"Though I had nought of yours,
Yet should ye have of mine.
Thus saying, she offers him a rich ring of red gold "with a shining
stone standing aloft," that shone like the beams of the bright sun. The
knight refused the gift, as he had nothing to give in return. "Since ye
refuse my ring," says the lady, "because it seems too rich, and ye
would not be beholden to me, I shall give you my girdle that is less
valuable" (ll. 1801-1835). But Gawayne replies that he will not accept
gold or reward of any kind, though "ever in hot and in cold" he will be
her true servant.
"Do ye refuse it," asks the lady, "because it seems simple and of
little value? Whoso knew the virtues that are knit therein would
estimate it more highly. For he who is girded with this green lace
cannot be wounded or slain by any man under heaven." The knight thinks
awhile, and it strikes him that this would be a "jewel for the
jeopardy" that he had to undergo at the Green Chapel. So he not only
accepts the lace, but promises to keep the possession of it a secret
(ll. 1836-1865). By that time the lady had kissed him thrice, and she
then takes "her leave and leaves him there."
Gawayne rises, dresses himself in noble array, and conceals the "love
lace" where he might find it again. He then hies to mass, shrives him
of his misdeeds, and obtains absolution. On his return to the hall he
solaces the ladies with comely carols and all kinds of joy (ll.
1866-1892). The dark night came, and then the lord of the castle,
having slain the fox, returns to his "dear home," where he finds a fire
brightly turning and his guest amusing the ladies (ll. 1893-1927).
Gawayne, in fulfilment of his agreement, kisses his host thrice.[1] "By
Christ," quoth the other knight, "ye have caught much bliss. I have
hunted all this day and nought have I got but the skin of this foul fox
(the devil have the goods!), and that is full poor for to pay for such
precious things" (ll. 1928-1951).
After the usual evening's entertainment, Gawayne retires to rest. The
next morning, being New Year's day, is cold and stormy. Snow falls, and
the dales are full of drift. Our knight in his bed locks his eyelids,
but full little he sleeps. By each cock that crows he knows the hour,
and before day-break he calls for his chamberlain, who quickly brings
him his armour (ll. 1952-2014). While Gawayne clothed himself in his
rich weeds he forgot not the "lace, the lady's gift," but with it
doubly girded his loins. He wore it not for its rich ornaments, "but to
save himself when it behoved him to suffer," and as a safeguard against
sword or knife (ll. 2015-2046).
Having thanked his host and all the renowned assembly for the great
kindness he had experienced at their hands, "he steps into stirrups and
strides aloft" (ll. 2047-2068).
The drawbridge is let down, and the broad gates unbarred and borne open
upon both sides, and the knight, after commending the castle to Christ,
passes thereout and goes on his way accompanied by his guide, that
should teach him to turn to that place where he should receive the
much-dreaded blow. They climb over cliffs, where each hill had a hat
and a mist-cloak, until the next morn, when they find themselves on a
full high hill covered with snow. The servant bids his master remain
awhile, saying, "I have brought you hither at this time, and now ye are
not far from that noted place that ye have so often enquired after. The
place that ye press to is esteemed full perilous, and there dwells a
man in that waste the worst upon earth, for he is stiff and stern and
loves to strike, and greater is he than any man upon middle-earth, and
his body is bigger than the best four in Arthur's house. He keeps the
Green Chapel; there passes none by that place, however proud in arms,
that he does not 'ding him to death with dint of his hand.' He is a man
immoderate and 'no mercy uses,' for be it churl or chaplain that by the
chapel rides, monk or mass-priest, or any man else, it is as pleasant
to him to kill them as to go alive himself. Wherefore I tell thee
truly, 'come ye there, ye be killed, though ye had twenty lives to
spend. He has dwelt there long of yore, and on field much sorrow has
wrought. Against his sore dints ye may not defend you' (ll. 2069-2117).
Therefore, good Sir Gawayne, let the man alone, and for God's sake go
by some other path, and then I shall hie me home again. I swear to you
by
[Footnote 1: He only in part keeps to his covenant, as he holds back
the love-lace.]
God and all His saints that I will never say that ever ye attempted to
flee from any man."
Gawayne thanks his guide for his well-meant kindness, but declares that
to the Green Chapel he will go, though the owner thereof be "a stern
knave," for God can devise means to save his servants.
"Mary!" quoth the other, "since it pleases thee to lose thy life I will
not hinder thee. Have thy helmet on thy head, thy spear in thy hand,
and ride down this path by yon rock-side, till thou be brought to the
bottom of the valley. Then look a little on the plain, on thy left
hand, and thou shalt see in that slade the chapel itself, and the burly
knight that guards it (ll. 2118-2148). Now, farewell Gawayne the noble!
for all the gold upon ground I would not go with thee nor bear thee
fellowship through this wood 'on foot farther.'" Thus having spoken, he
gallops away and leaves the knight alone.
Gawayne now pursues his journey, rides through the dale, and looks
about. He sees no signs of a resting-place, but only high and steep
banks, and the very shadows of the high woods seemed wild and
distorted. No chapel, however, could he discover. After a while he sees
a round hill by the side of a stream; thither he goes, alights, and
fastens his horse to the branch of a tree. He walks about the hill,
debating with himself what it might be. It had a hole in the one end
and on each side, and everywhere overgrown with grass, but whether it
was only an old cave or a crevice of an old crag he could not tell (ll.
2149-2188).
"Now, indeed," quoth Gawayne, "a desert is here; this oratory is ugly
with herbs overgrown. It is a fitting place for the man in green to
'deal here his devotions after the devil's manner.' Now I feel it is
the fiend (the devil) in my five wits that has covenanted with me that
he may destroy me. This is a chapel of misfortune--evil betide it! It
is the most cursed kirk that ever I came in." With his helmet on his
head, and spear in his hand, he roams up to the rock, and then he hears
from that high hill beyond the brook a wondrous wild noise. Lo! it
clattered in the cliff as if one upon a grindstone were grinding a
scythe. It whirred like the water at a mill, and rushed and re-echoed,
terrible to hear. "Though my life I forgo," says Gawayne, "no noise
shall cause me to fear."
Then he cried aloud, "Who dwells in this place, discourse with me to
hold? For now is good Gawayne going right here if any brave wight will
hie him hither, either now or never" (ll. 2189-2216).
"Abide," quoth one on the bank above, over his head, "and thou shalt
have all in haste that I promised thee once."
Soon there comes out of a hole in the crag, with a fell weapon a Danish
axe quite new, the "man in the green," clothed as at first as his legs,
locks and beard. But now he is on foot and walks on the earth. When he
reaches the stream, he hops over and boldly strides about. He meets Sir
Gawayne, who tells him that he is quite ready to fulfil his part of the
compact. "Gawayne," quoth that 'green gome' (man), "may God preserve
thee! Truly thou art welcome to my place, 'and thou hast timed thy
travel' as a true man should. Thou knowest the covenants made between
us, at this time twelve-month, that on New Year's day I should return
thee thy blow. We are now in this valley by ourselves, and can do as we
please (ll. 2217-2246). Have, therefore, thy helmet off thy head, and
'have here thy pay.' Let us have no more talk than when thou didst
strike off my head with a single blow."
"Nay, by God!" quoth Gawayne, "I shall not begrudge thee thy will for
any harm that may happen, but will stand still while thou strikest."
Then he stoops a little and shows his bare neck, unmoved by any fear.
The Green Knight takes up his "grim tool," and with all his force
raises it aloft, as if he meant utterly to destroy him. As the axe came
gliding down Gawayne "shrank a little with the shoulders from the sharp
iron." The other withheld his weapon, and then reproved the prince with
many proud words. "Thou art not Gawayne that is so good esteemed, that
never feared for no host by hill nor by vale, for now thou fleest for
fear before thou feelest harm (ll. 2247-2272). Such cowardice of that
knight did I never hear. I never flinched nor fled when thou didst aim
at me in King Arthur's house. My head flew to my feet and yet I never
fled, wherefore I deserve to be called the better man."
Quoth Gawayne, "I shunted once, but will do so no more, though my head
fall on the stones. But hasten and bring me to the point; deal me my
destiny, and do it out of hand, for I shall stand thee a stroke and
start no more until thine axe has hit me--have here my troth." "Have at
thee, then," said the other, and heaves the axe aloft, and looks as
savagely as if he were mad. He aims at the other mightily, but
withholds his hand ere it might hurt. Gawayne readily abides the blow
without flinching with any member, and stood still as a stone or a tree
fixed in rocky ground with a hundred roots.
Then merrily the other did speak, "Since now thou hast thy heart whole
it behoves me to strike, so take care of thy neck." Gawayne answers
with great wroth, "Thrash on, thou fierce man, thou threatenest too
long; I believe thy own heart fails thee."
"Forsooth," quoth the other, "since thou speakest so boldly, I will no
longer delay" (ll. 2273-2304). Then, contracting "both lips and brow,"
he made ready to strike, and let fall his axe on the bare neck of Sir
Gawayne. "Though he hammered" fiercely, he only "severed the hide,"
causing the blood to flow. When Gawayne saw his blood on the snow, he
quickly seized his helmet and placed it on his head. Then he drew out
his bright sword, and thus angrily spoke: "Cease, man, of thy blow, bid
me no more. I have received a stroke in this place without opposition,
but if thou givest me any more readily shall I requite thee, of that be
thou sure. Our covenant stipulates one stroke, and therefore now
cease."
The Green Knight, resting on his axe, looks on Sir Gawayne, as bold and
fearless he there stood, and then with a loud voice thus addresses the
knight: "Bold knight, be not so wroth, no man here has wronged thee
(ll. 2305-2339); I promised thee a stroke, and thou hast it, so hold
thee well pleased. I could have dealt much worse with thee, and caused
thee much sorrow. Two blows I aimed at thee, for twice thou kissedst my
fair wife; but I struck thee not, because thou restoredst them to me
according to agreement. At the third time thou failedst, and therefore
I have given thee that tap. That woven girdle, given thee by my own
wife, belongs to me. I know well thy kisses, thy conduct also, and the
wooing of my wife, for I wrought it myself. I sent her to try thee, and
truly methinks thou art the most faultless man that ever on foot went.
Still, sir, thou wert wanting in good faith; but as it proceeded from
no immorality, thou being only desirous of saving thy life, the less I
blame thee."
Gawayne stood confounded, the blood rushed into his face, and he shrank
within himself for very shame. "Cursed," he cried, "be cowardice and
covetousness both; in you are villany and vice, that virtue destroy."
Then he takes off the girdle and throws it to the knight in green,
cursing his cowardice and covetousness. The Green Knight, laughing,
thus spoke: "Thou hast confessed so clean, and acknowledged thy faults,
that I hold thee as pure as thou hadst never forfeited since thou wast
first born. I give thee, sir, the gold-hemmed girdle as a token of thy
adventure at the Green Chapel. Come now to my castle, and we shall
enjoy together the festivities of the New Year" (ll. 2340-2406).
"Nay, forsooth," quoth the knight, "but for your kindness may God
requite you. Commend me to that courteous one your comely wife, who
with her crafts has beguiled me. But it is no uncommon thing for a man
to come to sorrow through women's wiles; for so was Adam beguiled with
one, and Solomon with many. Samson was destroyed by Delilah, and David
suffered much through Bathsheba. 'It were indeed great bliss for a
man to love them well and believe them not.' Since the greatest
upon earth were so beguiled, methinks I should be excused. But God
reward you for your girdle, which I will ever wear in remembrance of my
fault, and when pride shall exalt me, a look to this love-lace shall
lessen it (ll. 2407-2438). But since ye are the lord of yonder land,
from whom I have received so much honour, tell me truly your right
name, and I shall ask no more questions."
Quoth the other, "I am called Bernlak de Hautdesert, through might of
Morgain la Fay, who dwells in my house. Much has she learnt of Merlin,
who knows all your knights at home. She brought me to your hall for to
essay the prowess of the Round Table. She wrought this wonder to
bereave you of your wits, hoping to have grieved Guenever and
affrighted her to death by means of the man that spoke with his head in
his hand before the high table. She is even thine aunt, Arthur's half
sister; wherefore come to thine aunt, for all my household love thee."
Gawayne refuses to accompany the Green Knight, and so, with many
embraces and kind wishes, they separate--the one to his castle, the
other to Arthur's court.
After passing through many wild ways, our knight recovers from the
wound in his neck, and at last comes safe and sound to the court of
King Arthur. Great then was the joy of all; the king and queen kiss
their brave knight, and make many enquiries about his journey. He tells
them of his adventures, hiding nothing--"the chance of the chapel, the
cheer of the knight, the love of the lady, and lastly of the lace."
Groaning for grief and shame he shows them the cut in his neck, which
he had received for his unfaithfulness (ll. 2439-2504). The king and
his courtiers comfort the knight--they laugh loudly at his adventures,
and unanimously agree that those lords and ladies that belonged to the
Round Table, and each knight of the brotherhood should ever after wear
a bright green belt for Gawayne's sake. And he upon whom it was
conferred honoured it evermore after.
Thus in Arthur's time this adventure befell, whereof the "Brutus Books"
bear witness (ll. 2505-2530).
I need not say that the Brutus Books we possess do not contain the
legend here set forth, though it is not much more improbable than some of
the statements contained in them. If the reader desires to know the
relation in which this and the like stories stand to the original Arthur
legends, he will find it discussed in Sir F. Madden's Preface to his
edition of "Syr Gawayne," which also contains a sketch of the very
different views taken of Sir Gawayne by the different Romance writers.
Into this and other literary questions I do not enter here, as I
have nothing to add to Sir F. Madden's statements; but in the text of the
Poem I have differed from him in some few readings, which will be found
noticed in the Notes and Glossary.
As the manuscript is fast fading, I am glad that the existence of the Early
English Text Society has enabled us to secure a wider diffusion of its
contents before the original shall be no longer legible.
We want nothing but an increased supply of members to enable us to give to
a large circle of readers many an equally interesting record of Early
English minds.
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NOTE: The Old English "yogh" characters have been translated both
upper and lower-case yoghs to digit 3's. There are Unicode
allocations for these (in HTML Ȝ and ȝ) but at present
no font which implements these. Substiting the digit 3 seemed a
workable compromise which anybody can read. The linked html
"Old English 'yogh' file" uses Ȝ and ȝ representations,
and is included for users with specialist fonts.
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