexion, that it warmed his heart to look upon her.
They spake to each other smiling, and all
was bliss and good cheer between them. They exchanged fair words, and much happiness was
therein, yet was there a gulf between them, and she might win no more of her knight, for
that gallant prince watched well his words--he would neither take her love, nor frankly
refuse it. He cared for his courtesy, lest he be deemed churlish, and yet more for his
honour lest he be traitor to his host. "God forbid," quoth he to himself,
"that it should so befall." Thus with courteous words did he set aside all the
special speeches that came from her lips.
Then spake the lady to the knight, "Ye deserve blame if ye hold not that
lady who sits beside ye above all else in the world, if ye have not already a love whom ye
hold dearer, and like better, and have sworn such firm faith to that lady that ye care not
to loose it--and that am I now fain to believe. And now I pray ye straitly that ye tell me
that in truth, and hide it not."
And the knight answered, "By S.
John", (and he smiled as he spake) "no such love have I, nor do I think to have
"That is the worst word I may
hear," quoth the lady, "but in sooth I have mine answer; kiss me now
courteously, and I will go hence; I can but mourn as a maiden that loves much."
Sighing, she stooped down and kissed him, and
then she rose up and spake as she stood, "Now, dear, at our parting do me this grace:
give me some gift, if it were but thy glove, that I may bethink me of my knight, and
lessen my mourning."
"Now, I wis," quoth the knight,
"I would that I had here the most precious thing that I possess on earth that I might
leave ye as love-token, great or small, for ye have deserved forsooth more reward than I
might give ye. But it is not to your honour to have at this time a glove for reward as
gift from Gawain, and I am here on a strange errand, and have no man with me, nor mails
with goodly things--that mislikes me much, lady, at this time; but each man must fare as
he is taken, if for sorrow and ill."
"Nay, knight highly honoured," quoth that lovesome lady, "though I
have naught of yours, yet shall ye have somewhat of mine." With that she reached him
a ring of red gold with a sparkling stone therein, that shone even as the sun (wit ye
well, it was worth many marks); but the knight refused it, and spake readily,
"I will take no gift, lady, at this
time. I have none to give, and none will I take."
She prayed him to take it, but he refused her
prayer, and sware in sooth that he would not have it.
The lady was sorely vexed, and said, "If
ye refuse my ring as too costly, that ye will not be so highly beholden to me, I will give
you my girdle10 as a lesser gift." With that
she loosened a lace that was fastened at her side, knit upon her kirtle under her mantle.
It was wrought of green silk, and gold, only braided by the fingers, and that she offered
to the knight, and besought him though it were of little worth that he would take it, and
he said nay, he would touch neither gold nor gear ere God give him grace to achieve the
adventure for which he had come hither. "And therefore, I pray ye, displease ye not,
and ask me no longer, for I may not grant it. I am dearly beholden to ye for the favour ye
have shown me, and ever, in heat and cold, will I be your true servant."
"Now," said the lady, "ye
refuse this silk, for it is simple in itself, and so it seems, indeed; lo, it is small to
look upon and less in cost, but whoso knew the virtue that is knit therein he would,
peradventure, value it more highly. For whatever knight is girded with this green lace,
while he bears it knotted about him there is no man under heaven can overcome him, for he
may not be slain for any magic on earth."
Then Gawain bethought him, and it came into his heart that this were a jewel for
the jeopardy that awaited him when he came to the Green Chapel to seek the return
blow--could he so order it that he should escape unslain, 'twere a craft worth trying.
Then he bare with her chiding, and let her say her say, and she pressed the girdle on him
and prayed him to take it, and he granted her prayer, and she gave it him with good will,
and besought him for her sake never to reveal it but to hide it loyally from her lord; and
the knight agreed that never should any man know it, save they two alone. He thanked her
often and heartily, and she kissed him for the third time.
Then she took her leave of him, and when she
was gone Sir Gawain arose, and clad him in rich attire, and took the girdle, and knotted
it round him, and it beneath his robes. Then he took his way to the chapel, and sought out
a priest privily and prayed him to teach him better how his soul might be saved when he
should go hence; and there he shrived him, and showed his misdeeds, both great and small,
and besought mercy and craved absolution; and the priest assoiled him, and set him as
clean as if Doomsday had been on the morrow. And afterwards Sir Gawain made him merry with
the ladies, with carols, and all kinds of joy, as never he did but that one day, even to
nightfall; and all the men marvelled at him, and said that never since he came thither had
he been so merry.
Meanwhile the lord of the castle was abroad
chasing the fox; awhile he lost him, and as he rode through a spinny he heard the hounds
near at hand, and Reynard came creeping through a thick grove, with all the pack at his
heels. Then the lord drew out his shining brand, and cast it at the beast, and the fox
swerved aside for the sharp edge, and would have doubled back, but a hound was on him ere
he might turn, and right before the horse's feet they all fell on him, and worried him
fiercely, snarling the while.
lord leapt from his saddle, and caught the fox from the jaws, and held it aloft over his
head, and hallooed loudly, and many brave hounds bayed as they beheld it; and the hunters
hied them thither, blowing their horns; all that bare bugles blew them at once, and all
the others shouted. 'Twas the merriest meeting that ever men heard, the clamour that was
raised at the death of the fox. They rewarded the hounds, stroking them and rubbing their
heads, and took Reynard and stripped him of his coat; then blowing their horns, they
turned them homewards, for it was nigh nightfall.
The lord was gladsome at his return, and
found a bright fire on the hearth, and the knight beside it, the good Sir Gawain, who was
in joyous mood for the pleasure he had had with the ladies. He wore a robe of blue, that
reached even to the ground, and a surcoat richly furred, that became him well. A hood like
to the surcoat fell on his shoulders, and all alike were done about with fur. He met the
host in the midst of the floor, and jesting, he greeted him, and said, "Now shall I
be first to fulfil our covenant which we made together when there was no lack of
wine." Then he embraced the knight, and kissed him thrice, as solemnly as he might.
"Of a sooth," quoth the other,
"ye have good luck in the matter of this covenant, if ye made a good exchange!"
"Yea, it matters naught of the exchange,"
quoth Gawain, "since what I owe is swiftly paid."
"Marry," said the other, "mine
is behind, for I have hunted all this day, and naught have I got but this foul fox-skin,
and that is but poor payment for three such kisses as ye have here given me."
"Enough," quoth Sir Gawain, "I
thank ye, by the Rood."
Then the lord told them of his hunting, and
how the fox had been slain.
With mirth and minstrelsy, and dainties at
their will, they made them as merry as a folk well might till 'twas time for them to
sever, for at last they must needs betake them to their beds. Then the knight took his
leave of the lord, and thanked him fairly.
"For the fair sojourn that I have had
here at this high feast may the High King give ye honour. I give ye myself, as one of your
servants, if ye so like; for I must needs, as you know, go hence with the morn, and ye
will give me, as ye promised, a guide to show me the way to the Green Chapel, an God will
suffer me on New Year's Day to deal the doom of my weird."
"By my faith," quoth the host,
"all that ever I promised, that shall I keep with good will." Then he gave him a
servant to set him in the way, and lead him by the downs, that he should have no need to
ford the stream, and should fare by the shortest road through the groves; and Gawain
thanked the lord for the honour done him. Then he would take leave of the ladies, and
courteously he kissed them, and spake, praying them to receive his thanks, and they made
like reply; then with many sighs they commended him to Christ, and he departed courteously
from that folk. Each man that he met he thanked him for his service and his solace, and
the pains he had been at to do his will; and each found it as hard to part from the knight
as if he had ever dwelt with him.
they led him with torches to his chamber, and brought him to his bed to rest. That he
slept soundly I may not say, for the morrow gave him much to think on. Let him rest
awhile, for he was near that which he sought, and if ye will but listen to me I will tell
ye how it fared with him thereafter.
Now the New Year drew nigh, and the night
passed, and the day chased the darkness, as is God's will; but wild weather wakened
therewith. The clouds cast the cold to the earth, with enough of the north to slay them
that lacked clothing. The snow drave smartly, and the whistling wind blew from the
heights, and made great drifts in the valleys. The knight, lying in his bed, listened, for
though his eyes were shut, he might sleep but little, and hearkened every cock that crew.
He arose ere the day broke, by the light of a lamp
that burned in his chamber, and called to his chamberlain, bidding him bring his armour
and saddle his steed. The other gat him up, and fetched his garments, and robed Sir
First he clad him in his clothes to keep off
the cold, and then in his harness, which was well and fairly kept. Both hauberk and plates
were well burnished, the rings of the rich byrny freed from rust, and all as fresh as at
first, so that the knight was fain to thank them. Then he did on each piece, and bade them
bring his steed, while he put the fairest raiment on himself; his coat with its fair
cognizance, adorned with precious stones upon velvet, with broidered seams, and all furred
within with costly skins. And he left not the lace, the lady's gift, that Gawain forgot
not, for his own good. When he had girded on his sword he wrapped the gift twice about
him, swathed around his waist. The girdle of green silk set gaily and well upon the royal
red cloth, rich to behold, but the knight ware it not for pride of the pendants, polished
though they were with gold that gleamed brightly on the ends, but to save himself from
sword and knife, when it behoved him to abide his hurt without question. With that the
hero went forth, and thanked that kindly folk full often.
Then was Gringalet ready, that was great and
strong, and had been well cared for and tended in every wise; in fair condition was that
proud steed, and fit for a journey. Then Gawain went to him, and looked on his coat, and
said by his sooth, "There is a folk in this place that thinketh on honour; much joy
may they have, and the lord who maintains them, and may all good betide that lovely lady
all her life long. Since they for charity cherish a guest, and hold honour in their hands,
may He who holds the heaven on high requite them, and also ye all. And if I might live
anywhere on earth, I would give ye full reward, readily, if so I might." Then he set
foot in the stirrup and bestrode his steed, and his squire gave him his shield, which he
laid on his shoulder. Then he smote Gringalet with his golden spurs, and the steed pranced
on the stones and would stand no longer.
By that his man was mounted, who bare his spear and lance, and Gawain quoth,
"I commend this castle to Christ, may He give it ever good fortune." Then the
drawbridge was let down, and the broad gates unbarred and opened on both sides; the knight
crossed himself, and passed through the gateway, and praised the porter, who knelt before
the prince, and gave him good-day, and commended him to God. Thus the knight went on his
way with the one man who should guide him to that dread place where he should receive
The two went by hedges where the boughs were
bare, and climbed the cliffs where the cold clings. Naught fell from the heavens, but
'twas ill beneath them; mist brooded over the moor and hung on the mountains; each hill
had a cap, a great cloak, of mist. The streams foamed and bubbled between their banks,
dashing sparkling on the shores where they shelved downwards. Rugged and dangerous was the
way through the woods, till it was time for the sun-rising. Then were they on a high hill;
the snow lay white beside them, and the man who rode with Gawain drew rein by his master.
"Sir," he said, "I have
brought ye hither, and now ye are not far from the place that ye have sought so specially.
But I will tell ye for sooth, since I know ye well, and ye are such a knight as I well
love, would ye follow my counsel ye would fare the better. The place whither ye go is
accounted full perilous, for he who liveth in that waste is the worst on earth, for he is
strong and fierce, and loveth to deal mighty blows; taller is he than any man on earth,
and greater of frame than any four in Arthur's court, or in any other. And this is his
custom at the Green Chapel; there may be no man pass by that place, however proud his
arms, but he does him to death by force of his hand, for he is a discourteous knight, and
shews no mercy. Be he churl or chaplain who rides by that chapel, monk or mass priest, or
any man else, he thinks it as pleasant to slay them as to pass alive himself. Therefore, I
tell ye, as sooth as ye sit in saddle, if ye come there and that knight know it, ye shall
be slain, though ye had twenty lives; trow me that truly! He has dwelt here full long and
seen many a combat; ye may not defend ye against his blows. Therefore, good Sir Gawain,
let the man be, and get ye away some other road; for God's sake seek ye another land, and
there may Christ speed ye! And I will hie me home again, and I promise ye further that I
will swear by God and the saints, or any other oath ye please, that I will keep counsel
faithfully, and never let any wit the tale that ye fled for fear of any man."
"Gramercy," quoth Gawain, but ill-pleased.
"Good fortune be his who wishes me good, and that thou wouldst keep faith with me I
will believe; but didst thou keep it never so truly, an I passed here and fled for fear as
thou sayest, then were I a coward knight, and might not be held guiltless. So I will to
the chapel let chance what may, and talk with that man, even as I may list, whether for
weal or for woe as fate may have it. Fierce though he may be in fight, yet God knoweth
well how to save His servants."
"Well," quoth the other, "now
that ye have said so much that ye will take your own harm on yourself, and ye be pleased
to lose your life, I will neither let nor keep ye. Have here your helm and the spear in
your hand, and ride down this same road beside the rock till ye come to the bottom of the
valley, and there look a little to the left hand, and ye shall see in that vale the
chapel, and the grim man who keeps it. Now fare ye well, noble Gawain; for all the gold on
earth I would not go with ye nor bear ye fellowship one step further." With that the
man turned his bridle into the wood, smote the horse with his spurs as hard as he could,
and galloped off, leaving the knight alone.
Quoth Gawain, "I will neither greet nor
groan, but commend myself to God, and yield me to His will."
Then the knight spurred Gringalet, and rode adown the
path close in by a bank beside a grove. So he rode through the rough thicket, right into
the dale, and there he halted, for it seemed him wild enough. No sign of a chapel could he
see, but high and burnt banks on either side and rough rugged crags with great stones
above. An ill-looking place he thought it.
Then he drew in his horse and looked around
to seek the chapel, but he saw none and thought it strange. Then he saw as it were a mound
on a level space of land by a bank beside the stream where it ran swiftly, the water
bubbled within as if boiling. The knight turned his steed to the mound, and lighted down
and tied the rein to the branch of a linden; and he turned to the mound and walked round
it, questioning with himself what it might be. It had a hole at the end and at either
side, and was overgrown with clumps of grass, and it was hollow within as an old cave or
the crevice of a crag; he knew not what it might be.
"Ah," quoth Gawain, "can this
be the Green Chapel? Here might the devil say his mattins at midnight! Now I wis there is
wizardry here. 'Tis an ugly oratory, all overgrown with grass, and 'twould well beseem
that fellow in green to say his devotions on devil's wise. Now feel I in five wits, 'tis
the foul fiend himself who hath set me this tryst, to destroy me here! This is a chapel of
mischance: ill-luck betide it, 'tis the cursedest kirk that ever I came in!"
Helmet on head and lance in hand, he came up
to the rough dwelling, when he heard over the high hill beyond the brook, as it were in a
bank, a wondrous fierce noise, that rang in the cliff as if it would cleave asunder. 'Twas
as if one ground a scythe on a grindstone, it whirred and whetted like water on a
mill-wheel and rushed and rang, terrible to hear.
"By God," quoth Gawain, "I trow that
gear is preparing for the knight who will meet me here. Alas! naught may help me, yet
should my life be forfeit, I fear not a jot!" With that he called aloud. "Who
waiteth in this place to give me tryst? Now is Gawain come hither: if any man will aught
of him let him hasten hither now or never."
"Stay," quoth one on the bank above
his head, "and ye shall speedily have that which I promised ye." Yet for a while
the noise of whetting went on ere he appeared, and then he came forth from a cave in the
crag with a fell weapon, a Danish axe newly dight, wherewith to deal the blow. An evil
head it had, four feet large, no less, sharply ground, and bound to the handle by the lace
that gleamed brightly. And the knight himself was all green as before, face and foot,
locks and beard, but now he was afoot. When he came to the water he would not wade it, but
sprang over with the pole of his axe, and strode boldly over the brent that was white with
Sir Gawain went to meet him, but he made no
low bow. The other said, "Now, fair sir, one may trust thee to keep tryst. Thou art
welcome, Gawain, to my place. Thou hast timed thy coming as befits a true man. Thou
knowest the covenant set between us: at this time twelve months agone thou didst take that
which fell to thee, and I at this New Year will readily requite thee. We are in this
valley, verily alone, here are no knights to sever us, do what we will. Have off thy helm
from thine head, and have here thy pay; make me no more talking than I did then when thou
didst strike off my head with one blow."
"Nay," quoth Gawain, "by God
that gave me life, I shall make no moan whatever befall me, but make thou ready for the
blow and I shall stand still and say never a word to thee, do as thou wilt."
With that he bent his head and shewed his neck all
bare, and made as if he had no fear, for he would not be thought a-dread.
Then the Green Knight made him ready, and
grasped his grim weapon to smite Gawain. With all his force he bore it aloft with a mighty
feint of slaying him: had it fallen as straight as he aimed he who was ever doughty of
deed had been slain by the blow. But Gawain swerved aside as the axe came gliding down to
slay him as he stood, and shrank a little with the shoulders, for the sharp iron. The
other heaved up the blade and rebuked the prince with many proud words:
"Thou art not Gawain," he said,
"who is held so valiant, that never feared he man by hill or vale, but thou
shrinkest for fear ere thou feelest hurt. Such cowardice did I never hear of Gawain!
Neither did I flinch from thy blow, or make strife in King Arthur's hall. My head
fell to my feet, and yet I fled not; but thou didst wax faint of heart ere any harm
befell. Wherefore must I be deemed the braver knight."
Quoth Gawain, "I shrank once, but so
will I no more, though an my head fall on the stones I cannot replace it. But
haste, Sir Knight, by thy faith, and bring me to the point, deal me my destiny, and do it
out of hand, for I will stand thee a stroke and move no more till thine axe have hit
me--my troth on it."
"Have at thee, then," quoth the
other, and heaved aloft the axe with a fierce mien, as if he were mad. He struck at him
fiercely but wounded him not, withholding his hand ere it might strike him.
Gawain abode the stroke, and flinched in no limb, but
stood still as a stone or the stump of a tree that is fast rooted in the rocky ground with
a hundred roots.
Then spake gaily the man in green, "So
now thou hast thine heart whole it behoves me to smite. Hold aside thy hood that Arthur
gave thee, and keep thy neck thus bent lest it cover it again."
Then Gawain said angrily, "Why talk on
thus? Thou dost threaten too long. I hope thy heart misgives thee."
"Forsooth," quoth the other,
"so fiercely thou speakest I will no longer let thine errand wait its reward."
Then he braced himself to strike, frowning with lips and brow, 'twas no marvel that it
pleased but ill him who hoped for no rescue. He lifted the axe lightly and let it fall
with the edge of the blade on the bare neck. Though he struck swiftly it hurt him no more
than on the one side where it severed the skin. The sharp blade cut into the flesh so that
the blood ran over his shoulder to the ground. And when the knight saw the blood staining
the snow, he sprang forth, swift-foot, seized his helmet and set it on his head, cast his
shield over his shoulder, drew out his bright sword, and spake boldly (never since he was
born was he half so blithe), "Stop, Sir Knight, bid me no more blows. I have stood a
stroke here without flinching, and if thou give me another, I shall requite thee, and give
thee as good again. By the covenant made betwixt us in Arthur's hall but one blow falls to
me here. Halt, therefore."
Then the Green Knight drew off from him and
leaned on his axe, setting the shaft on the ground, and looked on Gawain as he stood all
armed and faced him fearlessly--at heart it pleased him well. Then he spake merrily in a
loud voice, and said to the knight, "Bold sir, be not so fierce, no man here hath
done thee wrong, nor will do, save by covenant, as we made at Arthur's court. I promised
thee a blow and thou hast it--hold thyself well paid! I release thee of all other claims.
If I had been so minded I might perchance have given thee a rougher buffet. First I
menaced thee with a feigned one, and hurt thee not for the covenant that we made in the
first night, and which thou didst hold truly. All the gain didst thou give me as a true
man should. The other feint I proffered thee for the morrow: my fair wife kissed thee, and
thou didst give me her kisses--for both those days I gave thee two blows without
scathe--true man, true return. But the third time thou didst fail, and therefore hadst
thou that blow. For 'tis my weed thou wearest, that same woven girdle, my own wife
wrought it, that do I wot for sooth. Now know I well thy kisses, and thy conversation, and
the wooing of my wife, for 'twas mine own doing. I sent her to try thee, and in sooth I
think thou art the most faultless knight that ever trode earth. As a pearl among white
peas is of more worth than they, so is Gawain, i'faith, by other knights. But thou didst
lack a little, Sir Knight, and wast wanting in loyalty, yet that was for no evil work, nor
for wooing neither, but because thou lovedst thy life--therefore I blame thee the
Then the other stood a
great while, still sorely angered and vexed within himself; all the blood flew to his
face, and he shrank for shame as the Green Knight spake; and the first words he said were,
"Cursed be ye, cowardice and covetousness, for in ye is the destruction of
virtue." Then he loosed the girdle, and gave it to the knight. "Lo, take there
the falsity, may foul befall it! For fear of thy blow cowardice bade me make friends with
covetousness and forsake the customs of largesse and loyalty, which befit all knights. Now
am I faulty and false and have been afeared: from treachery and untruth come sorrow and
care. I avow to thee, Sir Knight, that I have ill done; do then thy will. I shall be more
Then the other laughed and said gaily,
"I wot I am whole of the hurt I had, and thou hast made such free confession of thy
misdeeds, and hast so borne the penance of mine axe edge, that I hold thee absolved from
that sin, and purged as clean as if thou hadst never sinned since thou wast born. And this
girdle that is wrought with gold and green, like my raiment, do I give thee, Sir Gawain,
that thou mayest think upon this chance when thou goest forth among princes of renown, and
keep this for a token of the adventure of the Green Chapel, as it chanced between
chivalrous knights. And thou shalt come again with me to my dwelling and pass the rest of
this feast in gladness." Then the lord laid hold of him, and said, "I wot we
shall soon make peace with my wife, who was thy bitter enemy."
"Nay, forsooth," said Sir Gawain, and seized
his helmet and took it off swiftly, and thanked the knight: "I have fared ill, may
bliss betide thee, and may He who rules all things reward thee swiftly. Commend me to that
courteous lady, thy fair wife, and to the other my honoured ladies, who have beguiled
their knight with skilful craft. But 'tis no marvel if one be made a fool and brought to
sorrow by women's wiles, for so was Adam beguiled by one, and Solomon by many, and Samson
all too soon, for Delilah dealt him his doom; and David thereafter was wedded with
Bathsheba, which brought him much sorrow--if one might love a woman and believe her not,
'twere great gain! And since all they were beguiled by women, methinks 'tis the less blame
to me that I was misled! But as for thy girdle, that will I take with good will, not for
gain of the gold, nor for samite, nor silk, nor the costly pendants, neither for weal nor
for worship, but in sign of my frailty. I shall look upon it when I ride in renown and
remind myself of the fault and faintness of the flesh; and so when pride uplifts me for
prowess of arms, the sight of this lace shall humble my heart. But one thing would I pray,
if it displease thee not: since thou art lord of yonder land wherein I have dwelt, tell me
what thy rightful name may be, and I will ask no more."
"That will I truly," quoth the
other. "Bernlak de Hautdesert am I called in this land. Morgain le Fay dwelleth in
mine house11, and through knowledge of clerkly
craft hath she taken many. For long time was she the mistress of Merlin, who knew well all
you knights of the court. Morgain the goddess is she called therefore, and there is none
so haughty but she can bring him low. She sent me in this guise to yon fair hall to test
the truth of the renown that is spread abroad of the valour of the Round Table. She taught
me this marvel to betray your wits, to vex Guinevere and fright her to death by the man
who spake with his head in his hand at the high table. That is she who is at home, that
ancient lady, she is even thine aunt, Arthur's half-sister, the daughter of the Duchess of
Tintagel, who afterward married King Uther. Therefore I bid thee, knight, come to thine
aunt, and make merry in thine house; my folk love thee, and I wish thee as well as any man
on earth, by my faith, for thy true dealing."
But Sir Gawain said nay, he would in no wise do so; so
they embraced and kissed, and commended each other to the Prince of Paradise, and parted
right there, on the cold ground. Gawain on his steed rode swiftly to the king's hall, and
the Green Knight got him whithersoever he would.
Sir Gawain who had thus won grace of his
life, rode through wild ways on Gringalet; oft he lodged in a house, and oft without, and
many adventures did he have and came off victor full often, as at this time I cannot
relate in tale. The hurt that he had in his neck was healed, he bare the shining girdle as
a baldric bound by his side, and made fast with a knot 'neath his left arm, in token that
he was taken in a fault--and thus he came in safety again to the court.
Then joy awakened in that dwelling when the
king knew that the good Sir Gawain was come, for he deemed it gain. King Arthur kissed the
knight, and the queen also, and many valiant knights sought to embrace him. They asked him
how he had fared, and he told them all that had chanced to him--the adventure of the
chapel, the fashion of the knight, the love of the lady--at last of the lace. He showed
them the wound in the neck which he won for his disloyalty at the hand of the knight, the
blood flew to his face for shame as he told the tale.
"Lo, lady," he quoth, and handled the lace,
"this is the bond of the blame that I bear in my neck, this is the harm and the loss
I have suffered, the cowardice and covetousness in which I was caught, the token of my
covenant in which I was taken. And I must needs wear it so long as I live, for none may
hide his harm, but undone it may not be, for if it hath clung to thee once, it may never
Then the king comforted the knight, and the
court laughed loudly at the tale, and all made accord that the lords and the ladies who
belonged to the Round Table, each hero among them, should wear bound about him a baldric
of bright green for the sake of Sir Gawain12. And
to this was agreed all the honour of the Round Table, and he who ware it was honoured the
more thereafter, as it is testified in the best book of romance. That in Arthur's days
this adventure befell, the book of Brutus bears witness. For since that bold knight came
hither first, and the siege and the assault were ceased at Troy, I wis.
Many a venture herebefore
Hath fallen such as this:
May He that bare the crown of thorn
Bring us unto His bliss.
1. Dance accompanied by song. Often mentioned
in old romances.
2. Agravain, "à la dure main."
This characterisation of Gawain's brother seems to indicate that there was a French source
at the root of this story. The author distinctly tells us more than once that the tale, as
he tells it, was written in a book, M. Gaston Paris thinks that the direct source
was an Anglo-Norman poem, now lost.
3. If any in this hall holds himself so
hardy. This, the main incident of the tale, is apparently of very early date. The
oldest version we possess is that found in the Irish tale of the Fled Bricrend
(Bricriu's feast) [edited and translated by the Rev. G. Henderson, M.A., Irish Texts
Society, vol. ii], where the hero of the tale is the Irish champion,
mediæval romances, the Mule sans Frein (French) and Diu Krône (German)
again attribute it to Gawain; while the continuator of Chrétien de Troye's Conte del
Graal gives as hero a certain Carados, whom he represents as Arthur's nephew; and the
prose Perceval has Lancelot. So far as the mediæval versions are concerned, the
original hero is undoubtedly Gawain; and our poem gives the fullest and most complete form
of the story we possess. In the Irish version the magician is a giant, and the
abnormal size and stature of the Green Knight is, in all probability, the survival of a
primitive feature. His curious colour is a trait found nowhere else. InDiu
Krône we are told that the challenger changes shapes in a terrifying manner, but no
details are given.
4. For Yule was over-past. This
passage, descriptive of the flight of the year, should be especially noticed. Combined
with the other passages--the description of Gawain's journey, the early morning hunts, the
dawning of New Year's Day, and the ride to the Green Chapel--they indicate a knowledge of
Nature, and an observant eye for her moods, uncommon among mediæval poets. It is usual
enough to find graceful and charming descriptions of spring and early summer--an
appreciation of May in especial, when the summer courts were held, is part of the
stock-in-trade of mediæval romancers--but a sympathy with the year in all its changes is
far rarer, and certainly deserves to be specially reckoned to the credit of this nameless
5. First a rich carpet was stretched on
the floor. The description of the arming of Gawain is rather more detailed in the
original, but some of the minor points are not easy to understand, the identification of
sundry of the pieces of armour being doubtful.
6. The pentangle painted thereupon is
gleaming gold. I do not remember that the pentangle is elsewhere attributed to Gawain.
He often bears a red shield; but the blazon varies. Indeed, the heraldic devices borne by
Arthur's knights are distractingly chaotic--their legends are older than the science of
heraldry, and no one has done for them the good office that the compiler of the Thidrek
Saga has rendered to his Teutonic heroes.
7. The Wilderness of Wirral. This is
in Cheshire. Sir F. Madden suggests that the forest which forms the final stage of
Gawain's journey is that of Inglewood, in Cumberland. The geography here is far clearer
than is often the case in such descriptions.
8. 'Twas the fairest castle that ever a
knight owned. Here, again, I have omitted some of the details of the original, the
architectural terms lacking identification.
9. With blast of the bugle fared forth to
the field. The account of each day's hunting contains a number of obsolete terms and
details of woodcraft, not given in full. The meaning of some has been lost, and the minute
descriptions of skinning and dismembering the game would be distinctly repulsive to the
general reader. They are valuable for a student of the history of the English sport, but
interfere with the progress of the story. The fact that the author devotes so much space
to them seems to indicate that he lived in the country and was keenly interested in field
sports. (Gottfried von Strassbourg's Tristan contains a similar and almost more
10. I will give [you] my girdle. This
magic girdle, which confers invulnerability on its owner, is a noticeable feature of our
story. It is found nowhere else in this connection, yet in other romances we find that
Gawain possesses a girdle with similar powers (cf., my Legend of Sir Gawain, Chap.
IX.). Such a talisman was also owned by Cuchulinn, the Irish hero, who has many points of
contact with Gawain. It seems not improbable that this was also an old feature of the
story. I have commented, in the Introduction, on the lady's persistent wooing of Gawain,
and need not repeat the remarks here. In the Lay the hero is mysteriously deprived
of his legs, through the draught from a cup offered by a Grugach or magician. He
comes to a castle, the lord of which goes out hunting, leaving his wife in the care of the
Great Fool, who is to allow no man to enter. He falls asleep, and a young knight arrives
and kisses the host's wife. The Great Fool, awaking, refuses to allow the intruder to
depart; and, in spite of threats and blandishments, insists on detaining him till the
husband returns. Finally, the stranger reveals himself as the host in another shape; he is
also the Grugach, who deprived the hero of his limbs, and the Great Fool's brother.
He has only intended to test the Amadon Mor's fidelity. A curious point in
connection with this story is that it possesses a prose opening which shows a marked
affinity with the "Perceval" enfances. That the Perceval and Gawain
stories early became connected is certain, but what is the precise connection between them
and the Celtic Lay is not clear. In its present form the latter is certainly
posterior to the Grail romances, but it is quite possible that the matter with which it
deals represents a tradition older than the Arthurian story.
11. Morgain le Fay, who dwelleth in my
house. The enmity between Morgain le Fay and Guinevere, which is here stated to have
the motif of the enchantment, is no invention of the author, but is found in the Merlin,
probably the earliest of the Arthurian prose romances. In a later version of our
story, a poem, written in ballad form, and contained in the "Percy" MS., Morgain
does not appear; her place is taken by an old witch, mother to the lady, but the
enchantment is still due to her spells. In this later form the knight bears the curious
name of Sir Bredbeddle.. That given in our romance, Bernlak de Hautdesert,,
seems to point to the original French source of the story. (It is curious that Morgain
should here be represented as extremely old, while Arthur is still in his first youth.
There is evidently a discrepancy or misunderstanding of the source here.)
12. A baldric of bright green, for sake of
Sir Gawain. The later version connects this lace with that worn by the knights
of the Bath; but this latter was white, not green.. The knights wore it on
the left shoulder till they had done some gallant deed, or till some noble lady took it
off for them.