Now, said Sir Gawaine, we have been served this day of what meats and

drinks we thought on; but one thing beguiled us, we might not see the

Holy Grail, it was so preciously covered. Wherefore I will make here

avow, that to-morn, without longer abiding, I shall labour in the quest

of the Sangreal, that I shall hold me out a twelvemonth and a day, or

more if need be, and never shall I return again unto the court till I

have seen it more openly than it hath been seen here; and if I may not

speed I shall return again as he that may not be against the will of

our Lord Jesu Christ.

When they of the Table Round heard Sir Gawaine say so, they arose up

the most part and made such avows as Sir Gawaine had made. Anon as King

Arthur heard this he was greatly displeased, for he wist well they

might not again-say their avows. Alas, said King Arthur unto Sir

Gawaine, ye have nigh slain me with the avow and promise that ye have

made; for through you ye have bereft me the fairest fellowship and the

truest of knighthood that ever were seen together in any realm of the

world; for when they depart from hence I am sure they all shall never

meet more in this world, for they shall die many in the quest. And so

it forthinketh me a little, for I have loved them as well as my life,

wherefore it shall grieve me right sore, the departition of this

fellowship: for I have had an old custom to have them in my fellowship.

CHAPTER VIII. How great sorrow was made of the king and the queen and

ladies for the departing of the knights, and how they departed.

And therewith the tears fell in his eyes. And then he said: Gawaine,

Gawaine, ye have set me in great sorrow, for I have great doubt that my

true fellowship shall never meet here more again. Ah, said Sir

Launcelot, comfort yourself; for it shall be unto us a great honour and

much more than if we died in any other places, for of death we be

siker. Ah, Launcelot, said the king, the great love that I have had

unto you all the days of my life maketh me to say such doleful words;

for never Christian king had never so many worthy men at his table as I

have had this day at the Round Table, and that is my great sorrow.

When the queen, ladies, and gentlewomen, wist these tidings, they had

such sorrow and heaviness that there might no tongue tell it, for those

knights had held them in honour and chierté. But among all other Queen

Guenever made great sorrow. I marvel, said she, my lord would suffer

them to depart from him. Thus was all the court troubled for the love

of the departition of those knights. And many of those ladies that

loved knights would have gone with their lovers; and so had they done,

had not an old knight come among them in religious clothing; and then

he spake all on high and said: Fair lords, which have sworn in the

quest of the Sangreal, thus sendeth you Nacien, the hermit, word, that

none in this quest lead lady nor gentlewoman with him, for it is not to

do in so high a service as they labour in; for I warn you plain, he

that is not clean of his sins he shall not see the mysteries of our

Lord Jesu Christ. And for this cause they left these ladies and

gentlewomen.

After this the queen came unto Galahad and asked him of whence he was,

and of what country. He told her of whence he was. And son unto

Launcelot, she said he was. As to that, he said neither yea nor nay. So

God me help, said the queen, of your father ye need not to shame you,

for he is the goodliest knight, and of the best men of the world come,

and of the strain, of all parties, of kings. Wherefore ye ought of

right to be, of your deeds, a passing good man; and certainly, she

said, ye resemble him much. Then Sir Galahad was a little ashamed and

said: Madam, sith ye know in certain, wherefore do ye ask it me? for he

that is my father shall be known openly and all betimes. And then they

went to rest them. And in the honour of the highness of Galahad he was

led into King Arthur’s chamber, and there rested in his own bed.

And as soon as it was day the king arose, for he had no rest of all

that night for sorrow. Then he went unto Gawaine and to Sir Launcelot

that were arisen for to hear mass. And then the king again said: Ah

Gawaine, Gawaine, ye have betrayed me; for never shall my court be

amended by you, but ye will never be sorry for me as I am for you. And

therewith the tears began to run down by his visage. And therewith the

king said: Ah, knight Sir Launcelot, I require thee thou counsel me,

for I would that this quest were undone, an it might be Sir, said Sir

Launcelot, ye saw yesterday so many worthy knights that then were sworn

that they may not leave it in no manner of wise. That wot I well, said

the king, but it shall so heavy me at their departing that I wot well

there shall no manner of joy remedy me. And then the king and the queen

went unto the minster. So anon Launcelot and Gawaine commanded their

men to bring their arms. And when they all were armed save their

shields and their helms, then they came to their fellowship, which were

all ready in the same wise, for to go to the minster to hear their

service.

Then after the service was done the king would wit how many had

undertaken the quest of the Holy Grail; and to accompt them he prayed

them all. Then found they by the tale an hundred and fifty, and all

were knights of the Round Table. And then they put on their helms and

departed, and recommended them all wholly unto the queen; and there was

weeping and great sorrow. Then the queen departed into her chamber and

held her, so that no man should perceive her great sorrows. When Sir

Launcelot missed the queen he went till her chamber, and when she saw

him she cried aloud: O Launcelot, Launcelot, ye have betrayed me and

put me to the death, for to leave thus my lord. Ah, madam, I pray you

be not displeased, for I shall come again as soon as I may with my

worship. Alas, said she, that ever I saw you; but he that suffered upon

the cross for all mankind, he be unto you good conduct and safety, and

all the whole fellowship.

Right so departed Sir Launcelot, and found his fellowship that abode

his coming. And so they mounted upon their horses and rode through the

streets of Camelot; and there was weeping of rich and poor, and the

king turned away and might not speak for weeping. So within a while

they came to a city, and a castle that hight Vagon. There they entered

into the castle, and the lord of that castle was an old man that hight

Vagon, and he was a good man of his living, and set open the gates, and

made them all the cheer that he might. And so on the morn they were all

accorded that they should depart everych from other; and on the morn

they departed with weeping cheer, and every knight took the way that

him liked best.

CHAPTER IX. How Galahad gat him a shield, and how they sped that

presumed to take down the said shield.

Now rideth Sir Galahad yet without shield, and so he rode four days

without any adventure. And at the fourth day after evensong he came to

a White Abbey, and there he was received with great reverence, and led

unto a chamber, and there was he unarmed; and then was he ware of two

knights of the Table Round, one was Sir Bagdemagus, and Sir Uwaine.

And when they saw him they went unto Galahad and made of him great

solace, and so they went unto supper. Sirs, said Sir Galahad, what

adventure brought you hither? Sir, said they, it is told us that within

this place is a shield that no man may bear about his neck but he be

mischieved outher dead within three days, or maimed for ever. Ah sir,

said King Bagdemagus, I shall it bear to-morrow for to assay this

adventure. In the name of God, said Sir Galahad. Sir, said Bagdemagus,

an I may not enchieve the adventure of this shield ye shall take it

upon you, for I am sure ye shall not fail. Sir, said Galahad, I right

well agree me thereto, for I have no shield. So on the morn they arose

and heard mass. Then Bagdemagus asked where the adventurous shield was.

Anon a monk led him behind an altar where the shield hung as white as

any snow, but in the midst was a red cross. Sir, said the monk, this

shield ought not to be hanged about no knight’s neck but he be the

worthiest knight of the world;

therefore I counsel you knights to be well advised. Well, said

Bagdemagus, I wot well that I am not the best knight of the world, but

yet I shall assay to bear it, and so bare it out of the minster. And

then he said unto Galahad: An it please you abide here still, till ye

wit how that I speed. I shall abide you, said Galahad. Then King

Bagdemagus took with him a good squire, to bring tidings unto Sir

Galahad how he sped.

Then when they had ridden a two mile and came to a fair valley afore an

hermitage, then they saw a knight come from that part in white armour,

horse and all; and he came as fast as his horse might run, and his

spear in his rest, and Bagdemagus dressed his spear against him and

brake it upon the white knight. But the other struck him so hard that

he brast the mails, and sheef him through the right shoulder, for the

shield covered him not as at that time; and so he bare him from his

horse. And therewith he alighted and took the white shield from him,

saying: Knight, thou hast done thyself great folly, for this shield

ought not to be borne but by him that shall have no peer that liveth.

And then he came to Bagdemagus’ squire and said: Bear this shield unto

the good knight Sir Galahad, that thou left in the abbey, and greet him

well by me. Sir, said the squire, what is your name? Take thou no heed

of my name, said the knight, for it is not for thee to know nor for

none earthly man. Now, fair sir, said the squire, at the reverence of

Jesu Christ, tell me for what cause this shield may not be borne but if

the bearer thereof be mischieved. Now sith thou hast conjured me so,

said the knight, this shield behoveth unto no man but unto Galahad. And

the squire went unto Bagdemagus and asked whether he were sore wounded

or not. Yea forsooth, said he, I shall escape hard from the death. Then

he fetched his horse, and brought him with great pain unto an abbey.

Then was he taken down softly and unarmed, and laid in a bed, and there

was looked to his wounds. And as the book telleth, he lay there long,

and escaped hard with the life.

CHAPTER X. How Galahad departed with the shield, and how King Evelake

had received the shield of Joseph of Aramathie.

Sir Galahad, said the squire, that knight that wounded Bagdemagus

sendeth you greeting, and bade that ye should bear this shield,

wherethrough great adventures should befall. Now blessed be God and

fortune, said Galahad. And then he asked his arms, and mounted upon his

horse, and hung the white shield about his neck, and commended them

unto God. And Sir Uwaine said he would bear him fellowship if it

pleased him. Sir, said Galahad, that may ye not, for I must go alone,

save this squire shall bear me fellowship: and so departed Uwaine.

Then within a while came Galahad thereas the White Knight abode him by

the hermitage, and everych saluted other courteously. Sir, said

Galahad, by this shield be many marvels fallen. Sir, said the knight,

it befell after the passion of our Lord Jesu Christ thirty-two year,

that Joseph of Aramathie, the gentle knight, the which took down our

Lord off the holy Cross, at that time he departed from Jerusalem with a

great party of his kindred with him. And so he laboured till that they

came to a city that hight Sarras. And at that same hour that Joseph

came to Sarras there was a king that hight Evelake, that had great war

against the Saracens, and in especial against one Saracen, the which

was King Evelake’s cousin, a rich king and a mighty, which marched nigh

this land, and his name was called Tolleme la Feintes. So on a day

these two met to do battle. Then Joseph, the son of Joseph of

Aramathie, went to King Evelake and told him he should be discomfit and

slain, but if he left his belief of the old law and believed upon the

new law. And then there he shewed him the right belief of the Holy

Trinity, to the which he agreed unto with all his heart; and there this

shield was made for King Evelake, in the name of Him that died upon the

Cross. And then through his good belief he had the better of King

Tolleme. For when Evelake was in the battle there was a cloth set afore

the shield, and when he was in the greatest peril he let put away the

cloth, and then his enemies saw a figure of a man on the Cross,

wherethrough they all were discomfit. And so it befell that a man of

King Evelake’s was smitten his hand off, and bare that hand in his

other hand; and Joseph called that man unto him and bade him go with

good devotion touch the Cross. And as soon as that man had touched the

Cross with his hand it was as whole as ever it was to-fore. Then soon

after there fell a great marvel, that the cross of the shield at one

time vanished away that no man wist where it became. And then King

Evelake was baptised, and for the most part all the people of that

city. So, soon after Joseph would depart, and King Evelake would go

with him, whether he wold or nold. And so by fortune they came into

this land, that at that time was called Great Britain; and there they

found a great felon paynim, that put Joseph into prison. And so by

fortune tidings came unto a worthy man that hight Mondrames, and he

assembled all his people for the great renown he had heard of Joseph;

and so he came into the land of Great Britain and disherited this felon

paynim and consumed him, and therewith delivered Joseph out of prison.

And after that all the people were turned to the Christian faith.

CHAPTER XI. How Joseph made a cross on the white shield with his blood,

and how Galahad was by a monk brought to a tomb.

Not long after that Joseph was laid in his deadly bed. And when King

Evelake saw that he made much sorrow, and said: For thy love I have

left my country, and sith ye shall depart out of this world, leave me

some token of yours that I may think on you. Joseph said: That will I

do full gladly; now bring me your shield that I took you when ye went

into battle against King Tolleme. Then Joseph bled sore at the nose, so

that he might not by no mean be staunched. And there upon that shield

he made a cross of his own blood. Now may ye see a remembrance that I

love you, for ye shall never see this shield but ye shall think on me,

and it shall be always as fresh as it is now. And never shall man bear

this shield about his neck but he shall repent it, unto the time that

Galahad, the good knight, bear it; and the last of my lineage shall

have it about his neck, that shall do many marvellous deeds. Now, said

King Evelake, where shall I put this shield, that this worthy knight

may have it? Ye shall leave it thereas Nacien, the hermit, shall be put

after his death; for thither shall that good knight come the fifteenth

day after that he shall receive the order of knighthood: and so that

day that they set is this time that he have his shield, and in the same

abbey lieth Nacien, the hermit. And then the White Knight vanished

away.

Anon as the squire had heard these words, he alighted off his hackney

and kneeled down at Galahad’s feet, and prayed him that he might go

with him till he had made him knight.

If I would not refuse you.

Then will ye make me a knight? said the squire, and that order, by the

grace of God, shall be well set in me.

So Sir Galahad granted him, and turned again unto the abbey where they

came from; and there men made great joy of Sir Galahad. And anon as he

was alighted there was a monk brought him unto a tomb in a churchyard,

where there was such a noise that who that heard it should verily nigh

be mad or lose his strength: and sir, they said, we deem it is a fiend.

CHAPTER XII. Of the marvel that Sir Galahad saw and heard in the tomb,

and how he made Melias knight.

Now lead me thither, said Galahad. And so they did, all armed save his

helm. Now, said the good man, go to the tomb and lift it up. So he did,

and heard a great noise; and piteously he said, that all men might hear

it: Sir Galahad, the servant of Jesu Christ, come thou not nigh me, for

thou shalt make me go again there where I have been so long. But

Galahad was nothing afraid, but lifted up the stone; and there came out

so foul a smoke, and after he saw the foulest figure leap thereout that

ever he saw in the likeness of a man; and then he blessed him and wist

well it was a fiend. Then heard he a voice say Galahad, I see there

environ about thee so many angels that my power may not dere thee{sic}

Right so Sir Galahad saw a body all armed lie in that tomb, and beside

him a sword. Now, fair brother, said Galahad, let us remove this body,

for it is not worthy to lie in this churchyard, for he was a false

Christian man. And therewith they all departed and went to the abbey.

And anon as he was unarmed a good man came and set him down by him and

said: Sir, I shall tell you what betokeneth all that ye saw in the

tomb; for that covered body betokeneth the duresse of the world, and

the great sin that Our Lord found in the world. For there was such

wretchedness that the father loved not the son, nor the son loved not

the father; and that was one of the causes that Our Lord took flesh and

blood of a clean maiden, for our sins were so great at that time that

well-nigh all was wickedness. Truly, said Galahad, I believe you right

well.

So Sir Galahad rested him there that night; and upon the morn he made

the squire knight, and asked him his name, and of what kindred he was

come. Sir, said he, men calleth me Melias de Lile, and I am the son of

the King of Denmark. Now, fair sir, said Galahad, sith that ye be come

of kings and queens, now look that knighthood be well set in you, for

ye ought to be a mirror unto all chivalry. Sir, said Sir Melias, ye say

sooth. But, sir, sithen ye have made me a knight ye must of right grant

me my first desire that is reasonable. Ye say sooth, said Galahad.

Melias said: Then that ye will suffer me to ride with you in this quest

of the Sangreal, till that some adventure depart us. I grant you, sir.

Then men brought Sir Melias his armour and his spear and his horse, and

so Sir Galahad and he rode forth all that week or they found any

adventure. And then upon a Monday in the morning, as they were departed

from an abbey, they came to a cross which departed two ways, and in

that cross were letters written that said thus: Now, ye knights errant,

the which goeth to seek knights adventurous, see here two ways; that

one way defendeth thee that thou ne go that way, for he shall not go

out of the way again but if he be a good man and a worthy knight; and

if thou go on the left hand, thou shalt not lightly there win prowess,

for thou shalt in this way be soon assayed. Sir, said Melias to

Galahad, if it like you to suffer me to take the way on the left hand,

tell me, for there I shall well prove my strength. It were better, said

Galahad, ye rode not that way, for I deem I should better escape in

that way than ye. Nay, my lord, I pray you let me have that adventure.

Take it in God’s name, said Galahad.

CHAPTER XIII. Of the adventure that Melias had, and how Galahad

revenged him, and how Melias was carried into an abbey.

And then rode Melias into an old forest, and therein he rode two days

and more. And then he came into a fair meadow, and there was a fair

lodge of boughs. And then he espied in that lodge a chair, wherein was

a crown of gold, subtly wrought. Also there were cloths covered upon

the earth, and many delicious meats set thereon. Sir Melias beheld this

adventure, and thought it marvellous, but he had no hunger, but of the

crown of gold he took much keep; and therewith he stooped down and took

it up, and rode his way with it. And anon he saw a knight came riding

after him that said: Knight, set down that crown which is not yours,

and therefore defend you. Then Sir Melias blessed him and said: Fair

lord of heaven, help and save thy new-made knight. And then they let

their horses run as fast as they might, so that the other knight smote

Sir Melias through hauberk and through the left side, that he fell to

the earth nigh dead. And then he took the crown and went his way; and

Sir Melias lay still and had no power to stir.

In the meanwhile by fortune there came Sir Galahad and found him there

in peril of death. And then he said: Ah Melias, who hath wounded you?

therefore it had been better to have ridden the other way. And when Sir

Melias heard him speak: Sir, he said, for God’s love let me not die in

this forest, but bear me unto the abbey here beside, that I may be

confessed and have my rights. It shall be done, said Galahad, but where

is he that hath wounded you? With that Sir Galahad heard in the leaves

cry on high: Knight, keep thee from me. Ah sir, said Melias, beware,

for that is he that hath slain me. Sir Galahad answered: Sir knight,

come on your peril. Then either dressed to other, and came together as

fast as their horses might run, and Galahad smote him so that his spear

went through his shoulder, and smote him down off his horse, and in the

falling Galahad’s spear brake.

With that came out another knight out of the leaves, and brake a spear

upon Galahad or ever he might turn him. Then Galahad drew out his sword

and smote off the left arm of him, so that it fell to the earth. And

then he fled, and Sir Galahad pursued fast after him. And then he

turned again unto Sir Melias, and there he alighted and dressed him

softly on his horse to-fore him, for the truncheon of his spear was in

his body; and Sir Galahad stert up behind him, and held him in his

arms, and so brought him to the abbey, and there unarmed him and

brought him to his chamber. And then he asked his Saviour. And when he

had received Him he said unto Sir Galahad: Sir, let death come when it

pleaseth him. And therewith he drew out the truncheon of the spear out

of his body: and then he swooned.

Then came there an old monk which sometime had been a knight, and

beheld Sir Melias. And anon he ransacked him; and then he said unto Sir

Galahad: I shall heal him of his wound, by the grace of God, within the

term of seven weeks. Then was Sir Galahad glad, and unarmed him, and

said he would abide there three days. And then he asked Sir Melias how

it stood with him. Then he said he was turned unto helping, God be

thanked.

CHAPTER XIV. How Sir Galahad departed, and how he was commanded to go

to the Castle of Maidens to destroy the wicked custom.

Now will I depart, said Galahad, for I have much on hand, for many good

knights be full busy about it, and this knight and I were in the same

quest of the Sangreal. Sir, said a good man, for his sin he was thus

wounded; and I marvel, said the good man, how ye durst take upon you so

rich a thing as the high order of knighthood without clean confession,

and that was the cause ye were bitterly wounded. For the way on the

right hand betokeneth the highway of our Lord Jesu Christ, and the way

of a good true good liver. And the other way betokeneth the way of

sinners and of misbelievers. And when the devil saw your pride and

presumption, for to take you in the quest of the Sangreal, that made

you to be overthrown, for it may not be enchieved but by virtuous

living. Also, the writing on the cross was a signification of heavenly

deeds, and of knightly deeds in God’s works, and no knightly deeds in

worldly works. And pride is head of all deadly sins, that caused this

knight to depart from Galahad. And where thou tookest the crown of gold

thou sinnest in covetise and in theft: all this were no knightly deeds.

And this Galahad, the holy knight, the which fought with the two

knights, the two knights signify the two deadly sins which were wholly

in this knight Melias; and they might not withstand you, for ye are

without deadly sin.

Now departed Galahad from thence, and betaught them all unto God. Sir

Melias said: My lord Galahad, as soon as I may ride I shall seek you.

God send you health, said Galahad, and so took his horse and departed,

and rode many journeys forward and backward, as adventure would lead

him. And at the last it happened him to depart from a place or a castle

the which was named Abblasoure; and he had heard no mass, the which he

was wont ever to hear or ever he departed out of any castle or place,

and kept that for a custom. Then Sir Galahad came unto a mountain where

he found an old chapel, and found there nobody, for all, all was

desolate; and there he kneeled to-fore the altar, and besought God of

wholesome counsel. So as he prayed he heard a voice that said: Go thou

now, thou adventurous knight, to the Castle of Maidens, and there do

thou away the wicked customs.

CHAPTER XV. How Sir Galahad fought with the knights of the castle, and

destroyed the wicked custom.

When Sir Galahad heard this he thanked God, and took his horse; and he

had not ridden but half a mile, he saw in the valley afore him a strong

castle with deep ditches, and there ran beside it a fair river that

hight Severn; and there he met with a man of great age, and either

saluted other, and Galahad asked him the castle’s name. Fair sir, said

he, it is the Castle of Maidens. That is a cursed castle, said Galahad,

and all they that be conversant therein, for all pity is out thereof,

and all hardiness and mischief is therein. Therefore, I counsel you,

sir knight, to turn again. Sir, said Galahad, wit you well I shall not

turn again. Then looked Sir Galahad on his arms that nothing failed

him, and then he put his shield afore him; and anon there met him seven

fair maidens, the which said unto him: Sir knight, ye ride here in a

great folly, for ye have the water to pass over. Why should I not pass

the water? said Galahad. So rode he away from them and met with a

squire that said: Knight, those knights in the castle defy you, and

defenden you ye go no further till that they wit what ye would. Fair

sir, said Galahad, I come for to destroy the wicked custom of this

castle. Sir, an ye will abide by that ye shall have enough to do. Go

you now, said Galahad, and haste my needs.

Then the squire entered into the castle. And anon after there came out

of the castle seven knights, and all were brethren. And when they saw

Galahad they cried: Knight, keep thee, for we assure thee nothing but

death. Why, said Galahad, will ye all have ado with me at once? Yea,

said they, thereto mayst thou trust. Then Galahad put forth his spear

and smote the foremost to the earth, that near he brake his neck. And

therewithal the other smote him on his shield great strokes, so that

their spears brake. Then Sir Galahad drew out his sword, and set upon

them so hard that it was marvel to see it, and so through great force

he made them to forsake the field; and Galahad chased them till they

entered into the castle, and so passed through the castle at another

gate.

And there met Sir Galahad an old man clothed in religious clothing, and

said: Sir, have here the keys of this castle. Then Sir Galahad opened

the gates, and saw so much people in the streets that he might not

number them, and all said: Sir, ye be welcome, for long have we abiden

here our deliverance. Then came to him a gentlewoman and said: These

knights be fled, but they will come again this night, and here to begin

again their evil custom. What will ye that I shall do? said Galahad.

Sir, said the gentlewoman, that ye send after all the knights hither

that hold their lands of this castle, and make them to swear for to use

the customs that were used heretofore of old time. I will well, said

Galahad. And there she brought him an horn of ivory, bounden with gold

richly, and said: Sir, blow this horn which will be heard two mile

about this castle. When Sir Galahad had blown the horn he set him down

upon a bed.

Then came a priest to Galahad, and said: Sir, it is past a seven year

agone that these seven brethren came into this castle, and harboured

with the lord of this castle that hight the Duke Lianour, and he was

lord of all this country. And when they espied the duke’s daughter,

that was a full fair woman, then by their false covin they made debate

betwixt themself, and the duke of his goodness would have departed

them, and there they slew him and his eldest son. And then they took

the maiden and the treasure of the castle. And then by great force they

held all the knights of this castle against their will under their

obeissance, and in great service and truage, robbing and pilling the

poor common people of all that they had. So it happened on a day the

duke’s daughter said: Ye have done unto me great wrong to slay mine own

father, and my brother, and thus to hold our lands: not for then, she

said, ye shall not hold this castle for many years, for by one knight

ye shall be overcome. Thus she prophesied seven years agone. Well, said

the seven knights, sithen ye say so, there shall never lady nor knight

pass this castle but they shall abide maugre their heads, or die

therefore, till that knight be come by whom we shall lose this castle.

And therefore is it called the Maidens’ Castle, for they have devoured

many maidens. Now, said Galahad, is she here for whom this castle was

lost? Nay sir, said the priest, she was dead within these three nights

after that she was thus enforced; and sithen have they kept her younger

sister, which endureth great pains with mo other ladies.

By this were the knights of the country come, and then he made them do

homage and fealty to the king’s daughter, and set them in great ease of

heart. And in the morn there came one to Galahad and told him how that

Gawaine, Gareth, and Uwaine, had slain the seven brethren. I suppose

well, said Sir Galahad, and took his armour and his horse, and

commended them unto God.

CHAPTER XVI. How Sir Gawaine came to the abbey for to follow Galahad,

and how he was shriven to a hermit.

Now, saith the tale, after Sir Gawaine departed, he rode many journeys,

both toward and froward. And at the last he came to the abbey where Sir

Galahad had the white shield, and there Sir Gawaine learned the way to

sewe after Sir Galahad; and so he rode to the abbey where Melias lay

sick, and there Sir Melias told Sir Gawaine of the marvellous

adventures that Sir Galahad did. Certes, said Sir Gawaine, I am not

happy that I took not the way that he went, for an I may meet with him

I will not depart from him lightly, for all marvellous adventures Sir

Galahad enchieveth. Sir, said one of the monks, he will not of your

fellowship. Why? said Sir Gawaine. Sir, said he, for ye be wicked and

sinful, and he is full blessed. Right as they thus stood talking there

came in riding Sir Gareth. And then they made joy either of other. And

on the morn they heard mass, and so departed. And by the way they met

with Sir Uwaine les Avoutres, and there Sir Uwaine told Sir Gawaine how

he had met with none adventure sith he departed from the court. Nor we,

said Sir Gawaine. And either promised other of the three knights not to

depart while they were in that quest, but if fortune caused it.

So they departed and rode by fortune till that they came by the Castle

of Maidens; and there the seven brethren espied the three knights, and

said: Sithen, we be flemed by one knight from this castle, we shall

destroy all the knights of King Arthur’s that we may overcome, for the

love of Sir Galahad. And therewith the seven knights set upon the three

knights, and by fortune Sir Gawaine slew one of the brethren, and each

one of his fellows slew another, and so slew the remnant. And then they

took the way under the castle, and there they lost the way that Sir

Galahad rode, and there everych of them departed from other; and Sir

Gawaine rode till he came to an hermitage, and there he found the good

man saying his evensong of Our Lady; and there Sir Gawaine asked

harbour for charity, and the good man granted it him gladly.

Then the good man asked him what he was. Sir, he said, I am a knight of

King Arthur’s that am in the quest of the Sangreal, and my name is Sir

Gawaine. Sir, said the good man, I would wit how it standeth betwixt

God and you. Sir, said Sir Gawaine, I will with a good will shew you my

life if it please you; and there he told the hermit how a monk of an

abbey called me wicked knight. He might well say it, said the hermit,

for when ye were first made knight ye should have taken you to knightly

deeds and virtuous living, and ye have done the contrary, for ye have

lived mischievously many winters; and Sir Galahad is a maid and sinned

never, and that is the cause he shall enchieve where he goeth that ye

nor none such shall not attain, nor none in your fellowship, for ye

have used the most untruest life that ever I heard knight live. For

certes had ye not been so wicked as ye are, never had the seven

brethren been slain by you and your two fellows. For Sir Galahad

himself alone beat them all seven the day to-fore, but his living is

such he shall slay no man lightly. Also I may say you the Castle of

Maidens betokeneth the good souls that were in prison afore the

Incarnation of Jesu Christ. And the seven knights betoken the seven

deadly sins that reigned that time in the world; and I may liken the

good Galahad unto the son of the High Father, that lighted within a

maid, and bought all the souls out of thrall, so did Sir Galahad

deliver all the maidens out of the woful castle.

Now, Sir Gawaine, said the good man, thou must do penance for thy sin.

Sir, what penance shall I do? Such as I will give, said the good man.

Nay, said Sir Gawaine, I may do no penance; for we knights adventurous

oft suffer great woe and pain. Well, said the good man, and then he

held his peace. And on the morn Sir Gawaine departed from the hermit,

and betaught him unto God. And by adventure he met with Sir Aglovale

and Sir Griflet, two knights of the Table Round. And they two rode four

days without finding of any adventure, and at the fifth day they

departed. And everych held as fell them by adventure. Here leaveth the

tale of Sir Gawaine and his fellows, and speak we of Sir Galahad.

CHAPTER XVII. How Sir Galahad met with Sir Launcelot and Sir Percivale,

and smote them down, and departed from them.

So when Sir Galahad was departed from the Castle of Maidens he rode

till he came to a waste forest, and there he met with Sir Launcelot and

Sir Percivale, but they knew him not, for he was new disguised. Right

so Sir Launcelot, his father, dressed his spear and brake it upon Sir

Galahad, and Galahad smote him so again that he smote down horse and

man. And then he drew his sword, and dressed him unto Sir Percivale,

and smote him so on the helm, that it rove to the coif of steel; and

had not the sword swerved Sir Percivale had been slain, and with the

stroke he fell out of his saddle. This jousts was done to-fore the

hermitage where a recluse dwelled. And when she saw Sir Galahad ride,

she said: God be with thee, best knight of the world. Ah certes, said

she, all aloud that Launcelot and Percivale might hear it: An yonder

two knights had known thee as well as I do they would not have

encountered with thee. Then Sir Galahad heard her say so he was adread

to be known: therewith he smote his horse with his spurs and rode a

great pace froward them. Then perceived they both that he was Galahad;

and up they gat on their horses, and rode fast after him, but in a

while he was out of their sight. And then they turned again with heavy

cheer. Let us spere some tidings, said Percivale, at yonder recluse. Do

as ye list, said Sir Launcelot.

When Sir Percivale came to the recluse she knew him well enough, and

Sir Launcelot both. But Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a

wild forest, and held no path but as wild adventure led him. And at the

last he came to a stony cross which departed two ways in waste land;

and by the cross was a stone that was of marble, but it was so dark

that Sir Launcelot might not wit what it was. Then Sir Launcelot looked

by him, and saw an old chapel, and there he weened to have found

people; and Sir Launcelot tied his horse till a tree, and there he did

off his shield and hung it upon a tree, and then went to the chapel

door, and found it waste and broken. And within he found a fair altar,

full richly arrayed with cloth of clean silk, and there stood a fair

clean candlestick, which bare six great candles, and the candlestick

was of silver. And when Sir Launcelot saw this light he had great will

for to enter into the chapel, but he could find no place where he might

enter; then was he passing heavy and dismayed. Then he returned and

came to his horse and did off his saddle and bridle, and let him

pasture, and unlaced his helm, and ungirt his sword, and laid him down

to sleep upon his shield to-fore the cross.

CHAPTER XVIII. How Sir Launcelot, half sleeping and half waking, saw a

sick man borne in a litter, and how he was healed with the Sangreal.

And so he fell asleep; and half waking and sleeping he saw come by him

two palfreys all fair and white, the which bare a litter, therein lying

a sick knight. And when he was nigh the cross he there abode still. All

this Sir Launcelot saw and beheld, for he slept not verily; and he

heard him say: O sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me? and when

shall the holy vessel come by me, wherethrough I shall be blessed? For

I have endured thus long, for little trespass. A full great while

complained the knight thus, and always Sir Launcelot heard it. With

that Sir Launcelot saw the candlestick with the six tapers come before

the cross, and he saw nobody that brought it. Also there came a table

of silver, and the holy vessel of the Sangreal, which Launcelot had

seen aforetime in King Pescheour’s house. And therewith the sick knight

set him up, and held up both his hands, and said: Fair sweet Lord,

which is here within this holy vessel; take heed unto me that I may be

whole of this malady. And therewith on his hands and on his knees he

went so nigh that he touched the holy vessel and kissed it, and anon he

was whole; and then he said: Lord God, I thank thee, for I am healed of

this sickness.

So when the holy vessel had been there a great while it went unto the

chapel with the chandelier and the light, so that Launcelot wist not

where it was become; for he was overtaken with sin that he had no power

to rise again the holy vessel; wherefore after that many men said of

him shame, but he took repentance after that. Then the sick knight

dressed him up and kissed the cross; anon his squire brought him his

arms, and asked his lord how he did. Certes, said he, I thank God right

well, through the holy vessel I am healed. But I have marvel of this

sleeping knight that had no power to awake when this holy vessel was

brought hither. I dare right well say, said the squire, that he

dwelleth in some deadly sin whereof he was never confessed. By my

faith, said the knight, whatsomever he be he is unhappy, for as I deem

he is of the fellowship of the Round Table, the which is entered into

the quest of the Sangreal. Sir, said the squire, here I have brought

you all your arms save your helm and your sword, and therefore by mine

assent now may ye take this knight’s helm and his sword: and so he did.

And when he was clean armed he took Sir Launcelot’s horse, for he was

better than his; and so departed they from the cross.

CHAPTER XIX. How a voice spake to Sir Launcelot, and how he found his

horse and his helm borne away, and after went afoot.

Then anon Sir Launcelot waked, and set him up, and bethought him what

he had seen there, and whether it were dreams or not. Right so heard he

a voice that said: Sir Launcelot, more harder than is the stone, and

more bitter than is the wood, and more naked and barer than is the leaf

of the fig tree; therefore go thou from hence, and withdraw thee from

this holy place. And when Sir Launcelot heard this he was passing heavy

and wist not what to do, and so departed sore weeping, and cursed the

time that he was born. For then he deemed never to have had worship

more. For those words went to his heart, till that he knew wherefore he

was called so. Then Sir Launcelot went to the cross and found his helm,

his sword, and his horse taken away. And then he called himself a very

wretch, and most unhappy of all knights; and there he said: My sin and

my wickedness have brought me unto great dishonour. For when I sought

worldly adventures for worldly desires, I ever enchieved them and had

the better in every place, and never was I discomfit in no quarrel,

were it right or wrong. And now I take upon me the adventures of holy

things, and now I see and understand that mine old sin hindereth me and

shameth me, so that I had no power to stir nor speak when the holy

blood appeared afore me. So thus he sorrowed till it was day, and heard

the fowls sing: then somewhat he was comforted. But when Sir Launcelot

missed his horse and his harness then he wist well God was displeased

with him.

Then he departed from the cross on foot into a forest; and so by prime

he came to an high hill, and found an hermitage and a hermit therein

which was going unto mass. And then Launcelot kneeled down and cried on

Our Lord mercy for his wicked works. So when mass was done Launcelot

called him, and prayed him for charity for to hear his life. With a

good will, said the good man. Sir, said he, be ye of King Arthur’s

court and of the fellowship of the Round Table? Yea forsooth, and my

name is Sir Launcelot du Lake that hath been right well said of, and

now my good fortune is changed, for I am the most wretch of the world.

The hermit beheld him and had marvel how he was so abashed. Sir, said

the hermit, ye ought to thank God more than any knight living, for He

hath caused you to have more worldly worship than any knight that now

liveth. And for your presumption to take upon you in deadly sin for to

be in His presence, where His flesh and His blood was, that caused you

ye might not see it with worldly eyes; for He will not appear where

such sinners be, but if it be unto their great hurt and unto their

great shame; and there is no knight living now that ought to give God

so great thank as ye, for He hath given you beauty, seemliness, and

great strength above all other knights; and therefore ye are the more

beholding unto God than any other man, to love Him and dread Him, for

your strength and manhood will little avail you an God be against you.

CHAPTER XX. How Sir Launcelot was shriven, and what sorrow he made and

of the good ensamples which were shewed him.

Then Sir Launcelot wept with heavy cheer, and said: Now I know well ye

say me sooth. Sir, said the good man, hide none old sin from me. Truly,

said Sir Launcelot, that were me full loath to discover. For this

fourteen year I never discovered one thing that I have used, and that

may I now wite my shame and my disadventure. And then he told there

that good man all his life. And how he had loved a queen unmeasurably

and out of measure long. And all my great deeds of arms that I have

done, I did for the most part for the queen’s sake, and for her sake

would I do battle were it right or wrong, and never did I battle all

only for God’s sake, but for to win worship and to cause me to be the

better beloved and little or nought I thanked God of it. Then Sir

Launcelot said: I pray you counsel me. I will counsel you, said the

hermit, if ye will ensure me that ye will never come in that queen’s

fellowship as much as ye may forbear. And then Sir Launcelot promised

him he nold, by the faith of his body. Look that your heart and your

mouth accord, said the good man, and I shall ensure you ye shall have

more worship than ever ye had.

Holy father, said Sir Launcelot, I marvel of the voice that said to me

marvellous words, as ye have heard to-forehand. Have ye no marvel, said

the good man thereof, for it seemeth well God loveth you; for men may

understand a stone is hard of kind, and namely one more than another;

and that is to understand by thee, Sir Launcelot, for thou wilt not

leave thy sin for no goodness that God hath sent thee; therefore thou

art more than any stone, and never wouldst thou be made nesh nor by

water nor by fire, and that is the heat of the Holy Ghost may not enter

in thee. Now take heed, in all the world men shall not find one knight

to whom Our Lord hath given so much of grace as He hath given you, for

He hath given you fairness with seemliness, He hath given thee wit,

discretion to know good from evil, He hath given thee prowess and

hardiness, and given thee to work so largely that thou hast had at all

days the better wheresomever thou came; and now Our Lord will suffer

thee no longer, but that thou shalt know Him whether thou wilt or nylt.

And why the voice called thee bitterer than wood, for where overmuch

sin dwelleth, there may be but little sweetness, wherefore thou art

likened to an old rotten tree.

Now have I shewed thee why thou art harder than the stone and bitterer

than the tree. Now shall I shew thee why thou art more naked and barer

than the fig tree. It befell that Our Lord on Palm Sunday preached in

Jerusalem, and there He found in the people that all hardness was

harboured in them, and there He found in all the town not one that

would harbour him. And then He went without the town, and found in

midst of the way a fig tree, the which was right fair and well

garnished of leaves, but fruit had it none. Then Our Lord cursed the

tree that bare no fruit; that betokeneth the fig tree unto Jerusalem,

that had leaves and no fruit. So thou, Sir Launcelot, when the Holy

Grail was brought afore thee, He found in thee no fruit, nor good

thought nor good will, and defouled with lechery. Certes, said Sir

Launcelot, all that you have said is true, and from henceforward I cast

me, by the grace of God, never to be so wicked as I have been, but as

to follow knighthood and to do feats of arms.

Then the good man enjoined Sir Launcelot such penance as he might do

and to sewe knighthood, and so assoiled him, and prayed Sir Launcelot

to abide with him all that day. I will well, said Sir Launcelot, for I

have neither helm, nor horse, nor sword. As for that, said the good

man, I shall help you or to-morn at even of an horse, and all that

longed unto you. And then Sir Launcelot repented him greatly.

_Here endeth off the history of Sir Launcelot. And here followeth of

Sir Percivale de Galis, which is the fourteenth book._

BOOK XIV.

CHAPTER I. How Sir Percivale came to a recluse and asked counsel, and

how she told him that she was his aunt.

Now saith the tale, that when Sir Launcelot was ridden after Sir

Galahad, the which had all these adventures above said, Sir Percivale

turned again unto the recluse, where he deemed to have tidings of that

knight that Launcelot followed. And so he kneeled at her window, and

the recluse opened it and asked Sir Percivale what he would. Madam, he

said, I am a knight of King Arthur’s court, and my name is Sir

Percivale de Galis. When the recluse heard his name she had great joy

of him, for mickle she had loved him to-fore any other knight, for she

ought to do so, for she was his aunt. And then she commanded the gates

to be opened, and there he had all the cheer that she might make him,

and all that was in her power was at his commandment.

So on the morn Sir Percivale went to the recluse and asked her if she

knew that knight with the white shield. Sir, said she, why would ye

wit? Truly, madam, said Sir Percivale, I shall never be well at ease

till that I know of that knight’s fellowship, and that I may fight with

him, for I may not leave him so lightly, for I have the shame yet. Ah,

Percivale, said she, would ye fight with him? I see well ye have great

will to be slain as your father was, through outrageousness. Madam,

said Sir Percivale, it seemeth by your words that ye know me. Yea, said

she, I well ought to know you, for I am your aunt, although I be in a

priory place. For some called me sometime the Queen of the Waste Lands,

and I was called the queen of most riches in the world; and it pleased

me never my riches so much as doth my poverty. Then Sir Percivale wept

for very pity when that he knew it was his aunt. Ah, fair nephew, said

she, when heard ye tidings of your mother? Truly, said he, I heard none

of her, but I dream of her much in my sleep; and therefore I wot not

whether she be dead or alive. Certes, fair nephew, said she, your

mother is dead, for after your departing from her she took such a

sorrow that anon, after she was confessed, she died. Now, God have

mercy on her soul, said Sir Percivale, it sore forthinketh me; but all

we must change the life. Now, fair aunt, tell me what is the knight? I

deem it be he that bare the red arms on Whitsunday. Wit you well, said

she, that this is he, for otherwise ought he not to do, but to go in

red arms; and that same knight hath no peer, for he worketh all by

miracle, and he shall never be overcome of none earthly man’s hand.

CHAPTER II. How Merlin likened the Round Table to the world, and how

the knights that should achieve the Sangreal should be known.

Also Merlin made the Round Table in tokening of roundness of the world,

for by the Round Table is the world signified by right, for all the

world, Christian and heathen, repair unto the Round Table; and when

they are chosen to be of the fellowship of the Round Table they think

them more blessed and more in worship than if they had gotten half the

world; and ye have seen that they have lost their fathers and their

mothers, and all their kin, and their wives and their children, for to

be of your fellowship. It is well seen by you; for since ye have

departed from your mother ye would never see her, ye found such

fellowship at the Round Table. When Merlin had ordained the Round Table

he said, by them which should be fellows of the Round Table the truth

of the Sangreal should be well known. And men asked him how men might

know them that should best do and to enchieve the Sangreal? Then he

said there should be three white bulls that should enchieve it, and the

two should be maidens, and the third should be chaste. And that one of

the three should pass his father as much as the lion passeth the

leopard, both of strength and hardiness.

They that heard Merlin say so said thus unto Merlin: Sithen there shall

be such a knight, thou shouldest ordain by thy crafts a siege, that no

man should sit in it but he all only that shall pass all other knights.

Then Merlin answered that he would do so. And then he made the Siege

Perilous, in the which Galahad sat in at his meat on Whitsunday last

past. Now, madam, said Sir Percivale, so much have I heard of you that

by my good will I will never have ado with Sir Galahad but by way of

kindness; and for God’s love, fair aunt, can ye teach me some way where

I may find him? for much would I love the fellowship of him. Fair

nephew, said she, ye must ride unto a castle the which is called

Goothe, where he hath a cousin-germain, and there may ye be lodged this

night. And as he teacheth you, seweth after as fast as ye can; and if

he can tell you no tidings of him, ride straight unto the Castle of

Carbonek, where the maimed king is there lying, for there shall ye hear

true tidings of him.

CHAPTER III. How Sir Percivale came into a monastery, where he found

King Evelake, which was an old man.

Then departed Sir Percivale from his aunt, either making great sorrow.

And so he rode till evensong time. And then he heard a clock smite; and

then he was ware of an house closed well with walls and deep ditches,

and there he knocked at the gate and was let in, and he alighted and

was led unto a chamber, and soon he was unarmed. And there he had right

good cheer all that night; and on the morn he heard his mass, and in

the monastery he found a priest ready at the altar. And on the right

side he saw a pew closed with iron, and behind the altar he saw a rich

bed and a fair, as of cloth of silk and gold.

Then Sir Percivale espied that therein was a man or a woman, for the

visage was covered; then he left off his looking and heard his service.

And when it came to the sacring, he that lay within that parclos

dressed him up, and uncovered his head; and then him beseemed a passing

old man, and he had a crown of gold upon his head, and his shoulders

were naked and unhilled unto his navel. And then Sir Percivale espied

his body was full of great wounds, both on the shoulders, arms, and

visage. And ever he held up his hands against Our Lord’s body, and

cried: Fair, sweet Father, Jesu Christ, forget not me. And so he lay

down, but always he was in his prayers and orisons; and him seemed to

be of the age of three hundred winter. And when the mass was done the

priest took Our Lord’s body and bare it to the sick king. And when he

had used it he did off his crown, and commanded the crown to be set on

the altar.

Then Sir Percivale asked one of the brethren what he was. Sir, said the

good man, ye have heard much of Joseph of Aramathie, how he was sent by

Jesu Christ into this land for to teach and preach the holy Christian

faith; and therefore he suffered many persecutions the which the

enemies of Christ did unto him, and in the city of Sarras he converted

a king whose name was Evelake. And so this king came with Joseph into

this land, and ever he was busy to be thereas the Sangreal was; and on

a time he nighed it so nigh that Our Lord was displeased with him, but

ever he followed it more and more, till God struck him almost blind.

Then this king cried mercy, and said: Fair Lord, let me never die till

the good knight of my blood of the ninth degree be come, that I may see

him openly that he shall enchieve the Sangreal, that I may kiss him.

CHAPTER IV. How Sir Percivale saw many men of arms bearing a dead

knight, and how he fought against them.

When the king thus had made his prayers he heard a voice that said:

Heard be thy prayers, for thou shalt not die till he have kissed thee.

And when that knight shall come the clearness of your eyes shall come

again, and thou shalt see openly, and thy wounds shall be healed, and

erst shall they never close. And this befell of King Evelake, and this

same king hath lived this three hundred winters this holy life, and men

say the knight is in the court that shall heal him. Sir, said the good

man, I pray you tell me what knight that ye be, and if ye be of King

Arthur’s court and of the Table Round. Yea forsooth, said he, and my

name is Sir Percivale de Galis. And when the good man understood his

name he made great joy of him.

And then Sir Percivale departed and rode till the hour of noon. And he

met in a valley about a twenty men of arms, which bare in a bier a

knight deadly slain. And when they saw Sir Percivale they asked him of

whence he was. And he answered: Of the court of King Arthur. Then they

cried all at once: Slay him. Then Sir Percivale smote the first to the

earth and his horse upon him. And then seven of the knights smote upon

his shield all at once, and the remnant slew his horse so that he fell

to the earth. So had they slain him or taken him had not the good

knight, Sir Galahad, with the red arms come there by adventure into

those parts. And when he saw all those knights upon one knight he

cried: Save me that knight’s life. And then he dressed him toward the

twenty men of arms as fast as his horse might drive, with his spear in

the rest, and smote the foremost horse and man to the earth. And when

his spear was broken he set his hand to his sword, and smote on the

right hand and on the left hand that it was marvel to see, and at every

stroke he smote one down or put him to a rebuke, so that they would

fight no more but fled to a thick forest, and Sir Galahad followed

them.

And when Sir Percivale saw him chase them so, he made great sorrow that

his horse was away. And then he wist well it was Sir Galahad. And then

he cried aloud: Ah fair knight, abide and suffer me to do thankings

unto thee, for much have ye done for me. But ever Sir Galahad rode so

fast that at the last he passed out of his sight. And as fast as Sir

Percivale might he went after him on foot, crying. And then he met with

a yeoman riding upon an hackney, the which led in his hand a great

steed blacker than any bear. Ah, fair friend, said Sir Percivale, as

ever I may do for you, and to be your true knight in the first place ye

will require me, that ye will lend me that black steed, that I might

overtake a knight the which rideth afore me. Sir knight, said the

yeoman, I pray you hold me excused of that, for that I may not do. For

wit ye well, the horse is such a man’s horse, that an I lent it you or

any man, that he would slay me. Alas, said Sir Percivale, I had never

so great sorrow as I have had for losing of yonder knight. Sir, said

the yeoman, I am right heavy for you, for a good horse would beseem you

well; but I dare not deliver you this horse but if ye would take him

from me. That will I not do, said Sir Percivale. And so they departed;

and Sir Percivale set him down under a tree, and made sorrow out of

measure. And as he was there, there came a knight riding on the horse

that the yeoman led, and he was clean armed.

CHAPTER V. How a yeoman desired him to get again an horse, and how Sir

Percivale’s hackney was slain, and how he gat an horse.

And anon the yeoman came pricking after as fast as ever he might, and

asked Sir Percivale if he saw any knight riding on his black steed.

Yea, sir, forsooth, said he; why, sir, ask ye me that? Ah, sir, that

steed he hath benome me with strength; wherefore my lord will slay me

in what place he findeth me. Well, said Sir Percivale, what wouldst

thou that I did? Thou seest well that I am on foot, but an I had a good

horse I should bring him soon again. Sir, said the yeoman, take mine

hackney and do the best ye can, and I shall sewe you on foot to wit how

that ye shall speed. Then Sir Percivale alighted upon that hackney, and

rode as fast as he might, and at the last he saw that knight. And then

he cried: Knight, turn again; and he turned and set his spear against

Sir Percivale, and he smote the hackney in the midst of the breast that

he fell down dead to the earth, and there he had a great fall, and the

other rode his way. And then Sir Percivale was wood wroth, and cried:

Abide, wicked knight; coward and false-hearted knight, turn again and

fight with me on foot. But he answered not, but passed on his way.

When Sir Percivale saw he would not turn he cast away his helm and

sword, and said: Now am I a very wretch, cursed and most unhappy above

all other knights. So in this sorrow he abode all that day till it was

night; and then he was faint, and laid him down and slept till it was

midnight; and then he awaked and saw afore him a woman which said unto

him right fiercely: Sir Percivale, what dost thou here? He answered, I

do neither good nor great ill. If thou wilt ensure me, said she, that

thou wilt fulfil my will when I summon thee, I shall lend thee mine own

horse which shall bear thee whither thou wilt. Sir Percivale was glad

of her proffer, and ensured her to fulfil all her desire. Then abide me

here, and I shall go and fetch you an horse. And so she came soon again

and brought an horse with her that was inly black. When Percivale

beheld that horse he marvelled that it was so great and so well

apparelled; and not for then he was so hardy, and he leapt upon him,

and took none heed of himself. And so anon as he was upon him he thrust

to him with his spurs, and so he rode by a forest, and the moon shone

clear. And within an hour and less he bare him four days’ journey

thence, until he came to a rough water the which roared, and his horse

would have borne him into it.

CHAPTER VI. Of the great danger that Sir Percivale was in by his horse,

and how he saw a serpent and a lion fight.

And when Sir Percivale came nigh the brim, and saw the water so

boistous, he doubted to overpass it. And then he made a sign of the

cross in his forehead. When the fiend felt him so charged he shook off

Sir Percivale, and he went into the water crying and roaring, making

great sorrow, and it seemed unto him that the water brent. Then Sir

Percivale perceived it was a fiend, the which would have brought him

unto his perdition. Then he commended himself unto God, and prayed Our

Lord to keep him from all such temptations; and so he prayed all that

night till on the morn that it was day; then he saw that he was in a

wild mountain the which was closed with the sea nigh all about, that he

might see no land about him which might relieve him, but wild beasts.

And then he went into a valley, and there he saw a young serpent bring

a young lion by the neck, and so he came by Sir Percivale. With that

came a great lion crying and roaring after the serpent. And as fast as

Sir Percivale saw this he marvelled, and hied him thither, but anon the

lion had overtaken the serpent and began battle with him. And then Sir

Percivale thought to help the lion, for he was the more natural beast

of the two; and therewith he drew his sword, and set his shield afore

him, and there he gave the serpent such a buffet that he had a deadly

wound. When the lion saw that, he made no resemblaunt to fight with

him, but made him all the cheer that a beast might make a man. Then

Percivale perceived that, and cast down his shield which was broken;

and then he did off his helm for to gather wind, for he was greatly

enchafed with the serpent: and the lion went alway about him fawning as

a spaniel. And then he stroked him on the neck and on the shoulders.

And then he thanked God of the fellowship of that beast. And about noon

the lion took his little whelp and trussed him and bare him there he

came from.

Then was Sir Percivale alone. And as the tale telleth, he was one of

the men of the world at that time which most believed in Our Lord Jesu

Christ, for in those days there were but few folks that believed in God

perfectly. For in those days the son spared not the father no more than

a stranger. And so Sir Percivale comforted himself in our Lord Jesu,

and besought God no temptation should bring him out of God’s service,

but to endure as his true champion. Thus when Sir Percivale had prayed

he saw the lion come toward him, and then he couched down at his feet.

And so all that night the lion and he slept together; and when Sir

Percivale slept he dreamed a marvellous dream, that there two ladies

met with him, and that one sat upon a lion, and that other sat upon a

serpent, and that one of them was young, and the other was old; and the

youngest him thought said: Sir Percivale, my lord saluteth thee, and

sendeth thee word that thou array thee and make thee ready, for to-morn

thou must fight with the strongest champion of the world. And if thou

be overcome thou shall not be quit for losing of any of thy members,

but thou shalt be shamed for ever to the world’s end. And then he asked

her what was her lord. And she said the greatest lord of all the world:

and so she departed suddenly that he wist not where.

CHAPTER VII. Of the vision that Sir Percivale saw, and how his vision

was expounded, and of his lion.

Then came forth the other lady that rode upon the serpent, and she

said: Sir Percivale, I complain me of you that ye have done unto me,

and have not offended unto you. Certes, madam, he said, unto you nor no

lady I never offended. Yes, said she, I shall tell you why. I have

nourished in this place a great while a serpent, which served me a

great while, and yesterday ye slew him as he gat his prey. Say me for

what cause ye slew him, for the lion was not yours. Madam, said Sir

Percivale, I know well the lion was not mine, but I did it for the lion

is of more gentler nature than the serpent, and therefore I slew him;

meseemeth I did not amiss against you. Madam, said he, what would ye

that I did? I would, said she, for the amends of my beast that ye

become my man. And then he answered: That will I not grant you. No,

said she, truly ye were never but my servant sin ye received the homage

of Our Lord Jesu Christ. Therefore, I ensure you in what place I may

find you without keeping I shall take you, as he that sometime was my

man. And so she departed from Sir Percivale and left him sleeping, the

which was sore travailed of his advision. And on the morn he arose and

blessed him, and he was passing feeble.

Then was Sir Percivale ware in the sea, and saw a ship come sailing

toward him; and Sir Percivale went unto the ship and found it covered

within and without with white samite. And at the board stood an old man

clothed in a surplice, in likeness of a priest. Sir, said Sir

Percivale, ye be welcome. God keep you, said the good man. Sir, said

the old man, of whence be ye? Sir, said Sir Percivale, I am of King

Arthur’s court, and a knight of the Table Round, the which am in the

quest of the Sangreal; and here am I in great duresse, and never like

to escape out of this wilderness. Doubt not, said the good man, an ye

be so true a knight as the order of chivalry requireth, and of heart as

ye ought to be, ye should not doubt that none enemy should slay you.

What are ye? said Sir Percivale. Sir, said the old man, I am of a

strange country, and hither I come to comfort you.

Sir, said Sir Percivale, what signifieth my dream that I dreamed this

night? And there he told him altogether: She which rode upon the lion

betokeneth the new law of holy church, that is to understand, faith,

good hope, belief, and baptism. For she seemed younger than the other

it is great reason, for she was born in the resurrection and the

passion of Our Lord Jesu Christ. And for great love she came to thee to

warn thee of thy great battle that shall befall thee. With whom, said

Sir Percivale, shall I fight? With the most champion of the world, said

the old man; for as the lady said, but if thou quit thee well thou

shalt not be quit by losing of one member, but thou shalt be shamed to

the world’s end. And she that rode on the serpent signifieth the old

law, and that serpent betokeneth a fiend. And why she blamed thee that

thou slewest her servant, it betokeneth nothing; the serpent that thou

slewest betokeneth the devil that thou rodest upon to the rock. And

when thou madest a sign of the cross, there thou slewest him, and put

away his power. And when she asked thee amends and to become her man,

and thou saidst thou wouldst not, that was to make thee to believe on

her and leave thy baptism. So he commanded Sir Percivale to depart, and

so he leapt over the board and the ship, and all went away he wist not

whither. Then he went up unto the rock and found the lion which always

kept him fellowship, and he stroked him upon the back and had great joy

of him.

CHAPTER VIII. How Sir Percivale saw a ship coming to him-ward, and how

the lady of the ship told him of her disheritance.

By that Sir Percivale had abiden there till mid-day he saw a ship came

rowing in the sea, as all the wind of the world had driven it. And so

it drove under that rock. And when Sir Percivale saw this he hied him

thither, and found the ship covered with silk more blacker than any

bear, and therein was a gentlewoman of great beauty, and she was

clothed richly that none might be better. And when she saw Sir

Percivale she said: Who brought you in this wilderness where ye be

never like to pass hence, for ye shall die here for hunger and

mischief? Damosel, said Sir Percivale, I serve the best man of the

world, and in his service he will not suffer me to die, for who that

knocketh shall enter, and who that asketh shall have, and who that

seeketh him he hideth him not. But then she said: Sir Percivale, wot ye

what I am? Yea, said he. Now who taught you my name? said she. Now,

said Sir Percivale, I know you better than ye ween. And I came out of

the waste forest where I found the Red Knight with the white shield,

said the damosel. Ah, damosel, said he, with that knight would I meet

passing fain. Sir knight, said she, an ye will ensure me by the faith

that ye owe unto knighthood that ye shall do my will what time I summon

you, and I shall bring you unto that knight. Yea, said he, I shall

promise you to fulfil your desire. Well, said she, now shall I tell

you. I saw him in the forest chasing two knights unto a water, the

which is called Mortaise; and they drove him into the water for dread

of death, and the two knights passed over, and the Red Knight passed

after, and there his horse was drenched, and he, through great

strength, escaped unto the land: thus she told him, and Sir Percivale

was passing glad thereof.

Then she asked him if he had ate any meat late. Nay, madam, truly I ate

no meat nigh this three days, but late here I spake with a good man

that fed me with his good words and holy, and refreshed me greatly. Ah,

sir knight, said she, that same man is an enchanter and a multiplier of

words. For an ye believe him ye shall plainly be shamed, and die in

this rock for pure hunger, and be eaten with wild beasts; and ye be a

young man and a goodly knight, and I shall help you an ye will. What

are ye, said Sir Percivale, that proffered me thus great kindness? I

am, said she, a gentlewoman that am disherited, which was sometime the

richest woman of the world. Damosel, said Sir Percivale, who hath

disherited you? for I have great pity of you. Sir, said she, I dwelled

with the greatest man of the world, and he made me so fair and clear

that there was none like me; and of that great beauty I had a little

pride more than I ought to have had. Also I said a word that pleased

him not. And then he would not suffer me to be any longer in his

company, and so drove me from mine heritage, and so disherited me, and

he had never pity of me nor of none of my council, nor of my court. And

sithen, sir knight, it hath befallen me so, and through me and mine I

have benome him many of his men, and made them to become my men. For

they ask never nothing of me but I give it them, that and much more.

Thus I and all my servants were against him night and day. Therefore I

know now no good knight, nor no good man, but I get them on my side an

I may. And for that I know that thou art a good knight, I beseech you

to help me; and for ye be a fellow of the Round Table, wherefore ye

ought not to fail no gentlewoman which is disherited, an she besought

you of help.

CHAPTER IX. How Sir Percivale promised her help, and how he required

her of love, and how he was saved from the fiend.

Then Sir Percivale promised her all the help that he might; and then

she thanked him. And at that time the weather was hot. Then she called

unto her a gentlewoman and bade her bring forth a pavilion; and so she

did, and pight it upon the gravel. Sir, said she, now may ye rest you

in this heat of the day. Then he thanked her, and she put off his helm

and his shield, and there he slept a great while. And then he awoke and

asked her if she had any meat, and she said: Yea, also ye shall have

enough. And so there was set enough upon the table, and thereon so much

that he had marvel, for there was all manner of meats that he could

think on. Also he drank there the strongest wine that ever he drank,

him thought, and therewith he was a little chafed more than he ought to

be; with that he beheld the gentlewoman, and him thought she was the

fairest creature that ever he saw. And then Sir Percivale proffered her

love, and prayed her that she would be his. Then she refused him, in a

manner, when he required her, for the cause he should be the more

ardent on her, and ever he ceased not to pray her of love. And when she

saw him well enchafed, then she said: Sir Percivale, wit you well I

shall not fulfil your will but if ye swear from henceforth ye shall be

my true servant, and to do nothing but that I shall command you. Will

ye ensure me this as ye be a true knight? Yea, said he, fair lady, by

the faith of my body. Well, said she, now shall ye do with me whatso it

please you; and now wit ye well ye are the knight in the world that I

have most desire to.

And then two squires were commanded to make a bed in midst of the

pavilion. And anon she was unclothed and laid therein. And then Sir

Percivale laid him down by her naked; and by adventure and grace he saw

his sword lie on the ground naked, in whose pommel was a red cross and

the sign of the crucifix therein, and bethought him on his knighthood

and his promise made to-forehand unto the good man; then he made a sign

of the cross in his forehead, and therewith the pavilion turned

up-so-down, and then it changed unto a smoke, and a black cloud, and

then he was adread and cried aloud:

CHAPTER X. How Sir Percivale for penance rove himself through the

thigh; and how she was known for the devil.

Fair sweet Father, Jesu Christ, ne let me not be shamed, the which was

nigh lost had not thy good grace been. And then he looked into a ship,

and saw her enter therein, which said: Sir Percivale, ye have betrayed

me. And so she went with the wind roaring and yelling, that it seemed

all the water brent after her. Then Sir Percivale made great sorrow,

and drew his sword unto him, saying: Sithen my flesh will be my master

I shall punish it; and therewith he rove himself through the thigh that

the blood stert about him, and said: O good Lord, take this in

recompensation of that I have done against thee, my Lord. So then he

clothed him and armed him, and called himself a wretch, saying: How

nigh was I lost, and to have lost that I should never have gotten

again, that was my virginity, for that may never be recovered after it

is once lost. And then he stopped his bleeding wound with a piece of

his shirt.

Thus as he made his moan he saw the same ship come from Orient that the

good man was in the day afore, and the noble knight was ashamed with

himself, and therewith he fell in a swoon. And when he awoke he went

unto him weakly, and there he saluted this good man. And then he asked

Sir Percivale: How hast thou done sith I departed? Sir, said he, here

was a gentlewoman and led me into deadly sin. And there he told him

altogether. Knew ye not the maid? said the good man. Sir, said he, nay,

but well I wot the fiend sent her hither to shame me. O good knight,

said he, thou art a fool, for that gentlewoman was the master fiend of

hell, the which hath power above all devils, and that was the old lady

that thou sawest in thine advision riding on the serpent. Then he told

Sir Percivale how our Lord Jesu Christ beat him out of heaven for his

sin, the which was the most brightest angel of heaven, and therefore he

lost his heritage. And that was the champion that thou foughtest

withal, the which had overcome thee had not the grace of God been. Now

beware Sir Percivale, and take this for an ensample. And then the good

man vanished away. Then Sir Percivale took his arms, and entered into

the ship, and so departed from thence.

_Here endeth the fourteenth book, which is of Sir Percivale. And here

followeth of Sir Launcelot, which is the fifteenth book._

BOOK XV.

CHAPTER I. How Sir Launcelot came to a chapel, where he found dead, in

a white shirt, a man of religion, of an hundred winter old.

When the hermit had kept Sir Launcelot three days, the hermit gat him

an horse, an helm, and a sword. And then he departed about the hour of

noon. And then he saw a little house. And when he came near he saw a

chapel, and there beside he saw an old man that was clothed all in

white full richly; and then Sir Launcelot said: God save you. God keep

you, said the good man, and make you a good knight. Then Sir Launcelot

alighted and entered into the chapel, and there he saw an old man dead,

in a white shirt of passing fine cloth.

Sir, said the good man, this man that is dead ought not to be in such

clothing as ye see him in, for in that he brake the oath of his order,

for he hath been more than an hundred winter a man of a religion. And

then the good man and Sir Launcelot went into the chapel; and the good

man took a stole about his neck, and a book, and then he conjured on

that book; and with that they saw in an hideous figure and horrible,

that there was no man so hard-hearted nor so hard but he should have

been afeard. Then said the fiend: Thou hast travailed me greatly; now

tell me what thou wilt with me. I will, said the good man, that thou

tell me how my fellow became dead, and whether he be saved or damned.

Then he said with an horrible voice: He is not lost but saved. How may

that be? said the good man; it seemed to me that he lived not well, for

he brake his order for to wear a shirt where he ought to wear none, and

who that trespasseth against our order doth not well. Not so, said the

fiend, this man that lieth here dead was come of a great lineage. And

there was a lord that hight the Earl de Vale, that held great war

against this man’s nephew, the which hight Aguarus. And so this Aguarus

saw the earl was bigger than he. Then he went for to take counsel of

his uncle, the which lieth here dead as ye may see. And then he asked

leave, and went out of his hermitage for to maintain his nephew against

the mighty earl; and so it happed that this man that lieth here dead

did so much by his wisdom and hardiness that the earl was taken, and

three of his lords, by force of this dead man.

CHAPTER II. Of a dead man, how men would have hewn him, and it would

not be, and how Sir Launcelot took the hair of the dead man.

Then was there peace betwixt the earl and this Aguarus, and great

surety that the earl should never war against him. Then this dead man

that here lieth came to this hermitage again; and then the earl made

two of his nephews for to be avenged upon this man. So they came on a

day, and found this dead man at the sacring of his mass, and they abode

him till he had said mass. And then they set upon him and drew out

swords to have slain him; but there would no sword bite on him more

than upon a gad of steel, for the high Lord which he served He him

preserved. Then made they a great fire, and did off all his clothes,

and the hair off his back. And then this dead man hermit said unto

them: Ween you to burn me? It shall not lie in your power nor to perish

me as much as a thread, an there were any on my body. No? said one of

them, it shall be assayed. And then they despoiled him, and put upon

him this shirt, and cast him in a fire, and there he lay all that night

till it was day in that fire, and was not dead, and so in the morn I

came and found him dead; but I found neither thread nor skin tamed, and

so took him out of the fire with great fear, and laid him here as ye

may see. And now may ye suffer me to go my way, for I have said you the

sooth. And then he departed with a great tempest.

Then was the good man and Sir Launcelot more gladder than they were

to-fore. And then Sir Launcelot dwelled with that good man that night.

Sir, said the good man, be ye not Sir Launcelot du Lake? Yea, sir, said

he. What seek ye in this country? Sir, said Sir Launcelot, I go to seek

the adventures of the Sangreal. Well, said he, seek it ye may well, but

though it were here ye shall have no power to see it no more than a

blind man should see a bright sword, and that is long on your sin, and

else ye were more abler than any man living. And then Sir Launcelot

began to weep. Then said the good man: Were ye confessed sith ye

entered into the quest of the Sangreal? Yea, sir, said Sir Launcelot.

Then upon the morn when the good man had sung his mass, then they

buried the dead man. Then Sir Launcelot said: Father, what shall I do?

Now, said the good man, I require you take this hair that was this holy

man’s and put it next thy skin, and it shall prevail thee greatly. Sir,

and I will do it, said Sir Launcelot. Also I charge you that ye eat no

flesh as long as ye be in the quest of the Sangreal, nor ye shall drink

no wine, and that ye hear mass daily an ye may do it. So he took the

hair and put it upon him, and so departed at evensong-time.

And so rode he into a forest, and there he met with a gentlewoman

riding upon a white palfrey, and then she asked him: Sir knight,

whither ride ye? Certes, damosel, said Launcelot, I wot not whither I

ride but as fortune leadeth me. Ah, Sir Launcelot, said she, I wot what

adventure ye seek, for ye were afore time nearer than ye be now, and

yet shall ye see it more openly than ever ye did, and that shall ye

understand in short time. Then Sir Launcelot asked her where he might

be harboured that night. Ye shall not find this day nor night, but

to-morn ye shall find harbour good, and ease of that ye be in doubt of.

And then he commended her unto God. Then he rode till that he came to a

Cross, and took that for his host as for that night.

CHAPTER III. Of an advision that Sir Launcelot had, and how he told it

to an hermit, and desired counsel of him.

And so he put his horse to pasture, and did off his helm and his

shield, and made his prayers unto the Cross that he never fall in

deadly sin again. And so he laid him down to sleep. And anon as he was

asleep it befell him there an advision, that there came a man afore him

all by compass of stars, and that man had a crown of gold on his head

and that man led in his fellowship seven kings and two knights. And all

these worshipped the Cross, kneeling upon their knees, holding up their

hands toward the heaven. And all they said: Fair sweet Father of heaven

come and visit us, and yield unto us everych as we have deserved.

Then looked Launcelot up to the heaven, and him seemed the clouds did

open, and an old man came down, with a company of angels, and alighted

among them, and gave unto everych his blessing, and called them his

servants, and good and true knights. And when this old man had said

thus he came to one of those knights, and said: I have lost all that I

have set in thee, for thou hast ruled thee against me as a warrior, and

used wrong wars with vain-glory, more for the pleasure of the world

than to please me, therefore thou shalt be confounded without thou

yield me my treasure. All this advision saw Sir Launcelot at the Cross.

And on the morn he took his horse and rode till mid-day; and there by

adventure he met with the same knight that took his horse, helm, and

his sword, when he slept when the Sangreal appeared afore the Cross.

When Sir Launcelot saw him he saluted hin not fair, but cried on high:

Knight, keep thee, for thou hast done to me great unkindness. And then

they put afore them their spears, and Sir Launcelot came so fiercely

upon him that he smote him and his horse down to the earth, that he had

nigh broken his neck. Then Sir Launcelot took the knight’s horse that

was his own aforehand, and descended from the horse he sat upon, and

mounted upon his own horse, and tied the knight’s own horse to a tree,

that he might find that horse when that he was arisen. Then Sir

Launcelot rode till night, and by adventure he met an hermit, and each

of them saluted other; and there he rested with that good man all

night, and gave his horse such as he might get. Then said the good man

unto Launcelot: Of whence be ye? Sir, said he, I am of Arthur’s court,

and my name is Sir Launcelot du Lake that am in the quest of the

Sangreal, and therefore I pray you to counsel me of a vision the which

I had at the Cross. And so he told him all.

CHAPTER IV. How the hermit expounded to Sir Launcelot his advision, and

told him that Sir Galahad was his son.

Lo, Sir Launcelot, said the good man, there thou mightest understand

the high lineage that thou art come of, and thine advision betokeneth.

After the passion of Jesu Christ forty year, Joseph of Aramathie

preached the victory of King Evelake, that he had in the battles the

better of his enemies. And of the seven kings and the two knights: the

first of them is called Nappus, an holy man; and the second hight

Nacien, in remembrance of his grandsire, and in him dwelled our Lord

Jesu Christ; and the third was called Helias le Grose; and the fourth

hight Lisais; and the fifth hight Jonas, he departed out of his country

and went into Wales, and took there the daughter of Manuel, whereby he

had the land of Gaul, and he came to dwell in this country. And of him

came King Launcelot thy grandsire, the which there wedded the king’s

daughter of Ireland, and he was as worthy a man as thou art, and of him

came King Ban, thy father, the which was the last of the seven kings.

And by thee, Sir Launcelot, it signifieth that the angels said thou

were none of the seven fellowships. And the last was the ninth knight,

he was signified to a lion, for he should pass all manner of earthly

knights, that is Sir Galahad, the which thou gat on King Pelles’

daughter; and thou ought to thank God more than any other man living,

for of a sinner earthly thou hast no peer as in knighthood, nor never

shall be. But little thank hast thou given to God for all the great

virtues that God hath lent thee. Sir, said Launcelot, ye say that that

good knight is my son. That oughtest thou to know and no man better,

said the good man, for thou knewest the daughter of King Pelles

fleshly, and on her thou begattest Galahad, and that was he that at the

feast of Pentecost sat in the Siege Perilous; and therefore make thou

it known openly that he is one of thy begetting on King Pelles’

daughter, for that will be your worship and honour, and to all thy

kindred. And I counsel you in no place press not upon him to have ado

with him. Well, said Launcelot, meseemeth that good knight should pray

for me unto the High Father, that I fall not to sin again. Trust thou

well, said the good man, thou farest mickle the better for his prayer;

but the son shall not bear the wickedness of the father, nor the father

shall not bear the wickedness of the son, but everych shall bear his

own burden. And therefore beseek thou only God, and He will help thee

in all thy needs. And then Sir Launcelot and he went to supper, and so

laid him to rest, and the hair pricked so Sir Launcelot’s skin which

grieved him full sore, but he took it meekly, and suffered the pain.

And so on the morn he heard his mass and took his arms, and so took his

leave.

CHAPTER V. How Sir Launcelot jousted with many knights, and how he was

taken.

And then mounted upon his horse, and rode into a forest, and held no

highway. And as he looked afore him he saw a fair plain, and beside

that a fair castle, and afore the castle were many pavilions of silk

and of diverse hue. And him seemed that he saw there five hundred

knights riding on horseback; and there were two parties: they that were

of the castle were all on black horses and their trappings black, and

they that were without were all on white horses and trappings, and

everych hurtled to other that it marvelled Sir Launcelot. And at the

last him thought they of the castle were put to the worse.

Then thought Sir Launcelot for to help there the weaker party in

increasing of his chivalry. And so Sir Launcelot thrust in among the

party of the castle, and smote down a knight, horse and man, to the

earth. And then he rashed here and there, and did marvellous deeds of

arms. And then he drew out his sword, and struck many knights to the

earth, so that all those that saw him marvelled that ever one knight

might do so great deeds of arms.

But always the white knights held them nigh about Sir Launcelot, for to

tire him and wind him. But at the last, as a man may not ever endure,

Sir Launcelot waxed so faint of fighting and travailing, and was so

weary of his great deeds, but he might not lift up his arms for to give

one stroke, so that he weened never to have borne arms; and then they

all took and led him away into a forest, and there made him to alight

and to rest him.

And then all the fellowship of the castle were overcome for the default

of him.

Then they said all unto Sir Launcelot: Blessed be God that ye be now of

our fellowship, for we shall hold you in our prison; and so they left

him with few words.

And then Sir Launcelot made great sorrow, For never or now was I never

at tournament nor jousts but I had the best, and now I am shamed; and

then he said: Now I am sure that I am more sinfuller than ever I was.

Thus he rode sorrowing, and half a day he was out of despair, till that

he came into a deep valley. And when Sir Launcelot saw he might not

ride up into the mountain, he there alighted under an apple tree, and

there he left his helm and his shield, and put his horse unto pasture.

And then he laid him down to sleep. And then him thought there came an

old man afore him, the which said: Ah, Launcelot of evil faith and poor

belief, wherefore is thy will turned so lightly toward thy deadly sin?

And when he had said thus he vanished away, and Launcelot wist not

where he was become. Then he took his horse, and armed him; and as he

rode by the way he saw a chapel where was a recluse, which had a window

that she might see up to the altar. And all aloud she called Launcelot,

for that he seemed a knight errant. And then he came, and she asked him

what he was, and of what place, and where about he went to seek.

CHAPTER VI. How Sir Launcelot told his advision to a woman, and how she

expounded it to him.

And then he told her altogether word by word, and the truth how it

befell him at the tournament. And after told her his advision that he

had had that night in his sleep, and prayed her to tell him what it

might mean, for he was not well content with it. Ah, Launcelot, said

she, as long as ye were knight of earthly knighthood ye were the most

marvellous man of the world, and most adventurous. Now, said the lady,

sithen ye be set among the knights of heavenly adventures, if adventure

fell thee contrary at that tournament have thou no marvel, for that

tournament yesterday was but a tokening of Our Lord. And not for then

there was none enchantment, for they at the tournament were earthly

knights. The tournament was a token to see who should have most

knights, either Eliazar, the son of King Pelles, or Argustus, the son

of King Harlon. But Eliazar was all clothed in white, and Argustus was

covered in black, the which were [over]come.

All what this betokeneth I shall tell you. The day of Pentecost, when

King Arthur held his court, it befell that earthly kings and knights

took a tournament together, that is to say the quest of the Sangreal.

The earthly knights were they the which were clothed all in black, and

the covering betokeneth the sins whereof they be not confessed. And

they with the covering of white betokeneth virginity, and they that

chose chastity. And thus was the quest begun in them. Then thou beheld

the sinners and the good men, and when thou sawest the sinners

overcome, thou inclinest to that party for bobaunce and pride of the

world, and all that must be left in that quest, for in this quest thou

shalt have many fellows and thy betters. For thou art so feeble of evil

trust and good belief, this made it when thou were there where they

took thee and led thee into the forest. And anon there appeared the

Sangreal unto the white knights, but thou was so feeble of good belief

and faith that thou mightest not abide it for all the teaching of the

good man, but anon thou turnest to the sinners, and that caused thy

misadventure that thou should’st know good from evil and vain glory of

the world, the which is not worth a pear. And for great pride thou

madest great sorrow that thou hadst not overcome all the white knights

with the covering of white, by whom was betokened virginity and

chastity; and therefore God was wroth with you, for God loveth no such

deeds in this quest. And this advision signifieth that thou were of

evil faith and of poor belief, the which will make thee to fall into

the deep pit of hell if thou keep thee not. Now have I warned thee of

thy vain glory and of thy pride, that thou hast many times erred

against thy Maker. Beware of everlasting pain, for of all earthly

knights I have most pity of thee, for I know well thou hast not thy

peer of any earthly sinful man.

And so she commended Sir Launcelot to dinner. And after dinner he took

his horse and commended her to God, and so rode into a deep valley, and

there he saw a river and an high mountain. And through the water he

must needs pass, the which was hideous; and then in the name of God he

took it with good heart. And when he came over he saw an armed knight,

horse and man black as any bear; without any word he smote Sir

Launcelot’s horse to the earth; and so he passed on, he wist not where

he was become. And then he took his helm and his shield, and thanked

God of his adventure.

_Here leaveth off the story of Sir Launcelot, and speak we of Sir

Gawaine, the which is the sixteenth book._

BOOK XVI.

CHAPTER I. How Sir Gawaine was nigh weary of the quest of the Sangreal,

and of his marvellous dream.

When Sir Gawaine was departed from his fellowship he rode long without

any adventure. For he found not the tenth part of adventure as he was

wont to do. For Sir Gawaine rode from Whitsuntide until Michaelmas and

found none adventure that pleased him. So on a day it befell Gawaine

met with Sir Ector de Maris, and either made great joy of other that it

were marvel to tell. And so they told everych other, and complained

them greatly that they could find none adventure. Truly, said Sir

Gawaine unto Sir Ector, I am nigh weary of this quest, and loath I am

to follow further in strange countries. One thing marvelled me, said

Sir Ector, I have met with twenty knights, fellows of mine, and all

they complain as I do. I have marvel, said Sir Gawaine, where that Sir

Launcelot, your brother, is. Truly, said Sir Ector, I cannot hear of

him, nor of Sir Galahad, Percivale, nor Sir Bors. Let them be, said Sir

Gawaine, for they four have no peers. And if one thing were not in Sir

Launcelot he had no fellow of none earthly man; but he is as we be, but

if he took more pain upon him. But an these four be met together they

will be loath that any man meet with them; for an they fail of the

Sangreal it is in waste of all the remnant to recover it.

Thus Ector and Gawaine rode more than eight days, and on a Saturday

they found an old chapel, the which was wasted that there seemed no man

thither repaired; and there they alighted, and set their spears at the

door, and in they entered into the chapel, and there made their orisons

a great while, and set them down in the sieges of the chapel. And as

they spake of one thing and other, for heaviness they fell asleep, and

there befell them both marvellous adventures. Sir Gawaine him seemed he

came into a meadow full of herbs and flowers, and there he saw a rack

of bulls, an hundred and fifty, that were proud and black, save three

of them were all white, and one had a black spot, and the other two

were so fair and so white that they might be no whiter. And these three

bulls which were so fair were tied with two strong cords. And the

remnant of the bulls said among them: Go we hence to seek better

pasture. And so some went, and some came again, but they were so lean

that they might not stand upright; and of the bulls that were so white,

that one came again and no mo. But when this white bull was come again

among these other there rose up a great cry for lack of wind that

failed them; and so they departed one here and another there: this

advision befell Gawaine that night.

CHAPTER II. Of the advision of Sir Ector, and how he jousted with Sir

Uwaine les Avoutres, his sworn brother.

But to Ector de Maris befell another vision the contrary. For it seemed

him that his brother, Sir Launcelot, and he alighted out of a chair and

leapt upon two horses, and the one said to the other: Go we seek that

we shall not find. And him thought that a man beat Sir Launcelot, and

despoiled him, and clothed him in another array, the which was all full

of knots, and set him upon an ass, and so he rode till he came to the

fairest well that ever he saw; and Sir Launcelot alighted and would

have drunk of that well. And when he stooped to drink of the water the

water sank from him. And when Sir Launcelot saw that, he turned and

went thither as the head came from. And in the meanwhile he trowed that

himself and Sir Ector rode till that they came to a rich man’s house

where there was a wedding. And there he saw a king the which said: Sir

knight, here is no place for you. And then he turned again unto the

chair that he came from.

Thus within a while both Gawaine and Ector awaked, and either told

other of their advision, the which marvelled them greatly. Truly, said

Ector, I shall never be merry till I hear tidings of my brother

Launcelot. Now as they sat thus talking they saw an hand showing unto

the elbow, and was covered with red samite, and upon that hung a bridle

not right rich, and held within the fist a great candle which burned

right clear, and so passed afore them, and entered into the chapel, and

then vanished away and they wist not where. And anon came down a voice

which said: Knights of full evil faith and of poor belief, these two

things have failed you, and therefore ye may not come to the adventures

of the Sangreal.

Then first spake Gawaine and said: Ector, have ye heard these words?

Yea truly, said Sir Ector, I heard all. Now go we, said Sir Ector, unto

some hermit that will tell us of our advision, for it seemeth me we

labour all in vain. And so they departed and rode into a valley, and

there met with a squire which rode on an hackney, and they saluted him

fair. Sir, said Gawaine, can thou teach us to any hermit? Here is one

in a little mountain, but it is so rough there may no horse go thither,

and therefore ye must go upon foot; there shall ye find a poor house,

and there is Nacien the hermit, which is the holiest man in this

country. And so they departed either from other.

And then in a valley they met with a knight all armed, which proffered

them to joust as far as he saw them. In the name of God, said Sir

Gawaine, sith I departed from Camelot there was none proffered me to

joust but once. And now, sir, said Ector, let me joust with him. Nay,

said Gawaine, ye shall not but if I be beat; it shall not for-think me

then if ye go after me. And then either embraced other to joust and

came together as fast as their horses might run, and brast their

shields and the mails, and the one more than the other; and Gawaine was

wounded in the left side, but the other knight was smitten through the

breast, and the spear came out on the other side, and so they fell both

out of their saddles, and in the falling they brake both their spears.

Anon Gawaine arose and set his hand to his sword, and cast his shield

afore him. But all for naught was it, for the knight had no power to

arise against him. Then said Gawaine: Ye must yield you as an overcome

man, or else I may slay you. Ah, sir knight, said he, I am but dead,

for God’s sake and of your gentleness lead me here unto an abbey that I

may receive my Creator. Sir, said Gawaine, I know no house of religion

hereby. Sir, said the knight, set me on an horse to-fore you, and I

shall teach you. Gawaine set him up in the saddle, and he leapt up

behind him for to sustain him, and so came to an abbey where they were

well received; and anon he was unarmed, and received his Creator. Then

he prayed Gawaine to draw out the truncheon of the spear out of his

body. Then Gawaine asked him what he was, that knew him not. I am, said

he, of King Arthur’s court, and was a fellow of the Round Table, and we

were brethren sworn together; and now Sir Gawaine, thou hast slain me,

and my name is Uwaine les Avoutres, that sometime was son unto King

Uriens, and was in the quest of the Sangreal; and now forgive it thee

God, for it shall ever be said that the one sworn brother hath slain

the other.

CHAPTER III. How Sir Gawaine and Sir Ector came to an hermitage to be

confessed, and how they told to the hermit their advisions.

Alas, said Gawaine, that ever this misadventure is befallen me. No

force, said Uwaine, sith I shall die this death, of a much more

worshipfuller man’s hand might I not die; but when ye come to the court

recommend me unto my lord, King Arthur, and all those that be left

alive, and for old brotherhood think on me. Then began Gawaine to weep,

and Ector also. And then Uwaine himself and Sir Gawaine drew out the

truncheon of the spear, and anon departed the soul from the body. Then

Sir Gawaine and Sir Ector buried him as men ought to bury a king’s son,

and made write upon his name, and by whom he was slain.

Then departed Gawaine and Ector, as heavy as they might for their

misadventure, and so rode till that they came to the rough mountain,

and there they tied their horses and went on foot to the hermitage. And

when they were come up they saw a poor house, and beside the chapel a

little courtelage, where Nacien the hermit gathered worts, as he which

had tasted none other meat of a great while. And when he saw the errant

knights he came toward them and saluted them, and they him again. Fair

lords, said he, what adventure brought you hither? Sir, said Gawaine,

to speak with you for to be confessed. Sir, said the hermit, I am

ready. Then they told him so much that he wist well what they were. And

then he thought to counsel them if he might.

Then began Gawaine first and told him of his advision that he had had

in the chapel, and Ector told him all as it is afore rehearsed. Sir,

said the hermit unto Sir Gawaine, the fair meadow and the rack therein

ought to be understood the Round Table, and by the meadow ought to be

understood humility and patience, those be the things which be always

green and quick; for men may no time overcome humility and patience,

therefore was the Round Table founded, and the chivalry hath been at

all times so by the fraternity which was there that she might not be

overcome; for men said she was founded in patience and in humility. At

the rack ate an hundred and fifty bulls; but they ate not in the

meadow, for their hearts should be set in humility and patience, and

the bulls were proud and black save only three. By the bulls is to

understand the fellowship of the Round Table, which for their sin and

their wickedness be black. Blackness is to say without good or virtuous

works. And the three bulls which were white save only one that was

spotted: the two white betoken Sir Galahad and Sir Percivale, for they

be maidens clean and without spot; and the third that had a spot

signifieth Sir Bors de Ganis, which trespassed but once in his

virginity, but sithen he kept himself so well in chastity that all is

forgiven him and his misdeeds. And why those three were tied by the

necks, they be three knights in virginity and chastity, and there is no

pride smitten in them. And the black bulls which said: Go we hence,

they were those which at Pentecost at the high feast took upon them to

go in the quest of the Sangreal without confession: they might not

enter in the meadow of humility and patience. And therefore they

returned into waste countries, that signifieth death, for there shall

die many of them: everych of them shall slay other for sin, and they

that shall escape shall be so lean that it shall be marvel to see them.

And of the three bulls without spot, the one shall come again, and the

other two never.

CHAPTER IV. How the hermit expounded their advision.

Then spake Nacien unto Ector: Sooth it is that Launcelot and ye came

down off one chair: the chair betokeneth mastership and lordship which

ye came down from. But ye two knights, said the hermit, ye go to seek

that ye shall never find, that is the Sangreal; for it is the secret

thing of our Lord Jesu Christ. What is to mean that Sir Launcelot fell

down off his horse: he hath left pride and taken him to humility, for

he hath cried mercy loud for his sin, and sore repented him, and our

Lord hath clothed him in his clothing which is full of knots, that is

the hair that he weareth daily. And the ass that he rode upon is a

beast of humility, for God would not ride upon no steed, nor upon no

palfrey; so in ensample that an ass betokeneth meekness, that thou

sawest Sir Launcelot ride on in thy sleep. And the well whereas the

water sank from him when he should have taken thereof, and when he saw

he might not have it, he returned thither from whence he came, for the

well betokeneth the high grace of God, the more men desire it to take

it, the more shall be their desire. So when he came nigh the Sangreal,

he meeked him that he held him not a man worthy to be so nigh the Holy

Vessel, for he had been so defouled in deadly sin by the space of many

years; yet when he kneeled to drink of the well, there he saw great

providence of the Sangreal. And for he had served so long the devil, he

shall have vengeance four-and-twenty days long, for that he hath been

the devil’s servant four-and-twenty years. And then soon after he shall

return unto Camelot out of this country, and he shall say a part of

such things as he hath found.

Now will I tell you what betokeneth the hand with the candle and the

bridle: that is to understand the Holy Ghost where charity is ever, and

the bridle signifieth abstinence. For when she is bridled in Christian

man’s heart she holdeth him so short that he falleth not in deadly sin.

And the candle which sheweth clearness and sight signifieth the right

way of Jesu Christ. And when he went and said: Knights of poor faith

and of wicked belief, these three things failed, charity, abstinence,

and truth; therefore ye may not attain that high adventure of the

Sangreal.

CHAPTER V. Of the good counsel that the hermit gave to them.

Certes, said Gawaine, soothly have ye said, that I see it openly. Now,

I pray you, good man and holy father, tell me why we met not with so

many adventures as we were wont to do, and commonly have the better. I

shall tell you gladly, said the good man; the adventure of the Sangreal

which ye and many other have undertaken the quest of it and find it

not, the cause is for it appeareth not to sinners. Wherefore marvel not

though ye fail thereof, and many other. For ye be an untrue knight and

a great murderer, and to good men signifieth other things than murder.

For I dare say, as sinful as Sir Launcelot hath been, sith that he went

into the quest of the Sangreal he slew never man, nor nought shall,

till that he come unto Camelot again, for he hath taken upon him for to

forsake sin. And nere that he nis not stable, but by his thought he is

likely to turn again, he should be next to enchieve it save Galahad,

his son. But God knoweth his thought and his unstableness, and yet

shall he die right an holy man, and no doubt he hath no fellow of no

earthly sinful man. Sir, said Gawaine, it seemeth me by your words that

for our sins it will not avail us to travel in this quest. Truly, said

the good man, there be an hundred such as ye be that never shall

prevail, but to have shame. And when they had heard these voices they

commended him unto God.

Then the good man called Gawaine, and said: It is long time passed sith

that ye were made knight, and never sithen thou servedst thy Maker, and

now thou art so old a tree that in thee is neither life nor fruit;

wherefore bethink thee that thou yield to Our Lord the bare rind, sith

the fiend hath the leaves and the fruit. Sir, said Gawaine an I had

leisure I would speak with you, but my fellow here, Sir Ector, is gone,

and abideth me yonder beneath the hill. Well, said the good man, thou

were better to be counselled. Then departed Gawaine and came to Ector,

and so took their horses and rode till they came to a forester’s house,

which harboured them right well. And on the morn they departed from

their host, and rode long or they could find any adventure.

CHAPTER VI. How Sir Bors met with an hermit, and how he was confessed

to him, and of his penance enjoined to him.

When Bors was departed from Camelot he met with a religious man riding

on an ass, and Sir Bors saluted him. Anon the good man knew him that he

was one of the knights-errant that was in the quest of the Sangreal.

What are ye? said the good man. Sir, said he, I am a knight that fain

would be counselled in the quest of the Sangreal, for he shall have

much earthly worship that may bring it to an end. Certes, said the good

man, that is sooth, for he shall be the best knight of the world, and

the fairest of all the fellowship. But wit you well there shall none

attain it but by cleanness, that is pure confession.