Introduction
The heroes of chivalry, from Roland the noble paladin to Spenser's
Red-Cross Knight, have many virtues to uphold, and their
characteristics are as varied as are the races which adopted chivalry
and embodied it in their hero-myths. It is a far cry from the loyalty
of Roland, in which love for his emperor is the predominant
characteristic, to the tender and graceful reverence of Sir Calidore;
but mediaeval Wales, which has preserved the Arthurian legend most free
from alien admixture, had a knight of courtesy quite equal to Sir
Calidore. Courage was one quality on the possession of which these
mediaeval knights never prided themselves, because they could not
imagine life without courage, but gentle courtesy was, unhappily,
rare, and many a heroic legend is spoilt by the insolence of the hero
to people of lower rank. Again, the legends often look lightly on the
ill-treatment of maidens; yet the true hero is one who is never
tempted to injure a defenceless woman. Similarly, a broken oath to a
heathen or mere churl is excused as a trifling matter, but the ideal
hero sweareth and breaketh not, though it be to his own hindrance.
Sir Gawayne
The true Knight of Courtesy is Sir Gawayne, King Arthur's nephew, who
in many ways overshadows his more illustrious uncle. It is remarkable
that the King Arthur of the mediaeval romances is either a mere
ordinary conqueror or a secondary figure set in the background to
heighten the achievements of his more warlike followers. The latter is
the conception of Arthur which we find in this legend of the gentle
and courteous Sir Gawayne.
King Arthur Keeps Christmas
One year the noble King Arthur was keeping his Christmas at Carlisle
with great pomp and state. By his side sat his lovely Queen Guenever,
the brightest and most beauteous bride that a king ever wedded, and
about him were gathered the Knights of the Round Table. Never had a
king assembled so goodly a company of valiant warriors as now sat in
due order at the Round Table in the great hall of Carlisle Castle, and
King Arthur's heart was filled with pride as he looked on his heroes.
There sat Sir Lancelot, not yet the betrayer of his lord's honour and
happiness, with Sir Bors and Sir Banier, there Sir Bedivere, loyal to
King Arthur till death, there surly Sir Kay, the churlish steward of
the king's household, and King Arthur's nephews, the young and gallant
Sir Gareth, the gentle and courteous Sir Gawayne, and the false,
gloomy Sir Mordred, who wrought King Arthur's overthrow. The knights
and ladies were ranged in their fitting degrees and ranks, the
servants and pages waited and carved and filled the golden goblets,
and the minstrels sang to their harps lays of heroes of the olden
time.
His Discontent
Yet in the midst of all this splendour the king was ill at ease, for
he was a warlike knight and longed for some new adventure, and of late
none had been known. Arthur sat moodily among his knights and drained
the wine-cup in silence, and Queen Guenever, gazing at her husband,
durst not interrupt his gloomy thoughts. At last the king raised his
head, and, striking the table with his hand, exclaimed fiercely: "Are
all my knights sluggards or cowards, that none of them goes forth to
seek adventures? You are better fitted to feast well in hall than
fight well in field. Is my fame so greatly decayed that no man cares
to ask for my help or my support against evildoers? I vow here, by the
boar's head and by Our Lady, that I will not rise from this table till
some adventure be undertaken." "Sire, your loyal knights have gathered
round you to keep the holy Yuletide in your court," replied Sir
Lancelot; and Sir Gawayne said: "Fair uncle, we are not cowards, but
few evildoers dare to show themselves under your rule; hence it is
that we seem idle. But see yonder! By my faith, now cometh an
adventure."
The Damsel's Request
Even as Sir Gawayne spoke a fair damsel rode into the hall, with
flying hair and disordered dress, and, dismounting from her steed,
knelt down sobbing at Arthur's feet. She cried aloud, so that all
heard her: "A boon, a boon, King Arthur! I beg a boon of you!" "What
is your request?" said the king, for the maiden was in great distress,
and her tears filled his heart with pity. "What would you have of me?"
"I cry for vengeance on a churlish knight, who has separated my love
from me." "Tell your story quickly," said King Arthur; and all the
knights listened while the lady spoke.
"I was betrothed to a gallant knight," she said, "whom I loved dearly,
and we were entirely happy until yesterday. Then as we rode out
together planning our marriage we came, through the moorland ways,
unnoticing, to a fair lake, Tarn Wathelan, where stood a great castle,
with streamers flying, and banners waving in the wind. It seemed a
strong and goodly place, but alas! it stood on magic ground, and
within the enchanted circle of its shadow an evil spell fell on every
knight who set foot therein. As my love and I looked idly at the
mighty keep a horrible and churlish warrior, twice the size of mortal
man, rushed forth in complete armour; grim and fierce-looking he was,
armed with a huge club, and sternly he bade my knight leave me to him
and go his way alone. Then my love drew his sword to defend me, but
the evil spell had robbed him of all strength, and he could do nought
against the giant's club; his sword fell from his feeble hand, and the
churlish knight, seizing him, caused him to be flung into a dungeon.
He then returned and sorely ill-treated me, though I prayed for mercy
in the name of chivalry and of Mary Mother. At last, when he set me
free and bade me go, I said I would come to King Arthur's court and
beg a champion of might to avenge me, perhaps even the king himself.
But the giant only laughed aloud. 'Tell the foolish king,' quoth he,
'that here I stay his coming, and that no fear of him shall stop my
working my will on all who come. Many knights have I in prison, some
of them King Arthur's own true men; wherefore bid him fight with me,
if he will win them back.' Thus, laughing and jeering loudly at you,
King Arthur, the churlish knight returned to his castle, and I rode to
Carlisle as fast as I could."
King Arthur's Vow
When the lady had ended her sorrowful tale all present were greatly
moved with indignation and pity, but King Arthur felt the insult most
deeply. He sprang to his feet in great wrath, and cried aloud: "I vow
by my knighthood, and by the Holy Rood, that I will go forth to find
that proud giant, and will never leave him till I have overcome him."
The knights applauded their lord's vow, but Queen Guenever looked
doubtfully at the king, for she had noticed the damsel's mention of
magic, and she feared some evil adventure for her husband. The damsel
stayed in Carlisle that night, and in the morning, after he had heard
Mass, and bidden farewell to his wife, King Arthur rode away. It was a
lonely journey to Tarn Wathelan, but the country was very beautiful,
though wild and rugged, and the king soon saw the little lake gleaming
clear and cold below him, while the enchanted castle towered up above
the water, with banners flaunting defiantly in the wind.
The Fight
The king drew his sword Excalibur and blew a loud note on his bugle.
Thrice his challenge note resounded, but brought no reply, and then he
cried aloud: "Come forth, proud knight! King Arthur is here to punish
you for your misdeeds! Come forth and fight bravely. If you are
afraid, then come forth and yield yourself my thrall."
[Illustration: "The King blew a loud note on his bugle"]
The churlish giant darted out at the summons, brandishing his massive
club, and rushed straight at King Arthur. The spell of the enchanted
ground seized the king at that moment, and his hand sank down. Down
fell his good sword Excalibur, down fell his shield, and he found
himself ignominiously helpless in the presence of his enemy.
The Ransom
Now the giant cried aloud: "Yield or fight, King Arthur; which will
you do? If you fight I shall conquer you, for you have no power to
resist me; you will be my prisoner, with no hope of ransom, will lose
your land and spend your life in my dungeon with many other brave
knights. If you yield I will hold you to ransom, but you must swear
to accept the terms I shall offer."
"What are they," asked King Arthur. The giant replied: "You must swear
solemnly, by the Holy Rood, that you will return here on New Year's
Day and bring me a true answer to the question, 'What thing is it that
all women most desire?' If you fail to bring the right answer your
ransom is not paid, and you are yet my prisoner. Do you accept my
terms?" The king had no alternative: so long as he stood on the
enchanted ground his courage was overborne by the spell and he could
only hold up his hand and swear by the Sacred Cross and by Our Lady
that he would return, with such answers as he could obtain, on New
Year's Day.
The King's Search
Ashamed and humiliated, the king rode away, but not back to
Carlisle--he would not return home till he had fulfilled his task; so
he rode east and west and north and south, and asked every woman and
maid he met the question the churlish knight had put to him. "What is
it all women most desire?" he asked, and all gave him different
replies: some said riches, some splendour, some pomp and state; others
declared that fine attire was women's chief delight, yet others voted
for mirth or flattery; some declared that a handsome lover was the
cherished wish of every woman's heart; and among them all the king
grew quite bewildered. He wrote down all the answers he received, and
sealed them with his own seal, to give to the churlish knight when he
returned to the Castle of Tarn Wathelan; but in his own heart King
Arthur felt that the true answer had not yet been given to him. He was
sad as he turned and rode towards the giant's home on New Year's Day,
for he feared to lose his liberty and lands, and the lonely journey
seemed much more dreary than it had before, when he rode out from
Carlisle so full of hope and courage and self-confidence.
The Loathly Lady
Arthur was riding mournfully through a lonely forest when he heard a
woman's voice greeting him: "God save you, King Arthur! God save and
keep you!" and he turned at once to see the person who thus addressed
him. He saw no one at all on his right hand, but as he turned to the
other side he perceived a woman's form clothed in brilliant scarlet;
the figure was seated between a holly-tree and an oak, and the berries
of the former were not more vivid than her dress, and the brown leaves
of the latter not more brown and wrinkled than her cheeks. At first
sight King Arthur thought he must be bewitched--no such nightmare of a
human face had ever seemed to him possible. Her nose was crooked and
bent hideously to one side, while her chin seemed to bend to the
opposite side of her face; her one eye was set deep under her beetling
brow, and her mouth was nought but a gaping slit. Round this awful
countenance hung snaky locks of ragged grey hair, and she was deadly
pale, with a bleared and dimmed blue eye. The king nearly swooned when
he saw this hideous sight, and was so amazed that he did not answer
her salutation. The loathly lady seemed angered by the insult: "Now
Christ save you, King Arthur! Who are you to refuse to answer my
greeting and take no heed of me? Little of courtesy have you and your
knights in your fine court in Carlisle if you cannot return a lady's
greeting. Yet, Sir King, proud as you are, it may be that I can help
you, loathly though I be; but I will do nought for one who will not be
courteous to me."
The Lady's Secret
King Arthur was ashamed of his lack of courtesy, and tempted by the
hint that here was a woman who could help him. "Forgive me, lady,"
said he; "I was sorely troubled in mind, and thus, and not for want of
courtesy, did I miss your greeting. You say that you can perhaps help
me; if you would do this, lady, and teach me how to pay my ransom, I
will grant anything you ask as a reward." The deformed lady said:
"Swear to me, by Holy Rood, and by Mary Mother, that you will grant me
whatever boon I ask, and I will help you to the secret. Yes, Sir King,
I know by secret means that you seek the answer to the question, 'What
is it all women most desire?' Many women have given you many replies,
but I alone, by my magic power, can give you the right answer. This
secret I will tell you, and in truth it will pay your ransom, when you
have sworn to keep faith with me." "Indeed, O grim lady, the oath I
will take gladly," said King Arthur; and when he had sworn it, with
uplifted hand, the lady told him the secret, and he vowed with great
bursts of laughter that this was indeed the right answer.
The Ransom
When the king had thoroughly realized the wisdom of the answer he rode
on to the Castle of Tarn Wathelan, and blew his bugle three times. As
it was New Year's Day, the churlish knight was ready for him, and
rushed forth, club in hand, ready to do battle. "Sir Knight," said the
king, "I bring here writings containing answers to your question; they
are replies that many women have given, and should be right; these I
bring in ransom for my life and lands." The churlish knight took the
writings and read them one by one, and each one he flung aside, till
all had been read; then he said to the king: "You must yield yourself
and your lands to me, King Arthur, and rest my prisoner; for though
these answers be many and wise, not one is the true reply to my
question; your ransom is not paid, and your life and all you have is
forfeit to me." "Alas! Sir Knight," quoth the king, "stay your hand,
and let me speak once more before I yield to you; it is not much to
grant to one who risks life and kingdom and all. Give me leave to try
one more reply." To this the giant assented, and King Arthur
continued: "This morning as I rode through the forest I beheld a lady
sitting, clad in scarlet, between an oak and a holly-tree; she says,
'All women will have their own way, and this is their chief desire.'
Now confess that I have brought the true answer to your question, and
that I am free, and have paid the ransom for my life and lands."
The Price of the Ransom
The giant waxed furious with rage, and shouted: "A curse upon that
lady who told you this! It must have been my sister, for none but she
knew the answer. Tell me, was she ugly and deformed?" When King Arthur
replied that she was a loathly lady, the giant broke out: "I vow to
heaven that if I can once catch her I will burn her alive; for she has
cheated me of being King of Britain. Go your ways, Arthur; you have
not ransomed yourself, but the ransom is paid and you are free."
Gladly the king rode back to the forest where the loathly lady awaited
him, and stopped to greet her. "I am free now, lady, thanks to you!
What boon do you ask in reward for your help? I have promised to
grant it you, whatever it may be." "This is my boon King Arthur, that
you will bring some young and courteous knight from your court in
Carlisle to marry me, and he must be brave and handsome too. You have
sworn to fulfil my request, and you cannot break your word." These
last words were spoken as the king shook his head and seemed on the
point of refusing a request so unreasonable; but at this reminder he
only hung his head and rode slowly away, while the unlovely lady
watched him with a look of mingled pain and glee.
King Arthur's Return
On the second day of the new year King Arthur came home to Carlisle.
Wearily he rode along and dismounted at the castle, and wearily he
went into his hall, where sat Queen Guenever. She had been very
anxious during her husband's absence, for she dreaded magic arts, but
she greeted him gladly and said: "Welcome, my dear lord and king,
welcome home again! What anxiety I have endured for you! But now you
are here all is well. What news do you bring, my liege? Is the
churlish knight conquered? Where have you had him hanged, and where is
his head? Placed on a spike above some town-gate? Tell me your
tidings, and we will rejoice together." King Arthur only sighed
heavily as he replied: "Alas! I have boasted too much; the churlish
knight was a giant who has conquered me, and set me free on
conditions." "My lord, tell me how this has chanced." "His castle is
an enchanted one, standing on enchanted ground, and surrounded with a
circle of magic spells which sap the bravery from a warrior's mind and
the strength from his arm. When I came on his land and felt the power
of his mighty charms, I was unable to resist him, but fell into his
power, and had to yield myself to him. He released me on condition
that I would fulfil one thing which he bade me accomplish, and this I
was enabled to do by the help of a loathly lady; but that help was
dearly bought, and I cannot pay the price myself."
Sir Gawayne's Devotion
By this time Sir Gawayne, the king's favourite nephew, had entered the
hall, and greeted his uncle warmly; then, with a few rapid questions,
he learnt the king's news, and saw that he was in some distress. "What
have you paid the loathly lady for her secret, uncle?" he asked.
"Alas! I have paid her nothing; but I promised to grant her any boon
she asked, and she has asked a thing impossible." "What is it?" asked
Sir Gawayne. "Since you have promised it, the promise must needs be
kept. Can I help you to perform your vow?" "Yes, you can, fair nephew
Gawayne, but I will never ask you to do a thing so terrible," said
King Arthur. "I am ready to do it, uncle, were it to wed the loathly
lady herself." "That is what she asks, that a fair young knight should
marry her. But she is too hideous and deformed; no man could make her
his wife." "If that is all your grief," replied Sir Gawayne, "things
shall soon be settled; I will wed this ill-favoured dame, and will be
your ransom." "You know not what you offer," answered the king. "I
never saw so deformed a being. Her speech is well enough, but her face
is terrible, with crooked nose and chin, and she has only one eye."
"She must be an ill-favoured maiden; but I heed it not," said Sir
Gawayne gallantly, "so that I can save you from trouble and care."
"Thanks, dear Gawayne, thanks a thousand times! Now through your
devotion I can keep my word. To-morrow we must fetch your bride from
her lonely lodging in the greenwood; but we will feign some pretext
for the journey. I will summon a hunting party, with horse and hound
and gallant riders, and none shall know that we go to bring home so
ugly a bride." "Gramercy, uncle," said Sir Gawayne. "Till to-morrow I
am a free man."
The Hunting Party
The next day King Arthur summoned all the court to go hunting in the
greenwood close to Tarn Wathelan; but he did not lead the chase near
the castle: the remembrance of his defeat and shame was too strong for
him to wish to see the place again. They roused a noble stag and
chased him far into the forest, where they lost him amid close
thickets of holly and yew interspersed with oak copses and hazel
bushes--bare were the hazels, and brown and withered the clinging oak
leaves, but the holly looked cheery, with its fresh green leaves and
scarlet berries. Though the chase had been fruitless, the train of
knights laughed and talked gaily as they rode back through the forest,
and the gayest of all was Sir Gawayne; he rode wildly down the forest
drives, so recklessly that he drew level with Sir Kay, the churlish
steward, who always preferred to ride alone. Sir Lancelot, Sir
Stephen, Sir Banier, and Sir Bors all looked wonderingly at the
reckless youth; but his younger brother, Gareth, was troubled, for he
knew all was not well with Gawayne, and Sir Tristram, buried in his
love for Isolde, noticed nothing, but rode heedlessly wrapped in sad
musings.
Sir Kay and the Loathly Lady
Suddenly Sir Kay reined up his steed, amazed; his eye had caught the
gleam of scarlet under the trees, and as he looked he became aware of
a woman, clad in a dress of finest scarlet, sitting between a
holly-tree and an oak. "Good greeting to you, Sir Kay," said the lady,
but the steward was too much amazed to answer. Such a face as that of
the lady he had never even imagined, and he took no notice of her
salutation. By this time the rest of the knights had joined him, and
they all halted, looking in astonishment on the misshapen face of the
poor creature before them. It seemed terrible that a woman's figure
should be surmounted by such hideous features, and most of the knights
were silent for pity's sake; but the steward soon recovered from his
amazement, and his rude nature began to show itself. The king had not
yet appeared, and Sir Kay began to jeer aloud. "Now which of you would
fain woo yon fair lady?" he asked. "It takes a brave man, for methinks
he will stand in fear of any kiss he may get, it must needs be such an
awesome thing. But yet I know not; any man who would kiss this
beauteous damsel may well miss the way to her mouth, and his fate is
not quite so dreadful after all. Come, who will win a lovely bride!"
Just then King Arthur rode up, and at sight of him Sir Kay was silent;
but the loathly lady hid her face in her hands, and wept that he
should pour such scorn upon her.
The Betrothal
Sir Gawayne was touched with compassion for this uncomely woman alone
among these gallant and handsome knights, a woman so helpless and
ill-favoured, and he said: "Peace, churl Kay, the lady cannot help
herself; and you are not so noble and courteous that you have the
right to jeer at any maiden; such deeds do not become a knight of
Arthur's Round Table. Besides, one of us knights here must wed this
unfortunate lady." "Wed her?" shouted Kay. "Gawayne, you are mad!" "It
is true, is it not, my liege?" asked Sir Gawayne, turning to the king;
and Arthur reluctantly gave token of assent, saying, "I promised her
not long since, for the help she gave me in a great distress, that I
would grant her any boon she craved, and she asked for a young and
noble knight to be her husband. My royal word is given, and I will
keep it; therefore have I brought you here to meet her." Sir Kay burst
out with, "What? Ask me perchance to wed this foul quean? I'll none of
her. Where'er I get my wife from, were it from the fiend himself, this
hideous hag shall never be mine." "Peace, Sir Kay," sternly said the
king; "you shall not abuse this poor lady as well as refuse her. Mend
your speech, or you shall be knight of mine no longer." Then he turned
to the others and said: "Who will wed this lady and help me to keep my
royal pledge? You must not all refuse, for my promise is given, and
for a little ugliness and deformity you shall not make me break my
plighted word of honour." As he spoke he watched them keenly, to see
who would prove sufficiently devoted, but the knights all began to
excuse themselves and to depart. They called their hounds, spurred
their steeds, and pretended to search for the track of the lost stag
again; but before they went Sir Gawayne cried aloud: "Friends, cease
your strife and debate, for I will wed this lady myself. Lady, will
you have me for your husband?" Thus saying, he dismounted and knelt
before her.
The Lady's Words
The poor lady had at first no words to tell her gratitude to Sir
Gawayne, but when she had recovered a little she spoke: "Alas! Sir
Gawayne, I fear you do but jest. Will you wed with one so ugly and
deformed as I? What sort of wife should I be for a knight so gay and
gallant, so fair and comely as the king's own nephew? What will Queen
Guenever and the ladies of the Court say when you return to Carlisle
bringing with you such a bride? You will be shamed, and all through
me." Then she wept bitterly, and her weeping made her seem even more
hideous; but King Arthur, who was watching the scene, said: "Lady, I
would fain see that knight or dame who dares mock at my nephew's
bride. I will take order that no such unknightly discourtesy is shown
in my court," and he glared angrily at Sir Kay and the others who had
stayed, seeing that Sir Gawayne was prepared to sacrifice himself and
therefore they were safe. The lady raised her head and looked keenly
at Sir Gawayne, who took her hand, saying: "Lady, I will be a true and
loyal husband to you if you will have me; and I shall know how to
guard my wife from insult. Come, lady, and my uncle will announce the
betrothal." Now the lady seemed to believe that Sir Gawayne was in
earnest, and she sprang to her feet, saying: "Thanks to you! A
thousand thanks, Sir Gawayne, and blessings on your head! You shall
never rue this wedding, and the courtesy you have shown. Wend we now
to Carlisle."
The Journey to Carlisle
A horse with a side-saddle had been brought for Sir Gawayne's bride,
but when the lady moved it became evident that she was lame and halted
in her walk, and there was a slight hunch on her shoulders. Both of
these deformities showed little when she was seated, but as she moved
the knights looked at one another, shrugged their shoulders and pitied
Sir Gawayne, whose courtesy had bound him for life to so deformed a
wife. Then the whole train rode away together, the bride between King
Arthur and her betrothed, and all the knights whispering and sneering
behind them. Great was the excitement in Carlisle to see that ugly
dame, and greater still the bewilderment in the court when they were
told that this loathly lady was Sir Gawayne's bride.
The Bridal
Only Queen Guenever understood, and she showed all courtesy to the
deformed bride, and stood by her as her lady-of-honour when the
wedding took place that evening, while King Arthur was groomsman to
his nephew. When the long banquet was over, and bride and bridegroom
no longer need sit side by side, the tables were cleared and the hall
was prepared for a dance, and then men thought that Sir Gawayne would
be free for a time to talk with his friends; but he refused. "Bride
and bridegroom must tread the first dance together, if she wishes it,"
quoth he, and offered his lady his hand for the dance. "I thank you,
sweet husband," said the grim lady as she took it and moved forward to
open the dance with him; and through the long and stately measure that
followed, so perfect was his dignity, and the courtesy and grace with
which he danced, that no man dreamt of smiling as the deformed lady
moved clumsily through the figures of the dance.
Sir Gawayne's Bride
At last the long evening was over, the last measure danced, the last
wine-cup drained, the bride escorted to her chamber, the lights out,
the guests separated in their rooms, and Gawayne was free to think of
what he had done, and to consider how he had ruined his whole hope of
happiness. He thought of his uncle's favour, of the poor lady's
gratitude, of the blessing she had invoked upon him, and he determined
to be gentle with her, though he could never love her as his wife. He
entered the bride-chamber with the feeling of a man who has made up
his mind to endure, and did not even look towards his bride, who sat
awaiting him beside the fire. Choosing a chair, he sat down and looked
sadly into the glowing embers and spoke no word.
"Have you no word for me, husband? Can you not even give me a glance?"
asked the lady, and Sir Gawayne turned his eyes to her where she sat;
and then he sprang up in amazement, for there sat no loathly lady, no
ugly and deformed being, but a maiden young and lovely, with black
eyes and long curls of dark hair, with beautiful face and tall and
graceful figure. "Who are you, maiden?" asked Sir Gawayne; and the
fair one replied: "I am your wife, whom you found between the oak and
the holly-tree, and whom you wedded this night."
Sir Gawayne's Choice
"But how has this marvel come to pass?" asked he, wondering, for the
fair maiden was so lovely that he marvelled that he had not known her
beauty even under that hideous disguise. "It is an enchantment to
which I am in bondage," said she. "I am not yet entirely free from it,
but now for a time I may appear to you as I really am. Is my lord
content with his loving bride?" asked she, with a little smile, as she
rose and stood before him. "Content!" he said, as he clasped her in
his arms. "I would not change my dear lady for the fairest dame in
Arthur's court, not though she were Queen Guenever herself. I am the
happiest knight that lives, for I thought to save my uncle and help a
hapless lady, and I have won my own happiness thereby. Truly I shall
never rue the day when I wedded you, dear heart." Long they sat and
talked together, and then Sir Gawayne grew weary, and would fain have
slept, but his lady said: "Husband, now a heavy choice awaits you. I
am under the spell of an evil witch, who has given me my own face and
form for half the day, and the hideous appearance in which you first
saw me for the other half. Choose now whether you will have me fair by
day and ugly by night, or hideous by day and beauteous by night. The
choice is your own."
The Dilemma
Sir Gawayne was no longer oppressed with sleep; the choice before him
was too difficult. If the lady remained hideous by day he would have
to endure the taunts of his fellows; if by night, he would be unhappy
himself. If the lady were fair by day other men might woo her, and he
himself would have no love for her; if she were fair to him alone, his
love would make her look ridiculous before the court and the king.
Nevertheless, acting on the spur of the moment, he spoke: "Oh, be fair
to me only--be your old self by day, and let me have my beauteous wife
to myself alone." "Alas! is that your choice?" she asked. "I only must
be ugly when all are beautiful, I must be despised when all other
ladies are admired; I am as fair as they, but I must seem foul to all
men. Is this your love, Sir Gawayne?" and she turned from him and
wept. Sir Gawayne was filled with pity and remorse when he heard her
lament, and began to realize that he was studying his own pleasure
rather than his lady's feelings, and his courtesy and gentleness again
won the upper hand. "Dear love, if you would rather that men should
see you fair, I will choose that, though to me you will be always
as you are now. Be fair before others and deformed to me alone, and
men shall never know that the enchantment is not wholly removed."
Sir Gawayne's Decision
Now the lady looked pleased for a moment, and then said gravely: "Have
you thought of the danger to which a young and lovely lady is exposed
in the court? There are many false knights who would woo a fair dame,
though her husband were the king's favourite nephew; and who can
tell?--one of them might please me more than you. Sure I am that many
will be sorry they refused to wed me when they see me to-morrow morn.
You must risk my beauty under the guard of my virtue and wisdom, if
you have me young and fair." She looked merrily at Sir Gawayne as she
spoke; but he considered seriously for a time, and then said: "Nay,
dear love, I will leave the matter to you and your own wisdom, for you
are wiser in this matter than I. I remit this wholly unto you, to
decide according to your will. I will rest content with whatsoever you
resolve."
The Lady's Story
Now the fair lady clapped her hands lightly, and said: "Blessings on
you, dear Gawayne, my own dear lord and husband! Now you have released
me from the spell completely, and I shall always be as I am now, fair
and young, till old age shall change my beauty as he doth that of all
mortals. My father was a great duke of high renown who had but one son
and one daughter, both of us dearly beloved, and both of goodly
appearance. When I had come to an age to be married my father
determined to take a new wife, and he wedded a witch-lady. She
resolved to rid herself of his two children, and cast a spell upon us
both, whereby I was transformed from a fair lady into the hideous
monster whom you wedded, and my gallant young brother into the
churlish giant who dwells at Tarn Wathelan. She condemned me to keep
that awful shape until I married a young and courtly knight who would
grant me all my will. You have done all this for me, and I shall be
always your fond and faithful wife. My brother too is set free from
the spell, and he will become again one of the truest and most gentle
knights alive, though none can excel my own true knight, Sir Gawayne."
[Illustration: "Now you have released me from the spell completely"]
The Surprise of the Knights
The next morning the knight and his bride descended to the great hall,
where many knights and ladies awaited them, the former thinking
scornfully of the hideous hag whom Gawayne had wedded, the latter
pitying so young and gallant a knight, tied to a lady so ugly. But
both scorn and pity vanished when all saw the bride. "Who is this fair
dame?" asked Sir Kay. "Where have you left your ancient bride?" asked
another, and all awaited the answer in great bewilderment. "This is
the lady to whom I was wedded yester evening," replied Sir Gawayne.
"She was under an evil enchantment, which has vanished now that she
has come under the power of a husband, and henceforth my fair wife
will be one of the most beauteous ladies of King Arthur's court.
Further, my lord King Arthur, this fair lady has assured me that the
churlish knight of Tarn Wathelan, her brother, was also under a spell,
which is now broken, and he will be once more a courteous and gallant
knight, and the ground on which his fortress stands will have
henceforth no magic power to quell the courage of any knight alive.
Dear liege and uncle, when I wedded yesterday the loathly lady I
thought only of your happiness, and in that way I have won my own
lifelong bliss."
King Arthur's joy at his nephew's fair hap was great for he had
grieved sorely over Gawayne's miserable fate, and Queen Guenever
welcomed the fair maiden as warmly as she had the loathly lady, and
the wedding feast was renewed with greater magnificence, as a fitting
end to the Christmas festivities.