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MORIEN
A Metrical Romance Rendered Into English Prose From The Mediæval Dutch
Arthurian Romances No. IV.
By Jessie L. Weston,
With designs by Caroline Watts.
Additional Arthurian Romances:
I. Sir Gawain And The Green Knight.
A Middle-English Romance retold in Modern Prose, with Introduction and
Notes, by JESSIE L. WESTON. With Designs by M. M. CRAWFORD. 1898. 2s.
net.
II. Tristan And Iseult.
Rendered into English from the German of Gottfried of Strassburg by
JESSIE L. WESTON. With Designs by CAROLINE WATTS. Two vols. 1899. 4s.
net.
III. Guingamor, Lanval, Tyolet, Le Bisclaveret.
Four Lays rendered into English Prose from the French of Marie de France
and others by JESSIE L. WESTON. With Designs by CAROLINE WATTS. 1900.
2s. net. [Illustration: They deemed they had seen the Foul Fiend
himself]
PREFACE
The metrical romance of which the following pages offer a prose
translation is contained in the mediæval Dutch version of the
_Lancelot_, where it occupies upwards of five thousand lines, forming
the conclusion of the first existing volume of that compilation. So far
as our present knowledge extends, it is found nowhere else.
Nor do we know the date of the original poem, or the name of the author.
The Dutch MS. is of the commencement of the fourteenth century, and
appears to represent a compilation similar to that with which Sir Thomas
Malory has made us familiar, _i.e._, a condensed rendering of a number
of Arthurian romances which in their original form were independent of
each other. Thus, in the Dutch _Lancelot_ we have not only the latter
portion of the _Lancelot_ proper, the _Queste_, and the _Morte Arthur_,
the ordinary component parts of the prose _Lancelot_ in its most fully
developed form, but also a portion of a _Perceval_ romance, having for
its basis a version near akin to, if not identical with, the poem
of Chrétien de Troyes, and a group of episodic romances, some of
considerable length, the majority of which have not yet been discovered
elsewhere. [Footnote: _Cf_. my _Legend of Sir Lancelot du Lac_;
Grimm Library, vol. xii., chapter ix., where a brief summary of the
contents of the Dutch _Lancelot_ is given.]
Unfortunately, the first volume of this compilation, which was
originally in four parts, has been lost; consequently we are without any
of the indications, so often to be found in the opening lines of similar
compositions, as to the personality of the compiler, or the material at
his disposal; but judging from those sections in which comparison is
possible, the _Lancelot_, _Queste_, and _Morte Arthur_, the entire work
is a translation, and a very faithful translation, of a French original.
It is quite clear that the Dutch compiler understood his text well, and
though possibly somewhat hampered by the necessity of turning prose into
verse (this version, contrary to the otherwise invariable rule of the
later _Lancelot_ romances, being rhymed), he renders it with remarkable
fidelity. The natural inference, and that drawn by M. Gaston Paris,
who, so far, appears to be the only scholar who has seriously occupied
himself with this interesting version, is that those episodic romances,
of which we possess no other copy, are also derived from a French
source. Most probably, so far as these shorter romances are concerned,
the originals would be metrical, not prose versions, as in the case of
the _Lancelot_ sections.
It is true that with regard to the romance here translated, _Morien_,
the Dutch scholars responsible for the two editions in which it has
appeared, MM. Jonckbloet and Te Winkel, the former the editor of the
whole compilation, the latter of this section only, are both inclined to
regard the poem as an original Dutch composition; but M. Gaston Paris,
in his summary of the romance (_Histoire Litteraire_, vol. xxx. p. 247)
rejects this theory as based on inadequate grounds. It must be admitted
that an original Arthurian romance of the twelfth or thirteenth century,
when at latest such a poem would be written, in a language other than
French, is so far unknown to us; and although as a matter of fact the
central _motif_ of the poem, the representation of a Moor as near akin
to the Grail Winner, Sir Perceval, has not been preserved in any known
French text, while it does exist in a famous German version, I for one
find no difficulty in believing that the tradition existed in French,
and that the original version of our poem was a metrical romance in that
tongue.
So far as the story of _Morien_ is concerned, the form is probably later
than the tradition it embodies. In its present shape it is certainly
posterior to the appearance of the Galahad _Queste_, to which it
contains several direct references; such are the hermit's allusion to
the predicted circumstances of his death, which are related in full in
the _Queste_; the prophecy that Perceval shall "aid" in the winning
of the Holy Grail, a quest of which in the earlier version he is sole
achiever; and the explicit statements of the closing lines as to
Galahad's arrival at Court, his filling the Siege Perilous, and
achieving the Adventures of the Round Table. As the romance now stands
it is an introduction to the _Queste_, with which volume iii. (volume
ii. of the extant version) of the Dutch _Lancelot_ opens.
But the opening lines of the present version show clearly that in
one important point, at least, the story has undergone a radical
modification. Was it the Dutch translator or his source who substituted
Agloval, Perceval's brother, for the tradition which made Perceval
himself the father of the hero? M. Gaston Paris takes the former view;
but I am inclined to think that the alteration was already in the
French source. The Grail of Sir Agloval's vision is the Grail of Castle
Corbenic and the _Queste_; unless we are to consider this vision as the
addition of the Dutch compiler (who, when we are in a position to test
his work does not interpolate such additions), we must, I think, admit
that the romance in the form in which it reached him was already at a
stage in which Perceval could not, without violence to the then existing
conception of his character, be considered as the father, or the
brother, of Morien. To reconstruct the original story it would be
necessary not merely to eliminate all mention of Agloval, as suggested
by M. Gaston Paris, but the Grail references would also require
modification. As it stands, the poem is a curious mixture of conflicting
traditions.
In this connection it appears to me that the evidence of the _Parzival_
is of primary importance; the circumstances attending the birth of
Feirefis are exactly parallel with those of Morien--in both a Christian
knight wins the love of a Moorish princess; in both he leaves her before
the birth of her son, in the one case with a direct, in the other with
a conditional, promise to return, which promise is in neither instance
kept; in both the lad, when grown to manhood, sets out to seek his
father; in both he apparently makes a practice of fighting with every
one whom he meets; in the one version he is brother, in the other son or
nephew, to Perceval. The points of difference are that whereas Morien is
black all over, save his teeth, Feirefis is parti-coloured, black and
white--a curious conception, which seems to point to an earlier
stage of thought; Morien is a Christian, Feirefis a heathen--the more
probable version.
It is easy to understand why the hero ceased to be considered Perceval's
son--the opening lines of the poem describe the situation perfectly; but
I do not think it has been sufficiently realised that precisely the same
causes which would operate to the suppression of this relationship would
equally operate to the suppression of that of the _Parzival_. Perceval,
the virgin winner of the Grail, could not have a _liaison_ with a
Moorish princess, but neither could Perceval's father, the direct
descendant of Joseph of Arimathea, and hereditary holder of the Grail.
The _Early History_ of that talisman, as related by Robert de Borron,
once generally accepted, the relationship of _brother_ was as impossible
as that of _son_.
It seems clear that if a genuine tradition of a Moor as near kinsman to
Perceval really existed--and I see no reason to doubt that it did--it
must have belonged to the Perceval story prior to the development of
the Grail tradition, _e.g._, to such a stage as that hinted at by the
chess-board adventure of the "Didot" _Perceval_ and Gautier's poem, when
the hero was as ready to take advantage of his _bonnes fortunes_ as
other heroes of popular folk tales.
Further, judging from these stories it would seem probable that the
requisite modification began with the earlier generation, _i.e._,
Perceval himself still retaining traces of his secular and folk-tale
origin, while his father and mother have already been brought under the
influence of the ecclesiasticised Grail tradition. That this would be
the case appears only probable when we recall the vague and conflicting
traditions as to the hero's parentage; it was Perceval himself, and not
his father or his mother, who was the important factor in the tale;
hence the change in his character was a matter of gradual evolution.
Thus I am of opinion that the Moor as Perceval's brother is likely to be
an earlier conception than the Moor as Perceval's son. It is, I think,
noticeable that the romance containing this feature, the _Parzival_,
also, contrary to the _Early History_ versions, connects him with the
Grail through his mother, instead of through his father.
The _Morien_ is for me a welcome piece of evidence in support of the
theory that sees in the poem of Wolfram von Eschenbach the survival of
a genuine variant of the _Perceval_ story, differing in important
particulars from that preserved by Chrétien de Troyes, and based upon a
French original, now, unfortunately, lost.
For this, if for no other reason, the poem would, it seems to me, be
worth introducing to a wider circle of readers than that to which in its
present form it can appeal. The students of old Dutch are few in number,
and the bewildering extent of the _Lancelot_ compilation, amounting as
it does, even in its incomplete state, to upwards of 90,000 lines, is
sufficient in itself to deter many from its examination. _Morien_ in its
original form is, and can be, known to but few. But not only does it
represent a tradition curious and interesting in itself, it has other
claims to attention; even in a translation it is by no means ill
written; it is simple, direct, and the adventures are not drawn out
to wearisome length by the introduction of unnecessary details. The
characterisation too, is good; the hero is well realised, and Gawain,
in particular, appears in a most favourable light, one far more in
accordance with the earlier than with the later stage of Arthurian
tradition; the contrast between his courteous self-restraint and the
impetuous ardour of the young savage is well conceived, and the manner
in which he and Gareth contrive to check and manage the turbulent
youth without giving him cause for offence is very cleverly indicated.
Lancelot is a much more shadowy personage; if, as suggested above, the
original story took shape at a period before he had attained to his
full popularity, and references to his valour were added later we can
understand this. It is noticeable that the adventure assigned to him is
much less original in character, and told with far less detail than that
ascribed to Gawain.
The romance as we have it presents, as remarked before, a curious
mixture of earlier and later elements. None of the adventures it relates
are preserved in any English text. Alike as a representative of a lost
tradition, and for its own intrinsic merit it has seemed to me, though
perhaps inferior in literary charm to the romances previously published
in this series, to be yet not unworthy of inclusion among them.
BOURNEMOUTH, _July_ 1901
MORIEN
_Herein doth the adventure tell of a knight who was named Morien. Some
of the books give us to wit that he was Perceval's son, and some say
that he was son to Agloval, who was Perceval's brother, so that he was
nephew unto that good knight. Now we find it written for a truth that
Perceval and Galahad alike died virgin knights in the quest of the Holy
Grail; and for that cause I say of Perceval that in sooth he was not
Morien's father, but that rather was Morien his brother's son. And of a
Moorish princess was he begotten at that time when Agloval sought far
and wide for Lancelot, who was lost, as ye have read here afore._
_I ween that he who made the tale of Lancelot and set it in rhyme
forgot, and was heedless of, the fair adventure of Morien. I marvel much
that they who were skilled in verse and the making of rhymes did not
bring the story to its rightful ending._ Now as at this time King Arthur
abode in Britain, and held high court, that his fame might wax the
greater; and as the noble folk sat at the board and ate, there came
riding a knight; for 'twas the custom in Arthur's days that while the
king held court no door, small nor great, should be shut, but all men
were free to come and go as they willed.
Thus the knight came riding where the high folk sat, and would fain have
dismounted, but so sorely was he wounded that he might not do so. In
sooth he was in evil case, for he had more than ten wounds, and from the
least of them a man might scarce recover; he came in such guise that his
weapons and his vesture and his steed, which was fair and tall, were
all dyed red with his own blood. The knight was sad at heart and sorely
wounded, yet he greeted, as best he might, all the lords then in the
hall; but more he might not speak, for the pain of his wounds.
Then my lord, Sir Gawain, who did full many a courtesy (for such was his
wont all his life long), so soon as he saw the knight, sprang up with no
delay, and lifted him from the saddle and set him upon the ground, but
he might neither sit, nor walk, nor so much as stand upon his feet, but
fell upon the earth.
Then Sir Gawain bade them carry him softly on a couch to the side of the
hall in the sight of the chief guests, that they might hear his tale.
But since he might scarce speak he made him to be disarmed, and stripped
to the skin, and wrapped in warm coverings and gave him a sop
steeped in clear wine.
Then Sir Gawain began to search his wounds, for in those days, so far
as God suffered the sun to shine might no man find one so skilled in
leech-craft, for that man whom he took in his care, were the life but
left in him, would neither lack healing nor die of any wound.
Then spake the knight who lay there: "Woe is me, for I may neither eat
nor drink; my heart beginneth to sink, mine eyes fail me, methinks I am
about to die! Yet might I live, and would God grant to me that all ye
who sit here beside me might hear my words, I had fain spoken with the
king, whom I sought as best I might, in that I would not be forsworn;
needs must I come hither!"
Then quoth Sir Gawain the good: "Sir Knight, have ye no dread of death
as at this time, for I shall help you to a respite." He drew forth from
his pouch a root that had this virtue, that it stayed the flow of blood
and strengthened the feeble; he placed it in the knight's mouth, and
bade him eat a little; therewith was his heart lightened, and he began
to eat and to drink, and forgat somewhat of his pain.
Erst when the service was ended came King Arthur to the knight as he
lay, and said: "God give ye good-day, dear Sir Knight; tell me who hath
wounded ye so sorely, and how came ye by your hurt? Did the knight who
wrought such harm depart from ye unscathed?"
Then spake the knight to the king, who stood before him: "That will I
tell ye, for I am sworn and pledged thereto. 'Tis seven years past that
I lost all my goods, and poverty pressed me so sorely that I knew not
what I might do. Thus would I keep myself by robbery. My tithes had I
sold, I had spent all my goods, and pledged all my heritage, so that of
all that my father left when he departed from this world there remained
to me nothing. Naught, not a straw, had I left. Yet had I given much in
largesse, for I had frequented many a tourney and Table Round where I
had scattered my goods; whosoever craved aught of me, whether for want
or for reward, were he page, were he messenger, never did he depart
empty-handed. Never did I fail any who besought aid of me. Thus I spent
all my goods. Then must I fare through the land; and did I meet folk
(though at first I shamed me) whomsoever I met, whether pilgrim or
merchant, did he bear goods or money with him, so did I deal with him
that I won it for myself. But little might escape me. I have done many
an evil deed! Now is it three days past since, as I fared on my way, a
knight met me, and I deemed his steed so good that I coveted it above
all things, but when I laid hands upon the bridle and bade the knight
dismount then was he ready with his sword and repaid me with such a blow
that I forgot who I was and all that had befallen me; so fierce was the
stroke he dealt me! And though I betook me to arms they profited me not
a jot; his blows were so heavy, they weighed even as lead. He pierced
through my harness, as ye may see in many places, smiting through flesh
and bone. But from me did he receive no blow that might turn to his
loss. Therefore must I yield myself to him, and swear by my troth, would
I save my life, to come hither to ye as swiftly as I might, and delay no
whit, but yield me your prisoner. And this have I now done, and I yield
myself to your grace, Sir King, avowing my misdeeds that I have wrought
in this world, whether in thought or deed."
Then quoth the king: "Wit ye well who he was, and how he was hight, who
sent ye hither? Of what fashion was his steed, and what tokens did he
bear?"
And the knight answered: "Of that ye would ask me may I tell ye naught,
save only that the knight's steed and armour were red as blood, and he
seemed to me of Wales by his speech, and by all I might discern of him.
Thereto is he of such might that I ween his equal may scarce be found in
Christendom; that may I also say in truth, since such ill chance befell
me that I met with him when my intent was evil, and not good."
Then King Arthur cried aloud that all might hear him, that the knight
was surely none other than Sir Perceval. He tore his hair, and demeaned
himself as one sorely vexed, and spake: "Though I be lord of riches yet
may I say that I am friendless! This may I say forsooth; since I lost
Perceval, and the ill chance befell me that he had the will and the
desire to seek the Grail and the spear (which he may not find) many a
wounded knight hath he sent as captive to my court, whom, for their
misdoing, he hath vanquished by his might. Ever shall he be thanked
therefor. Now have I no knight so valiant of mind that for my sake will
seek Perceval and bring him to court. Yet I and my court and my country
alike are shamed and dishonoured in that we have so long lacked his
presence, and for this am I above measure sorrowful."
Then spake Sir Kay the seneschal: "God-wot I shall fetch Perceval,
whether he will or no, and bring hither to court him whom ye praise so
highly, and believe me well, were he wrought of iron, by the God who
made me I will bring him living or dead! Does this content ye, my lord
king?"
Then stood Arthur and laughed aloud, and likewise did all the knights
who heard Sir Kay speak. And the king said: "Sir Kay, let this talk be;
ye should of right be shamed when ye hear the Welshman's name! Have ye
altogether forgot how ye boasted yourself aforetime, even as ye have now
done, and then how ye met Perceval, whom ye had scarce sought? There
were ye ill-counselled; ye thought to bring him without his will,
but the knight was not so feeble, he gave ye a blow that brake your
collar-bone and thrust ye from your steed, feet upward, with little
honour! Had he so willed he had slain ye. Idle boasting is great shame.
An I hear ye make further boast of seeking knights I shall owe ye small
thanks. Little would he heed your compelling! In such quest must another
ride would I be comforted by the coming of this knight!"
Quoth Sir Gawain, "Ye mind me of an old saying, Sir Kay, how if some men
grow old, and God should spare them even to an hundred years, then would
they be but the more foolish--such an one, methinks, are ye! Now believe
ye my tale; did ye once find Perceval, an ye thought to say to him other
than he chose to hear, by the Lord above us ye dare not do it for the
king's crown, who is lord of this land, he would put ye to such great
shame! Of long time, and full well, do I know his ways! When he is well
entreated, and men do naught to vex him, then is he gentle as a lamb,
but an ye rouse him to wrath then is he the fiercest wight of God's
making--in such wise is he fashioned. Gentle and courteous is he to all
the world, rich and poor, so long as men do him no wrong, but let his
temper be changed, and nowhere shall ye find his fellow!"
After this manner also spake Sir Lancelot, and all who were in the hall
took up the word of Sir Gawain, and praised Perceval. But there were
many in the court heavy at heart, and sore vexed with the king their
lord for that he held them so cheap.
Quoth the Father of Adventure, "By the might of our Lord, and by His
name, who ruleth in heaven, henceforth I will not rest in one place more
than one night or two, but will ride ever till I have found Perceval, or
learnt certain tidings of his doings; and I will bring him to court an
he be minded to ride with me--further will I not vaunt myself."
Then spake Arthur, "God wot, here have I both joy and sorrow. Fain am I
to behold Perceval, an such fortune befall me, and ill may I spare thee.
Thus have I joy and sorrow. Yet, nephew, trow me well, I were loth to
bid thee break thine oath; now, therefore, make ready as befits thee,
and depart as swiftly as may be, and seek me Perceval."
With these words up sprang Sir Lancelot of the Lake, and stepped
forward, and spake, and said he would adventure himself and take what
fortune should send, and go seek Perceval hither and thither through all
lands; "And may I but find that proud knight, an it lieth in my power,
hither will I bring him! Now will I make me ready, and ride hence
without longer tarrying; methinks, from the king's word, an he have
Perceval he shall be freed from care--so will I ride hence for his
honour."
Quoth Arthur the king: "Sir Lancelot, of this thing it behoves ye take
better rede; lightly might it turn to my shame if all my knights rode
forth, and I thereafter were beset with strife and warfare, as full oft
hath chanced aforetime! So might it in sooth be mine undoing. It hath
chanced afore this that I had lost crown and lands, save for my knights;
by them have I been victorious!"
Quoth Sir Lancelot: "By the Lord who made me, and who shall be
Doom's-man at the last day, come what may thereof, since Sir Gawain
rideth hence 'tis not I will bide behind! Rather will I try what may
chance, and adventure all that God hath given me, for he sought me with
all his power when I was in secret case, and brought me once more to
court--for that do I owe him faith and fellowship."
Then they all wept, wives and maidens, knights and squires, when they
knew Sir Lancelot would ride thence.
Sir Gawain, who forgat not the wounded knight and his need of healing,
went to him as he lay, and bound up his wounds, and so tended him at
that time that he was healed ere long--needs must he be healed, even
against his will, on whom Sir Gawain laid hands. All they of the court
were sad and sorry at their departing; that eve they ate but little, for
thinking of the knights who should ride forth with the morning.
But now will we be silent on their lamentations, and tell henceforth of
Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot, who rode both on their way.
* * * * *
The adventure doeth us to wit that in the morning, so soon as it was
day, they rode forth together through many a waste land, over many a
heath and high hill, adown many a valley to seek Sir Perceval, but
little did it profit them, for of him might they learn naught. Thus were
they sorely vexed.
On the ninth day there came riding towards them a knight on a goodly
steed, and well armed withal. He was all black, even as I tell ye: his
head, his body, and his hands were all black, saving only his teeth. His
shield and his armour were even those of a Moor, and black as a raven.
He rode his steed at full gallop, with many a forward bound. When he
beheld the knights, and drew nigh to them, and the one had greeted the
other, he cried aloud to Sir Lancelot: "Knight, now give me to wit of
one thing which I desire, or guard ye against my spear. The truth will I
know. I shall tell ye herewith my custom; what knight soever I may meet,
were he stronger than five men, and I knew it well, yet would I not hold
my hand for fear or favour, but he should answer me, or I should fight
against him. Now, Sir Knight, give me answer, by your troth, so truly as
ye know, to that which I shall ask ye, and delay not, otherwise may ye
well rue it!"
Quoth Sir Lancelot: "I were liefer dead than that a knight should force
me to do that to which I had no mind--so were the shame equal. Hold to
your custom an ye will; I were more fain to fight than to let ye be, if
but to fell your pride. I ask naught but peace, yet will I chastise your
discourtesy, or die in that will!"
The Moor, who was wroth with Sir Lancelot, abode not still, but reined
back his steed, and laid his spear in rest as one who was keen to fight.
Sir Gawain drew on one side, since the twain would fight, and thought in
himself, as was right and courteous, that it were folly, and the custom
of no good knight, for twain to fall on one man, since life stood not at
stake. 'Twere time enough for him to take hand therein, and stand by his
comrade, did he see him hard pressed. Therefore stood Sir Gawain still,
as one who had no mind to fight, nor to break the laws of courtesy.
Nevertheless he deemed that this was a devil rather than a man whom they
had come upon! Had they not heard him call upon God no man had dared
face him, deeming that he was the devil or one of his fellows out of
hell, for that his steed was so great, and he was taller even than Sir
Lancelot, and black withal, as I said afore.
Thus came the two together, the Moor and Sir Lancelot; each had a great
spear and brake it in two, as a reed, yet neither felled the other, but
each abode upon his steed. Then each drew his sword from its sheath, and
set to work therewith, and of a sooth, had not God Himself so willed it
both had died there; so mighty were their strokes that by right no man
should escape alive. Had it been midnight, and dark as night is wont to
be, yet had ye seen the grass and the flowers by the light of the sparks
that flew so thick from helmet and sword and fell upon the earth. The
smith that wrought their weapons I say he wrought them not amiss, he
merited a fairer reward than Arthur ever gave to any man for such
desert.
The knight and Sir Lancelot, neither would yield to the other till Sir
Gawain parted them by his prayer, and made them withdraw each from the
other, for great pity he deemed it should either there be slain; yet so
fell were the blows that they smote, and so great their wrath withal,
that he saw well did the strife endure but short while longer they had
received such wounds as should be the death of one, or it might well be
of both.
When Sir Gawain had parted the twain, whom he saw to be weary enow, he
spake to the Moor: "'Tis an ill custom this to which ye are given; ye
shall here renounce it. Had ye but asked in courteous wise that which ye
have a mind to know, this knight had hearkened, and had answered ye of
right goodwill; he had not refused, that do I know well. Ye be both rash
and foolish, and one of the twain, ye, or he, shall lose by it, and from
that do I dissent, an ye show me not better reason therefore."
Quoth the Moor: "How come ye to speak thus to me? Wot ye that I be
afraid to fight against the twain of ye; or that I have held my hand
through fear of death? Were the one of ye Sir Lancelot, and the other
King Arthur's sister's son (these twain are wont to be praised above all
in Arthur's court as I have ofttimes heard, though never have I seen
them), yet would I not yield a foot to them!"
Then thought Sir Gawain with himself, "We were foolish and unwise an we
failed to show courtesy to one who praises us so highly."
But Sir Lancelot had great lust either to win the fight or to play it to
a loss, and Sir Gawain, who was well ware of this, prayed him straitly,
by the love he bare to him, and to King Arthur his lord, that for their
honour he should hold his peace awhile, and let him say his will: "And
this I charge ye, by the faith ye owe to my lady, my uncle's wife."
Sir Lancelot spake: "Of a sooth, an ye had not thus charged me I should
have avenged myself or here been slain, in that this knight forced the
strife upon me without cause, and loaded me with blows; but in that ye
so conjure me, I am he that will harm no man for profit to myself save
that he first attack me. And since it seemeth good to ye I will e'en lay
the strife in respite. God grant me good counsel therein, since I do it
not for cowardice, but for love of ye and for your prayer."
Thus stood the three in the open, and Sir Gawain spake to the Moor: "Ye
be foolish in that ye do such things--now, neither we nor ye are harmed,
yet might ye lightly do that which should cost ye your life. Tell me
what ye seek, and I will give ye good counsel withal. If I may I shall
tell ye that which ye should courteously have asked of this knight, who
never yet was so hardly bestead by any man that he fell from his steed."
Quoth the Moor: "Ye say well. Now I pray ye by all who own the laws of
knighthood, and by Sir Gawain afore all, since he is reckoned the best,
he and Sir Lancelot, wherever it may be, in whatever need, far and wide
throughout the world, of all men are these twain most praised (I myself
know naught save that which I have heard tell), know ye aught of Sir
Agloval, brother to Sir Perceval of Wales? Of him have I asked many,
this long while past; I have ridden hither and thither this half year,
and here and there have I sought him. For this have I dared many
a peril, and here will I lie dead save that ye twain tell me, in
friendship or in fight, if ye know aught of Sir Agloval. Now have we had
enow of this talk; 'tis full time ye answer, or we take up our strife
once again, and see the which of us hath the sooner his full."
Sir Gawain hearkened, and smiled at the black knight's speech, and spake
soothfastly: "Now tell me what ye will of Sir Agloval that ye thus seek
him, and thereafter will I tell ye that which I know."
And the Moor answered straightway: "So will I tell ye all. Sir Agloval
is my father, 'twas he begat me. And more will I tell ye; it chanced
aforetime as ye may now learn, when he came into the land of the Moors;
there through his valiant deeds he won the heart of a maiden, she was my
mother, by my troth. So far went the matter between them through their
words and through his courtesy, and because he was so fair to look upon,
that she gave him all his will--the which brought her small reward, and
great sorrow. Each plighted their troth to the other ere she granted
him her favours. Therein was she ill-counselled, for he forsook her
thereafter--'tis more than fourteen years past; and when he parted from
her she bare me, though he knew it not. He told her his quest, whereof
he was sore troubled, and how it came about that he must needs leave
her, and that will I now tell ye. My father was seeking a noble knight,
who was lost as at that time, and who was hight Sir Lancelot. Still more
may I tell ye; he told my mother that he and many of his fellows had
sworn a great oath to seek Sir Lancelot, and their quest should endure
two years or more an they found him not, or could learn no tidings of
him. Nor should they tarry in any land more than one night or two. This
vexed my father sorely, that for this cause, and to keep his oath, he
must needs leave my mother. But ere he departed he sware to her that he
would return when he had achieved his quest; but he kept not his oath.
Thus have I sought him in many a court. All this did my lady mother tell
me, and also of the troth-plight. Little good hath it done me that he be
my father, and that he sware to my mother, ere he departed, that for her
honour, and for her profit, he would return to her without fail. Doth he
live, God send him mocking (this I pray in all humility), but an he be
already dead, then may God forgive him his sins. I and my mother are
disinherited, since that he hath deserted us, of great goods and of
a fair heritage, that which fell to her from her father have we lost
altogether. It hath been denied us by the law of the land. Thereto was I
greatly shamed, for they called me fatherless, and I could shew naught
against it, nor tell them who it was that begat me, since my father had
thus fled. So did I cause myself to be dubbed knight, and sware a great
oath (I were loth to break it) that never should I meet a knight but I
would fight him, or he should tell me if he perchance knew any tidings
of my father, that I might learn somewhat concerning him. Did I meet
mine own brother, I would not break mine oath, nor my vow; and till now
have I kept it well, nor broken it by my default. And here would I bid
ye twain, if ye would part from me in friendship, that ye tell me what
ye may know thereof, out and out, by your troth, and therewith end this
talk. Otherwise let us end this matter even as we began it, for there
liveth no knight under the sun for whom I would break mine oath, were it
for my hurt, or for my profit."
Then was there neither of the twain, Sir Gawain nor Sir Lancelot, but
the tears fell from their eyes when they heard the knight's tale. Such
pity had they for him, they waxed pale, and red, and discovered their
faces, when they heard his plaint.
Quoth Sir Lancelot: "By my good days, nevermore will I be wrathful, nor
bear rancour against ye for any lack of courtesy; ye need no longer
stand on guard against me, my heart is not evil towards ye, and we will
counsel ye well."
Then was the black knight blithe, and drew near to Sir Lancelot, and
bared his head, which was black as pitch; that was the fashion of his
land--Moors are black as burnt brands. But in all that men would praise
in a knight was he fair; after his kind. Though he were black, what was
he the worse? In him was naught unsightly; he was taller by half a foot
than any knight who stood beside him, and as yet was he scarce more than
a child! It pleased him so well when he heard them speak thus of Sir
Agloval that he knelt him straightway on the earth; but Sir Gawain
raised him up, and told him their tidings, how they were but as
messengers, and belonged to the court of King Arthur, which was of high
renown, and that they rode at that time seeking Sir Perceval and Sir
Agloval, since the king desired them both. "And his mind is to see and
speak with them; may we by any means persuade those noble knights we
shall return straightway to the king's court, an it be so that they will
ride with us (further will we not vaunt ourselves, 'tis of our good
will, and their pleasure), thereby shall the king be the more honoured.
They belong to the Round Table, and have done so of long time; both are
of the king's court, and knights of high renown. Now an ye will work
wisely, and shun your own harm, ye will mount, and ride to King Arthur's
court, and delay not. I hope in God that Sir Agloval shall come thither
within short space, or that ye shall hear tidings of him; for there come
full oft tidings from afar. Go ye to court without tarrying, the king
will receive ye well. Tell him, and give him to wit who ye be, and
whence ye come, and the quest upon which ye ride; he will not let ye
depart ere we come and bring with us your father, an God prosper us.
Should ye ride thus through the land, and fight with every knight whom
ye may meet, ye will need great good fortune to win every conflict
without mischance or ill-hap! They who will be ever fighting, and ne'er
avoid a combat, an they hold such custom for long, though at whiles they
escape, yet shall they find their master, who will perforce change their
mood! Now Sir Knight do our bidding, for your own honour's sake, and
ride ye to court; grant us this grace, for ere ye have abode long time
there I hope that ye shall behold your father or receive tidings of him.
But till that time abide ye at the court, there shall ye be well at ease
in many ways. Now promise us this; we shall seek your father, and may we
find him, and God give us honour in our quest, then will we return as
swiftly as may be, and rejoice ye and the king!"
When the Moor heard these words he laughed with heart and mouth (his
teeth were white as chalk, otherwise was he altogether black), and he
spake, "God our Father reward ye, noble knights, for the good will and
the honour ye have done me, and also for the great comfort wherewith ye
have lightened mine heart that long hath been all too heavy. An my steed
fail me not I shall ride whither ye bid me to this king whom ye praise
so highly."
With that he pledged to the knights hand and knighthood, and called
God to witness that he would do their bidding, faithfully, and without
dispute, so long as he might live.
Then quoth Sir Lancelot: "Knight, an ye be in any need, when ye come
into Arthur's land,--I ween 'tis all unknown to ye,--speak but of
us twain whom ye see here and men shall do ye naught but honour and
courtesy, where'er ye come, in any place. And when ye come to the king,
ere ye tell him aught beside, say that ye have seen and have spoken with
us; and trow me, without fail, ye shall be well received!" The Moor
spake: "'Tis well said--God reward ye for this courtesy; but were it
your will and pleasing to ye that I knew the names of ye two then
i'sooth were I the blither withal!"
Then straightway Sir Gawain did him to wit who they were, and how they
were hight; and the Moor made no delay, but fell on his knees before
them. Sir Gawain raised him up, but the Moor laid his hands together and
spake, "God the Father of all, and Ruler of the World, grant that I may
amend my misdoing to your honour. Sir Lancelot, very dear lord, I own
myself right guilty, for I did evil, and naught else!"
Sir Gawain spake: "Take ye not to heart that which has here chanced, it
shall be naught the worse for ye."
Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot were both mounted upon their steeds. The
Moor spake: "'Tis labour lost. Such good knights as ye be, since ye at
this time fare to seek my father, by the power of our Lord I will not
stay behind; 'twere shame an I did. I shall ride with ye twain!"
Quoth Sir Gawain: "Then must ye lay aside all outrageousness, and ride
peaceably on your way, and whatever knight shall meet ye, and greet ye
courteously, him shall ye greet and let pass on his way without strife
or contention; and be his friend an he hath done ye no wrong--this do
I counsel ye straitly. But he that is fierce and fell towards ye or
towards another, on him shall ye prove your prowess, and humble his
pride, if ye may. And honour all women, and keep them from shame, first
and last, as best ye may. Be courteous and of gentle bearing to all ye
meet who be well-mannered toward ye, and he who hath no love for virtue
against him spare neither sword, nor spear, nor shield!"
The Moor spake: "Since that ye will it so, I will at your bidding
forbear, otherwise might I rue it! May God be gracious to me."
So rode they all three together till they came to a parting of the ways
where stood a fair cross, and thereon letters red as blood. Sir Gawain
was learned in clerkly lore, he read the letters wherein was writ that
here was the border of Arthur's land, and let any man who came to the
cross, and who bare the name of knight, bethink him well, since he
might not ride far without strife and conflict, and the finding of such
adventures as might lightly turn to his harm, or even to his death--the
land was of such customs.
This did Sir Gawain tell to the twain. Then they saw, by the parting of
the ways, a hermit's cell, fairly builded, and the knights bethought
them that they would turn them thither that they might hear and see, and
know what the words boded.
There saw they the hermit, who seemed to them a right good man; and they
dismounted at his little window, and asked his tidings, if perchance a
knight in red armour had passed that way? And the good man answered and
said 'twas but the other day, afore noon, that he had seen two knights
who were wondrous like unto each other. "Of a truth it seemed to me,
by their features and by their gestures, that they should be brothers.
Their steeds seemed beyond measure weary. They came that self-same road
that cometh from that land that men here call Britain; they were both in
seeming men of might, and the one had steed and armour that were even
red as blood. They dismounted, both of them, at the foot of that cross
ye see there. There many a judgment is given. There did a knight lose
his life, he and his wife with him; well did they deserve that their
memory should be held in honour by the friends of our Lord, for they
made a right good ending! They had sought the shrine of a saint, with
them they had money and steeds, beside other goods, as befitted folk of
high degree. Here did they fall in with a company of robbers, who slew
the good knight, and took his steed and his money, and all that he had.
Of this was his wife so sorrowful that for grief and woe her heart
brake, and so did they die here, the twain of them, even at the cross
roads, where ye see the fair cross, where now many a judgment is spoken.
'Twas made through the knight's will. Hither come folk stripped and
bare-foot, doing penance for their sins; and they who pass ahorse or
afoot have here had many a prayer granted. The knights of whom ye ask
did there their orisons, as well became them, but I may not tell ye
whither they went at their departing; in sooth I know naught, for I said
my prayers here within and forgat them. But they were tall and strong,
and the one wore red armour, and the other bare the badge of King
Arthur."
Then were the knights sorely grieved, and kindled as a coal for sorrow,
in that they might not know, by any craft, whitherward they rode. Then
they asked the manner of the land, and whither led the roads which they
saw before them.
Then answered the good hermit, "I will tell ye as best I may. The road
by which ye came, that do ye know; and the road that runneth straight
therefrom that will ye shun, an ye heed my counsel. 'Tis a land of
ill-fame, where men follow evil customs; their best, 'tis but others'
worst! He who will keep his horse, his weapons and his life will shun
that road. And the right-hand way goeth to a wild waste land, wherein no
man dwelleth; an I bethink me well 'tis over a year and a day since
I saw man or woman come from thence. An it so befall that ye fare
thitherward ye shall find such a marvel that would ye dare the venture,
and amend the wrong it shall cost ye life and limb, that do I tell ye
here. For there shall ye find the most fell beast ever man heard or read
of; take ye good heed thereof, 'tis the Foul Fiend himself, that know I
well, that roameth in the guise of a beast. Against him may no weapon
serve, there was never spear so sharp nor sword so well tempered, as I
know of a truth, that may harm that devil, but it will break or bend as
hath full oft been proven in time past. Now hath the beast chosen his
dwelling in a little forest, there will he abide all night, but the day
he prowleth by straight and winding ways. He devoureth man and beast
alike, nor may I tell ye the marvels I have heard concerning him. He
hath laid waste a broad land, and driven thereout all the country-folk,
so that none remain. Now have I told ye the truth concerning these two
roads, and what may befall ye therein; for the third, it leadeth hereby
to the sea coast; I know not what I may say more."
Quoth Sir Lancelot: "By the Lord who made me, Sir Gawain, we must needs
depart from each other here and now, would we find these knights. And
I will dare that which I deem the most perilous venture. Ye shall ride
straightway whichever road ye will, otherwise shall we lose the knights
who were lately here, they shall not have ridden far as yet. And if it
be that ye find them, then I charge and conjure ye, by my will and your
valour, that if ye may, ye shall bring them with ye and return hither to
this place. Do this, Sir Knight, for my prayer. And do the hermit to wit
how matters have gone with ye, that he may tell me the truth thereof if
peradventure I too come hither, and the knight shall go with ye, and God
keep ye both since we be now come to this point. Do him honour as a good
man and true, in whatsoever place ye may be, this I pray ye of your
valour."
Sir Gawain gave him answer: "Dear comrade, I am fain to do your bidding,
and may God keep us in life and limb, and in worldly honour. Now choose
ye first which road ye will take, for here will we abide no longer."
Then said Sir Lancelot: "I ween that 'tis the most pressing need to go
fight against the beast whereof the good man telleth us; methinks 'twere
well that I ride thither."
And the hermit answered: "Alas, Sir Knight, ye be so fair that I deem
below the throne one might scarce find your equal, and will ye brave a
venture which no man may achieve! The folk hath fled out of the land,
none may withstand that beast, no shaft is so fell as the venom which
he shooteth on all who near him; and the man whom it reacheth, and upon
whom it shall light (I am he who lieth not), he dieth ere the third day
be past, had he never a wound upon him. This hath been the worse for
many. Then is the beast greater than a horse, and runneth more swiftly
than any horse may. Ye are wise an ye shun the fiend. This do I tell ye
beforehand. Had he not chosen his lair, and did he wander from the land,
as well might be, by the Lord who made us he had laid the world waste!
Ye would do well to turn back."
But 'twas labour lost; not for all the riches that belonged to King
Arthur would he have taken back his word and his covenant, for any
prayer that might be made him, nor have yielded aught through fear.
Then would the knights take leave of each other that they might depart.
The Moor spake to the twain: "For what do ye take me? Am I a lesser or a
weaker man than either of ye that Sir Gawain must needs ride with me?
I will not have it so. There is no knight so bold but I dare well
withstand him. I know well what is unfitting. Now say whither ye will
betake ye, and send me what road ye will; I will dare the venture, be it
never so perilous. By my knighthood, and by all who follow Christendom,
I shall adventure alone, and take that which may chance."
Then said Sir Gawain: "It liketh me ill that ye sware such an oath, yet
since such is your will, take ye the road that leadeth to the sea (this
seemeth to me the best), ride swiftly and spare not, but seek your
father. And do in all things after my counsel; if any man meet ye, when
ye have given him courteous greeting, ask him if he saw riding, or
otherwise met with, two knights, the one of whom ware red armour, and
the other bare King Arthur's badge. This shall ye first beseech of them.
When ye come to the crossing, pray that men tell ye the truth, and
ask for the sea-coast withal, wherever ye come. And if so be that men
understand ye not then return straightway to this place, and follow the
road which I shall take, swiftly, and with no delay. We might lightly
depart so far from each other that we met not again. But follow me soon,
and not too late; and do according as I counsel ye, and I tell ye truly,
no harm shall befall ye."
The Moor spake: "God reward ye." Then took they leave each of the other,
and departed asunder. Now will I tell ye how it fared with Sir Gawain.
The adventure telleth us forthwith that when prime was now already past
Sir Gawain came to a wide and deep river. 'Twas a great stream, and
deep, and the current ran swift and strong. Then Sir Gawain marked well,
and took heed, how on the further side, in a land of which he knew
naught, there came a knight riding on a fair steed, and armed as if for
combat. Before him he drave captive a maiden. Sir Gawain beheld how
he smote her, many a time and oft, blow upon blow, with his fist that
weighed heavily for the mailed gauntlet that he ware. Pain enough did he
make her bear for that she desired not to ride with him. He smote her
many a time and oft with his shield as he would revenge himself upon her
in unseemly fashion. The maiden ware a robe of green silk, that was rent
in many places, 'twas the cruel knight had wrought the mischief. She
rode a sorry hack, bare backed, and her matchless hair, which was yellow
as silk, hung even to the horse's croup--but in sooth she had lost well
nigh the half thereof, which that fell knight had afore torn out. 'Twas
past belief, the maiden's sorrow and shame; how she scarce might bear to
be smitten by the cruel knight; she wept and wrung her hands.