ARTHURIAN ROMANCES
               Unrepresented in Malory’s “Morte d’Arthur”




                                _No. I_
                           Sir Gawain and the
                              Green Knight


A Middle-English Arthurian Romance _Retold in Modern Prose, with
Introduction & Notes_, by Jessie L. Weston, _Translator_ of Wolfram von
Eschenbach’s “Parzival” • _With Designs by_ M. M. Crawford


London: David Nutt in the Strand
mdcccxcviii




                                Preface


The poem of which the following pages offer a prose rendering is
contained in a MS., believed to be unique, of the Cottonian Collection,
Nero A. X., preserved in the British Museum. The MS. is of the end of
the fourteenth century, but it is possible that the composition of the
poem is somewhat earlier; the subject matter is certainly of very old
date. There has been a considerable divergence of opinion among scholars
on the question of authorship, but the view now generally accepted is
that it is the work of the same hand as _Pearl_, another poem of
considerable merit contained in the same MS.

Our poem, or, to speak more correctly, metrical romance, contains over
2500 lines, and is composed in staves of varying length, ending in five
short rhyming lines, technically known as a bob and a wheel,—the lines
forming the body of the stave being not rhyming, but alliterative. The
dialect in which it is written has been decided to be West Midland,
probably Lancashire, and is by no means easy to understand. Indeed, it
is the real difficulty and obscurity of the language, which in spite of
careful and scholarly editing will always place the poem in its original
form outside the range of any but professed students of mediæval
literature, which has encouraged me to make an attempt to render it more
accessible to the general public, by giving it a form that shall be
easily intelligible, and at the same time preserve as closely as
possible the style of the author.

For that style, in spite of a certain roughness, unavoidable at a period
in which the language was still in a partially developed and amorphous
stage, is really charming. The author has a keen eye for effect; a
talent for description, detailed without becoming wearisome; a genuine
love of Nature and sympathy with her varying moods; and a real
refinement and elevation of feeling which enable him to deal with a
_risqué_ situation with an absence of coarseness, not, unfortunately, to
be always met with in a mediæval writer. Standards of taste vary with
the age, but even judged by that of our own day the author of _Sir
Gawain and the Green Knight_ comes not all too badly out of the ordeal!

The story with which the poem deals, too, has claims upon our interest.
I have shown elsewhere[a] that the beheading challenge is an incident of
very early occurrence in heroic legend, and that the particular form
given to it in the English poem is especially interesting, corresponding
as it does to the variations of the story as preserved in the oldest
known version, that of the old Irish _Fled Bricrend_.

[a]“The Legend of Sir Gawain,” Grimm Library, Vol. VII. (Chapter IX. Sir
    Gawain and the Green Knight).

But in no other version is the incident coupled with that of a
temptation and testing of the hero’s honour and chastity, such as meets
us here. At first sight one is inclined to assign the episode of the
lady of the castle to the class of stories of which the oldest version
is preserved in Biblical record—the story of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife;
a _motif_ not unseldom employed by mediæval writers, and which notably
occurs in what we may call the _Launfal_ group of stories. But there are
certain points which may make us hesitate as to whether in its first
conception the tale was really one of this class.

It must be noted that here the lady is acting throughout with the
knowledge and consent of the husband, an important point of difference.
In the second place, it is very doubtful whether her entire attitude was
not a _ruse_. From the Green Knight’s words to Gawain when he finally
reveals himself, “I wot we shall soon make peace with my wife, who was
thy bitter enemy,” her conduct hardly seems to have been prompted by
real passion.

In my _Studies on the Legend of Sir Gawain_, already referred to, I have
suggested that the character of the lady here is, perhaps, a
reminiscence of that of the Queen of the Magic Castle or Isle, daughter
or niece of an enchanter, who at an early stage of Gawain’s story was
undoubtedly his love. I think it not impossible that she was an integral
part of the tale as first told, and her rôle here was determined by that
which she originally played. In most versions of the story she has
dropped out altogether. It is, of course, possible that, there being but
a confused reminiscence of the original tale, her share _may_ have been
modified by the influence of the _Launfal_ group; but I should prefer to
explain the episode on the whole as a somewhat distorted survival of an
original feature.

But in any case we may be thankful for this, that the author of the most
important English metrical romance dealing with Arthurian legend
faithfully adheres to the original conception of Gawain’s character, as
drawn before the monkish lovers of edification laid their ruthless hands
on his legend, and turned the model of knightly virtues and courtesy
into a mere vulgar libertine.

Brave, chivalrous, loyally faithful to his plighted word, scrupulously
heedful of his own and others’ honour, Gawain stands before us in this
poem. We take up Malory or Tennyson, and in spite of their charm of
style, in spite of the halo of religious mysticism in which they have
striven to enwrap their characters, we lay them down with a feeling of
dissatisfaction. How did the Gawain of their imagination, this
empty-headed, empty-hearted worldling, cruel murderer, and treacherous
friend, ever come to be the typical English hero? For such Gawain
certainly was, even more than Arthur himself. Then we turn back to these
faded pages, and read the quaintly earnest words in which the old writer
reveals the hidden meaning of that mystic symbol, the pentangle, and
vindicates Gawain’s title to claim it as his badge—and we smile,
perhaps; but we cease to wonder at the widespread popularity of King
Arthur’s famous nephew, or at the immense body of romance that claims
him as its hero.

Scholars know all this, of course; they can read the poem for themselves
in its original rough and intricate phraseology; perhaps they will be
shocked at an attempt to handle it in simpler form. But this little book
is not for them, and if to those to whom the tale would otherwise be a
sealed treasure these pages bring some new knowledge of the way in which
our forefathers looked on the characters of the Arthurian legend, the
tales they told of them (unconsciously betraying the while how they
themselves lived and thought and spoke)—if by that means they gain a
keener appreciation of our national heroes, a wider knowledge of our
national literature,—then the spirit of the long-dead poet will
doubtless not be the slowest to pardon my handling of what was his
masterpiece, as it is, in M. Gaston Paris’ words, “The jewel of English
mediæval literature.”

  Bournemouth, _June 1898_.

    [Illustration: Sir Gawain and the Green Knight]




                                CONTENTS


  I                                                                    1
          Of the making of Britain                                     1
          How Arthur held high feast at Camelot                        2
          New Year’s Day                                               3
          Of the noble knights there present                           4
          The coming of the Green Knight                               5
          The fashion of the knight                                    5
          Of the knight’s steed                                        6
          The arming of the knight                                     7
          Of the knight’s challenge                                    9
          The silence of the knights                                  11
          How Sir Gawain dared the venture                            12
          The making of the covenant                                  13
          The giving of the blow                                      15
          The marvel of the Green Knight                              16
  II                                                                  19
          The waning of the year                                      19
          Sir Gawain bethinks him of his covenant                     21
          The arming of Sir Gawain                                    22
          Wherefore Sir Gawain bare the pentangle                     24
          How Sir Gawain went forth                                   25
          Of Sir Gawain’s journey                                     26
          How Sir Gawain came to a fair castle on Christmas Eve       29
          How Sir Gawain was welcomed                                 31
          Sir Gawain tells his name                                   34
          The lady of the castle                                      35
          Of the Christmas feast                                      37
          How the feast came to an end but Gawain abode at the
          castle                                                      38
          Sir Gawain makes a covenant with his host                   41
  III                                                                 43
          The first day’s hunting                                     43
          How the lady of the castle came to Sir Gawain               45
          How the lady kissed Sir Gawain                              49
          How the covenant was kept                                   51
          Of the second day’s hunting                                 52
          Of the lady and Sir Gawain                                  54
          How the lady strove to beguile Sir Gawain with words of
          love                                                        55
          How the boar was slain                                      57
          The keeping of the covenant                                 59
          Of the third day’s hunting                                  61
          How the lady came for the third time to Sir Gawain          62
          The lady would fain have a parting gift from Gawain         64
          She would give him her ring                                 65
          Or her girdle                                               65
          The virtue of the girdle                                    66
          How Sir Gawain took the girdle                              67
          The death of the fox                                        68
          How Sir Gawain kept not all the covenant                    69
          How Sir Gawain took leave of his host                       71
  IV                                                                  72
          The robing of Sir Gawain                                    73
          How Sir Gawain went forth from the castle                   74
          The squire’s warning                                        75
          Of the knight of the Green Chapel                           76
          Sir Gawain is none dismayed                                 77
          The finding of the chapel                                   79
          The coming of the Green Knight                              80
          How Sir Gawain failed to stand the blow                     81
          Of the Green Knight’s reproaches                            82
          How the Green Knight dealt the blow                         83
          Of the three covenants                                      84
          The shame of Sir Gawain                                     85
          How Sir Gawain would keep the girdle                        87
          How the marvel was wrought                                  88
          How Sir Gawain came again to Camelot                        89
          Sir Gawain makes confession of his fault                    90
          The knights wear the lace in honour of Gawain               90
          The end of the tale                                         91
  Notes                                                               93




                                   I


    [Illustration: Illustrated drop-cap]


Of the making of Britain

After the siege and the assault of Troy, when that burg was destroyed
and burnt to ashes, and the traitor slain for his treason, the noble
Æneas and his kin sailed forth to become princes and patrons of
well-nigh all the Western Isles. Thus Romulus built Rome (and gave to
the city his own name, which it bears even to this day); and Ticius
turned him to Tuscany; and Langobard raised him up dwellings in
Lombardy; and Felix Brutus sailed far over the French flood, and founded
the kingdom of Britain, wherein have been war and waste and wonder, and
bliss and bale, oft-times since.

And in that kingdom of Britain have been wrought more gallant deeds than
in any other; but of all British kings Arthur was the most valiant, as I
have heard tell, therefore will I set forth a wondrous adventure that
fell out in his time. And if ye will listen to me, but for a little
while, I will tell it even as it stands in story stiff and strong, fixed
in the letter, as it hath long been known in the land.


How Arthur held high feast at Camelot

King Arthur lay at Camelot upon a Christmas-tide, with many a gallant
lord and lovely lady, and all the noble brotherhood of the Round Table.
There they held rich revels with gay talk and jest; one while they would
ride forth to joust and tourney, and again back to the court to make
carols;[0] for there was the feast holden fifteen days with all the
mirth that men could devise, song and glee, glorious to hear, in the
daytime, and dancing at night. Halls and chambers were crowded with
noble guests, the bravest of knights and the loveliest of ladies, and
Arthur himself was the comeliest king that ever held a court. For all
this fair folk were in their youth, the fairest and most fortunate under
heaven, and the king himself of such fame that it were hard now to name
so valiant a hero.


New Year’s Day

Now the New Year had but newly come in, and on that day a double portion
was served on the high table to all the noble guests, and thither came
the king with all his knights, when the service in the chapel had been
sung to an end. And they greeted each other for the New Year, and gave
rich gifts, the one to the other (and they that received them were not
wroth, that may ye well believe!), and the maidens laughed and made
mirth till it was time to get them to meat. Then they washed and sat
them down to the feast in fitting rank and order, and Guinevere the
queen, gaily clad, sat on the high daïs. Silken was her seat, with a
fair canopy over her head, of rich tapestries of Tars, embroidered, and
studded with costly gems; fair she was to look upon, with her shining
grey eyes, a fairer woman might no man boast himself of having seen.

But Arthur would not eat till all were served, so full of joy and
gladness was he, even as a child; he liked not either to lie long, or to
sit long at meat, so worked upon him his young blood and his wild brain.
And another custom he had also, that came of his nobility, that he would
never eat upon an high day till he had been advised of some knightly
deed, or some strange and marvellous tale, of his ancestors, or of arms,
or of other ventures. Or till some knight should seek of him leave to
joust with another, that they might set their lives in jeopardy, one
against another, as fortune might favour them. Such was the king’s
custom when he sat in hall at each high feast with his noble knights,
therefore on that New Year tide, he abode, fair of face, on the throne,
and made much mirth withal.


Of the noble knights there present

Thus the king sat before the high table, and spake of many things; and
there good Sir Gawain was seated by Guinevere the queen, and on her
other side sat Agravain,[1] _à la dure main_; both were the king’s
sister’s sons and full gallant knights. And at the end of the table was
Bishop Bawdewyn, and Ywain, King Urien’s son, sat at the other side
alone. These were worthily served on the daïs, and at the lower tables
sat many valiant knights. Then they bare the first course with the blast
of trumpets and waving of banners, with the sound of drums and pipes, of
song and lute, that many a heart was uplifted at the melody. Many were
the dainties, and rare the meats, so great was the plenty they might
scarce find room on the board to set on the dishes. Each helped himself
as he liked best, and to each two were twelve dishes, with great plenty
of beer and wine.


The coming of the Green Knight

Now I will say no more of the service, but that ye may know there was no
lack, for there drew near a venture that the folk might well have left
their labour to gaze upon. As the sound of the music ceased, and the
first course had been fitly served, there came in at the hall door one
terrible to behold, of stature greater than any on earth; from neck to
loin so strong and thickly made, and with limbs so long and so great
that he seemed even as a giant. And yet he was but a man, only the
mightiest that might mount a steed; broad of chest and shoulders and
slender of waist, and all his features of like fashion; but men
marvelled much at his colour, for he rode even as a knight, yet was
green all over.


The fashion of the knight

For he was clad all in green, with a straight coat, and a mantle above;
all decked and lined with fur was the cloth and the hood that was thrown
back from his locks and lay on his shoulders. Hose had he of the same
green, and spurs of bright gold with silken fastenings richly worked;
and all his vesture was verily green. Around his waist and his saddle
were bands with fair stones set upon silken work, ’twere too long to
tell of all the trifles that were embroidered thereon—birds and insects
in gay gauds of green and gold.


Of the knight’s steed

All the trappings of his steed were of metal of like enamel, even the
stirrups that he stood in stained of the same, and stirrups and
saddle-bow alike gleamed and shone with green stones. Even the steed on
which he rode was of the same hue, a green horse, great and strong, and
hard to hold, with broidered bridle, meet for the rider.

The knight was thus gaily dressed in green, his hair falling around his
shoulders, on his breast hung a beard, as thick and green as a bush, and
the beard and the hair of his head were clipped all round above his
elbows. The lower part of his sleeves were fastened with clasps in the
same wise as a king’s mantle. The horse’s mane was crisped and plaited
with many a knot folded in with gold thread about the fair green, here a
twist of the hair, here another of gold. The tail was twined in like
manner, and both were bound about with a band of bright green set with
many a precious stone; then they were tied aloft in a cunning knot,
whereon rang many bells of burnished gold. Such a steed might no other
ride, nor had such ever been looked upon in that hall ere that time; and
all who saw that knight spake and said that a man might scarce abide his
stroke.


The arming of the knight

The knight bore no helm nor hauberk, neither gorget nor breast-plate,
neither shaft nor buckler to smite nor to shield, but in one hand he had
a holly-bough, that is greenest when the groves are bare, and in his
other an axe, huge and uncomely, a cruel weapon in fashion, if one would
picture it. The head was an ell-yard long, the metal all of green steel
and gold, the blade burnished bright, with a broad edge, as well shapen
to shear as a sharp razor. The steel was set into a strong staff, all
bound round with iron, even to the end, and engraved with green in
cunning work. A lace was twined about it, that looped at the head, and
all adown the handle it was clasped with tassels on buttons of bright
green richly broidered.

The knight halted in the entrance of the hall, looking to the high daïs,
and greeted no man, but looked ever upwards; and the first words he
spake were, “Where is the ruler of this folk? I would gladly look upon
that hero, and have speech with him.” He cast his eyes on the knights,
and mustered them up and down, striving ever to see who of them was of
most renown.

Then was there great gazing to behold that chief, for each man marvelled
what it might mean that a knight and his steed should have even such a
hue as the green grass; and that seemed even greener than green enamel
on bright gold. All looked on him as he stood, and drew near unto him
wondering greatly what he might be; for many marvels had they seen, but
none such as this, and phantasm and faërie did the folk deem it.
Therefore were the gallant knights slow to answer, and gazed astounded,
and sat stone still in a deep silence through that goodly hall, as if a
slumber were fallen upon them. I deem it was not all for doubt, but some
for courtesy that they might give ear unto his errand.

Then Arthur beheld this adventure before his high daïs, and knightly he
greeted him, for discourteous was he never. “Sir,” he said, “thou art
welcome to this place—lord of this hall am I, and men call me Arthur.
Light thee down, and tarry awhile, and what thy will is, that shall we
learn after.”


Of the knight’s challenge

“Nay,” quoth the stranger, “so help me He that sitteth on high, ’twas
not mine errand to tarry any while in this dwelling; but the praise of
this thy folk and thy city is lifted up on high, and thy warriors are
holden for the best and the most valiant of those who ride mail-clad to
the fight. The wisest and the worthiest of this world are they, and well
proven in all knightly sports. And here, as I have heard tell, is
fairest courtesy, therefore have I come hither as at this time. Ye may
be sure by the branch that I bear here that I come in peace, seeking no
strife. For had I willed to journey in warlike guise I have at home both
hauberk and helm, shield and shining spear, and other weapons to mine
hand, but since I seek no war my raiment is that of peace. But if thou
be as bold as all men tell thou wilt freely grant me the boon I ask.”

And Arthur answered, “Sir Knight, if thou cravest battle here thou shalt
not fail for lack of a foe.”

And the knight answered, “Nay, I ask no fight, in faith here on the
benches are but beardless children, were I clad in armour on my steed
there is no man here might match me. Therefore I ask in this court but a
Christmas jest, for that it is Yule-tide, and New Year, and there are
many here. If any one in this hall holds himself so hardy,[2] so bold
both of blood and brain, as to dare strike me one stroke for another, I
will give him as a gift this axe, which is heavy enough, in sooth, to
handle as he may list, and I will abide the first blow, unarmed as I
sit. If any knight be so bold as to prove my words let him come swiftly
to me here, and take this weapon, I quit claim to it, he may keep it as
his own, and I will abide his stroke, firm on the floor. Then shalt thou
give me the right to deal him another, the respite of a year from to-day
shall he have. Now pledge me thy word, and let see whether any here dare
say aught.”


The silence of the knights

Now if the knights had been astounded at the first, yet stiller were
they all, high and low, when they had heard his words. The knight on his
steed straightened himself in the saddle, and rolled his eyes fiercely
round the hall, red they gleamed under his green and bushy brows. He
frowned and twisted his beard, waiting to see who should rise, and when
none answered he cried aloud in mockery, “What, is this Arthur’s hall,
and these the knights whose renown hath run through many realms? Where
are now your pride and your conquests, your wrath, and anger, and mighty
words? Now are the praise and the renown of the Round Table overthrown
by one man’s speech, since all keep silence for dread ere ever they have
seen a blow!”

With that he laughed so loudly that the blood rushed to the king’s fair
face for very shame; he waxed wroth, as did all his knights, and sprang
to his feet, and drew near to the stranger and said, “Now by heaven
foolish is thine asking, and thy folly shall find its fitting answer. I
know no man aghast at thy great words. Give me here thine axe and I
shall grant thee the boon thou hast asked.” Lightly he sprang to him and
caught at his hand, and the knight, fierce of aspect, lighted down from
his charger.

Then Arthur took the axe and gripped the haft, and swung it round, ready
to strike. And the knight stood before him, taller by the head than any
in the hall; he stood, and stroked his beard, and drew down his coat, no
more dismayed for the king’s threats than if one had brought him a drink
of wine.


How Sir Gawain dared the venture

Then Gawain, who sat by the queen, leaned forward to the king and spake,
“I beseech ye, my lord, let this venture be mine. Would ye but bid me
rise from this seat, and stand by your side, so that my liege lady
thought it not ill, then would I come to your counsel before this goodly
court. For I think it not seemly that such challenge should be made in
your hall that ye yourself should undertake it, while there are many
bold knights who sit beside ye, none are there, methinks, of readier
will under heaven, or more valiant in open field. I am the weakest, I
wot, and the feeblest of wit, and it will be the less loss of my life if
ye seek sooth. For save that ye are mine uncle naught is there in me to
praise, no virtue is there in my body save your blood, and since this
challenge is such folly that it beseems ye not to take it, and I have
asked it from ye first, let it fall to me, and if I bear myself
ungallantly then let all this court blame me.”

Then they all spake with one voice that the king should leave this
venture and grant it to Gawain.

Then Arthur commanded the knight to rise, and he rose up quickly and
knelt down before the king, and caught hold of the weapon; and the king
loosed his hold of it, and lifted up his hand, and gave him his
blessing, and bade him be strong both of heart and hand. “Keep thee
well, nephew,” quoth Arthur, “that thou give him but the one blow, and
if thou redest him rightly I trow thou shalt well abide the stroke he
may give thee after.”


The making of the covenant

Gawain stepped to the stranger, axe in hand, and he, never fearing,
awaited his coming. Then the Green Knight spake to Sir Gawain, “Make we
our covenant ere we go further. First, I ask thee, knight, what is thy
name? Tell me truly, that I may know thee.”

“In faith,” quoth the good knight, “Gawain am I, who give thee this
buffet, let what may come of it; and at this time twelvemonth will I
take another at thine hand with whatsoever weapon thou wilt, and none
other.”

Then the other answered again, “Sir Gawain, so may I thrive as I am fain
to take this buffet at thine hand,” and he quoth further, “Sir Gawain,
it liketh me well that I shall take at thy fist that which I have asked
here, and thou hast readily and truly rehearsed all the covenant that I
asked of the king, save that thou shalt swear me, by thy troth, to seek
me thyself wherever thou hopest that I may be found, and win thee such
reward as thou dealest me to-day, before this folk.”

“Where shall I seek thee?” quoth Gawain. “Where is thy place? By Him
that made me, I wot never where thou dwellest, nor know I thee, knight,
thy court, nor thy name. But teach me truly all that pertaineth thereto,
and tell me thy name, and I shall use all my wit to win my way thither,
and that I swear thee for sooth, and by my sure troth.”

“That is enough in the New Year, it needs no more,” quoth the Green
Knight to the gallant Gawain, “if I tell thee truly when I have taken
the blow, and thou hast smitten me; then will I teach thee of my house
and home, and mine own name, then mayest thou ask thy road and keep
covenant. And if I waste no words then farest thou the better, for thou
canst dwell in thy land, and seek no further. But take now thy toll, and
let see how thy strikest.”

“Gladly will I,” quoth Gawain, handling his axe.


The giving of the blow

Then the Green Knight swiftly made him ready, he bowed down his head,
and laid his long locks on the crown that his bare neck might be seen.
Gawain gripped his axe and raised it on high, the left foot he set
forward on the floor, and let the blow fall lightly on the bare neck.
The sharp edge of the blade sundered the bones, smote through the neck,
and clave it in two, so that the edge of the steel bit on the ground,
and the head rolled even to the horse’s feet.


The marvel of the Green Knight

The blood spurted forth, and glistened on the green raiment, but the
knight neither faltered nor fell; he started forward with out-stretched
hand, and caught the head, and lifted it up; then he turned to his
steed, and took hold of the bridle, set his foot in the stirrup, and
mounted. His head he held by the hair, in his hand. Then he seated
himself in his saddle as if naught ailed him, and he were not headless.
He turned his steed about, the grim corpse bleeding freely the while,
and they who looked upon him doubted them much for the covenant.

For he held up the head in his hand, and turned the face towards them
that sat on the high daïs, and it lifted up the eye-lids and looked upon
them, and spake as ye shall hear. “Look, Gawain, that thou art ready to
go as thou hast promised, and seek leally till thou find me, even as
thou hast sworn in this hall in the hearing of these knights. Come thou,
I charge thee, to the Green Chapel, such a stroke as thou hast dealt
thou hast deserved, and it shall be promptly paid thee on New Year’s
morn. Many men know me as the knight of the Green Chapel, and if thou
askest thou shalt not fail to find me. Therefore it behoves thee to
come, or to yield thee as recreant.”

With that he turned his bridle, and galloped out at the hall door, his
head in his hands, so that the sparks flew from beneath his horse’s
hoofs. Whither he went none knew, no more than they wist whence he had
come; and the king and Gawain they gazed and laughed, for in sooth this
had proved a greater marvel than any they had known aforetime.

Though Arthur the king was astonished at his heart, yet he let no sign
of it be seen, but spake in courteous wise to the fair queen: “Dear
lady, be not dismayed, such craft is well suited to Christmas-tide when
we seek jesting, laughter and song, and fair carols of knights and
ladies. But now I may well get me to meat, for I have seen a marvel I
may not forget.” Then he looked on Sir Gawain, and said gaily, “Now,
fair nephew, hang up thine axe, since it has hewn enough,” and they hung
it on the dossal above the daïs, where all men might look on it for a
marvel, and by its true token tell of the wonder. Then the twain sat
them down together, the king and the good knight, and men served them
with a double portion, as was the share of the noblest, with all manner
of meat and of minstrelsy. And they spent that day in gladness, but Sir
Gawain must well bethink him of the heavy venture to which he had set
his hand.




                                   II


    [Illustration: Illustrated drop-cap]

This beginning of adventures had Arthur at the New Year, for he yearned
to hear gallant tales, though his words were few when he sat at the
feast. But now had they stern work on hand. Gawain was glad to begin the
jest in the hall, but ye need have no marvel if the end be heavy. For
though a man be merry in mind when he has well drunk, yet a year runs
full swiftly, and the beginning but rarely matches the end.


The waning of the year

For Yule was now over-past,[3] and the year after, each season in its
turn following the other. For after Christmas comes crabbed Lent, that
will have fish for flesh and simpler cheer. But then the weather of the
world chides with winter; the cold withdraws itself, the clouds uplift,
and the rain falls in warm showers on the fair plains. Then the flowers
come forth, meadows and groves are clad in green, the birds make ready
to build, and sing sweetly for solace of the soft summer that follows
thereafter. The blossoms bud and blow in the hedgerows rich and rank,
and noble notes enough are heard in the fair woods.

After the season of summer, with the soft winds, when zephyr breathes
lightly on seeds and herbs, joyous indeed is the growth that waxes
thereout when the dew drips from the leaves beneath the blissful glance
of the bright sun. But then comes harvest and hardens the grain, warning
it to wax ripe ere the winter. The drought drives the dust on high,
flying over the face of the land; the angry wind of the welkin wrestles
with the sun; the leaves fall from the trees and light upon the ground,
and all brown are the groves that but now were green, and ripe is the
fruit that once was flower. So the year passes into many yesterdays, and
winter comes again, as it needs no sage to tell us.


Sir Gawain bethinks him of his covenant

When the Michaelmas moon was come in with warnings of winter, Sir Gawain
bethought him full oft of his perilous journey. Yet till All Hallows Day
he lingered with Arthur, and on that day they made a great feast for the
hero’s sake, with much revel and richness of the Round Table. Courteous
knights and comely ladies, all were in sorrow for the love of that
knight, and though they spake no word of it many were joyless for his
sake.

And after meat, sadly Sir Gawain turned to his uncle, and spake of his
journey, and said, “Liege lord of my life, leave from you I crave. Ye
know well how the matter stands without more words, to-morrow am I bound
to set forth in search of the Green Knight.”

Then came together all the noblest knights, Ywain and Erec, and many
another. Sir Dodinel le Sauvage, Launcelot and Lionel, and Lucan the
Good, Sir Bors and Sir Bedivere, valiant knights both, and many another
hero, with Sir Mador de la Porte, and they all drew near, heavy at
heart, to take counsel with Sir Gawain. Much sorrow and weeping was
there in the hall to think that so worthy a knight as Gawain should wend
his way to seek a deadly blow, and should no more wield his sword in
fight. But the knight made ever good cheer, and said, “Nay, wherefore
should I shrink? What may a man do but prove his fate?”


The arming of Sir Gawain

He dwelt there all that day, and on the morn he arose and asked betimes
for his armour; and they brought it unto him on this wise: first, a rich
carpet was stretched on the floor[4] (and brightly did the gold gear
glitter upon it), then the knight stepped on to it, and handled the
steel; clad he was in a doublet of silk, with a close hood, lined fairly
throughout. Then they set the steel shoes upon his feet, and wrapped his
legs with greaves, with polished knee-caps fastened with knots of gold.
Then they cased his thighs in cuisses closed with thongs, and brought
him the byrny of bright steel rings sewn upon a fair stuff. Well
burnished braces they set on each arm with good elbow-pieces, and gloves
of mail, and all the goodly gear that should shield him in his need. And
they cast over all a rich surcoat, and set the golden spurs on his
heels, and girt him with a trusty sword fastened with a silken bawdrick.
When he was thus clad his harness was costly, for the least loop or
latchet gleamed with gold. So armed as he was he hearkened Mass and made
his offering at the high altar. Then he came to the king, and the
knights of his court, and courteously took leave of lords and ladies,
and they kissed him, and commended him to Christ.

With that was Gringalet ready, girt with a saddle that gleamed gaily
with many golden fringes, enriched and decked anew for the venture. The
bridle was all barred about with bright gold buttons, and all the
covertures and trappings of the steed, the crupper and the rich skirts,
accorded with the saddle; spread fair with the rich red gold that
glittered and gleamed in the rays of the sun.

Then the knight called for his helmet, which was well lined throughout,
and set it high on his head, and hasped it behind. He wore a light
kerchief over the vintail, that was broidered and studded with fair gems
on a broad silken ribbon, with birds of gay colour, and many a turtle
and true-lover’s knot interlaced thickly, even as many a maiden had
wrought them. But the circlet which crowned his helmet was yet more
precious, being adorned with a device in diamonds. Then they brought him
his shield, which was of bright red, with the pentangle painted thereon
in gleaming gold.[5]


Wherefore Sir Gawain bare the pentangle

And why that noble prince bare the pentangle I am minded to tell you,
though my tale tarry thereby. It is a sign that Solomon set ere-while,
as betokening truth; for it is a figure with five points and each line
overlaps the other, and nowhere hath it beginning or end, so that in
English it is called “the endless knot.” And therefore was it well
suiting to this knight and to his arms, since Gawain was faithful in
five and five-fold, for pure was he as gold, void of all villainy and
endowed with all virtues. Therefore he bare the pentangle on shield and
surcoat as truest of heroes and gentlest of knights.

For first he was faultless in his five senses; and his five fingers
never failed him; and all his trust upon earth was in the five wounds
that Christ bare on the cross, as the Creed tells. And wherever this
knight found himself in stress of battle he deemed well that he drew his
strength from the five joys which the Queen of Heaven had of her Child.
And for this cause did he bear an image of Our Lady on the one half of
his shield, that whenever he looked upon it he might not lack for aid.
And the fifth five that the hero used were frankness and fellowship
above all, purity and courtesy that never failed him, and compassion
that surpasses all; and in these five virtues was that hero wrapped and
clothed. And all these, five-fold, were linked one in the other, so that
they had no end, and were fixed on five points that never failed,
neither at any side were they joined or sundered, nor could ye find
beginning or end. And therefore on his shield was the knot shapen,
red-gold upon red, which is the pure pentangle. Now was Sir Gawain
ready, and he took his lance in hand, and bade them all _Farewell_, he
deemed it had been for ever.


How Sir Gawain went forth

Then he smote the steed with his spurs, and sprang on his way, so that
sparks flew from the stones after him. All that saw him were grieved at
heart, and said one to the other, “By Christ, ’tis great pity that one
of such noble life should be lost! I’ faith, ’twere not easy to find his
equal upon earth. The king had done better to have wrought more warily.
Yonder knight should have been made a duke; a gallant leader of men is
he, and such a fate had beseemed him better than to be hewn in pieces at
the will of an elfish man, for mere pride. Who ever knew a king to take
such counsel as to risk his knights on a Christmas jest?” Many were the
tears that flowed from their eyes when that goodly knight rode from the
hall. He made no delaying, but went his way swiftly, and rode many a
wild road, as I heard say in the book.


Of Sir Gawain’s journey

So rode Sir Gawain through the realm of Logres, on an errand that he
held for no jest. Often he lay companionless at night, and must lack the
fare that he liked. No comrade had he save his steed, and none save God
with whom to take counsel. At length he drew nigh to North Wales, and
left the isles of Anglesey on his left hand, crossing over the fords by
the foreland over at Holyhead, till he came into the wilderness of
Wirral,[6] that is loved neither of God nor of man, and there he abode
but a little time. And ever he asked, as he fared, of all whom he met,
if they had heard any tidings of a Green Knight in the country
thereabout, or of a Green Chapel? And all answered him, Nay, never in
their lives had they seen any man of such a hue. And the knight wended
his way by many a strange road and many a rugged path, and the fashion
of his countenance changed full often ere he saw the Green Chapel.

Many a cliff did he climb in that unknown land, where afar from his
friends he rode as a stranger. Never did he come to a stream or a ford
but he found a foe before him, and that one so marvellous, so foul and
fell, that it behoved him to fight. So many wonders did that knight
behold that it were too long to tell the tenth part of them. Sometimes
he fought with dragons and wolves; sometimes with wild men that dwelt in
the rocks; another while with bulls, and bears, and wild boars, or with
giants of the high moorland that drew near to him. Had he not been a
doughty knight, enduring, and of well-proved valour, doubtless he had
been slain, for he was oft in danger of death. Yet he cared not so much
for the strife, what he deemed worse was when the cold clear water was
shed from the clouds, and froze ere it fell on the fallow ground. More
nights than enough he slept in his harness on the bare rocks, near slain
with the sleet, while the stream leapt bubbling from the crest of the
hills, and hung in hard icicles over his head.

Thus in peril and pain, and many a hardship, the knight rode alone till
Christmas Eve, and in that tide he made his prayer to the Blessed Virgin
that she would guide his steps and lead him to some dwelling. On that
morning he rode by a hill, and came into a thick forest, wild and drear;
on each side were high hills, and thick woods below them of great hoar
oaks, a hundred together, of hazel and hawthorn with their trailing
boughs intertwined, and rough ragged moss spreading everywhere. On the
bare twigs the birds chirped piteously, for pain of the cold. The knight
upon Gringalet rode lonely beneath them, through marsh and mire, much
troubled at heart lest he should fail to see the service of the Lord,
who on that self-same night was born of a Maiden for the cure of our
grief; and therefore he said, sighing, “I beseech Thee, Lord, and Mary
Thy gentle Mother, for some shelter where I may hear Mass, and Thy
mattins at morn. This I ask meekly, and thereto I pray my Paternoster,
Ave, and Credo.” Thus he rode praying, and lamenting his misdeeds, and
he crossed himself, and said, “May the Cross of Christ speed me.”


How Sir Gawain came to a fair castle on Christmas Eve

Now that knight had crossed himself but thrice ere he was aware in the
wood of a dwelling within a moat, above a lawn, on a mound surrounded by
many mighty trees that stood round the moat. ’Twas the fairest castle
that ever a knight owned;[7] built in a meadow with a park all about it,
and a spiked palisade, closely driven, that enclosed the trees for more
than two miles. The knight was ware of the hold from the side, as it
shone through the oaks. Then he lifted off his helmet, and thanked
Christ and S. Julian that they had courteously granted his prayer, and
hearkened to his cry. “Now,” quoth the knight, “I beseech ye, grant me
fair hostel.” Then he pricked Gringalet with his golden spurs, and rode
gaily towards the great gate, and came swiftly to the bridge end.

The bridge was drawn up and the gates close shut; the walls were strong
and thick, so that they might fear no tempest. The knight on his charger
abode on the bank of the deep double ditch that surrounded the castle.
The walls were set deep in the water, and rose aloft to a wondrous
height; they were of hard hewn stone up to the corbels, which were
adorned beneath the battlements with fair carvings, and turrets set in
between with many a loophole; a better barbican Sir Gawain had never
looked upon. And within he beheld the high hall, with its tower and many
windows with carven cornices, and chalk-white chimneys on the turreted
roofs that shone fair in the sun. And everywhere, thickly scattered on
the castle battlements, were pinnacles, so many that it seemed as if it
were all wrought out of paper, so white was it.

The knight on his steed deemed it fair enough, if he might come to be
sheltered within it to lodge there while that the Holy-day lasted. He
called aloud, and soon there came a porter of kindly countenance, who
stood on the wall and greeted this knight and asked his errand.

“Good sir,” quoth Gawain, “wilt thou go mine errand to the high lord of
the castle, and crave for me lodging?”

“Yea, by S. Peter,” quoth the porter. “In sooth I trow that ye be
welcome to dwell here so long as it may like ye.”


How Sir Gawain was welcomed

Then he went, and came again swiftly, and many folk with him to receive
the knight. They let down the great drawbridge, and came forth and knelt
on their knees on the cold earth to give him worthy welcome. They held
wide open the great gates, and he greeted them courteously, and rode
over the bridge. Then men came to him and held his stirrup while he
dismounted, and took and stabled his steed. There came down knights and
squires to bring the guest with joy to the hall. When he raised his
helmet there were many to take it from his hand, fain to serve him, and
they took from him sword and shield.

Sir Gawain gave good greeting to the nobles and the mighty men who came
to do him honour. Clad in his shining armour they led him to the hall,
where a great fire burnt brightly on the floor; and the lord of the
household came forth from his chamber to meet the hero fitly. He spake
to the knight, and said: “Ye are welcome to do here as it likes ye. All
that is here is your own to have at your will and disposal.”

“Gramercy!” quote Gawain, “may Christ requite ye.”

As friends that were fain each embraced the other; and Gawain looked on
the knight who greeted him so kindly, and thought ’twas a bold warrior
that owned that burg.

Of mighty stature he was, and of high age; broad and flowing was his
beard, and of a bright hue. He was stalwart of limb, and strong in his
stride, his face fiery red, and his speech free: in sooth he seemed one
well fitted to be a leader of valiant men.

Then the lord led Sir Gawain to a chamber, and commanded folk to wait
upon him, and at his bidding there came men enough who brought the guest
to a fair bower. The bedding was noble, with curtains of pure silk
wrought with gold, and wondrous coverings of fair cloth all embroidered.
The curtains ran on ropes with rings of red gold, and the walls were
hung with carpets of Orient, and the same spread on the floor. There
with mirthful speeches they took from the guest his byrny and all his
shining armour, and brought him rich robes of the choicest in its stead.
They were long and flowing, and became him well, and when he was clad in
them all who looked on the hero thought that surely God had never made a
fairer knight: he seemed as if he might be a prince without peer in the
field where men strive in battle.

Then before the hearth-place, whereon the fire burned, they made ready a
chair for Gawain, hung about with cloth and fair cushions; and there
they cast around him a mantle of brown samite, richly embroidered and
furred within with costly skins of ermine, with a hood of the same, and
he seated himself in that rich seat, and warmed himself at the fire and
was cheered at heart. And while he sat thus the serving men set up a
table on trestles, and covered it with a fair white cloth, and set
thereon salt-cellar, and napkin, and silver spoons; and the knight
washed at his will, and set him down to meat.

The folk served him courteously with many dishes seasoned of the best, a
double portion. All kinds of fish were there, some baked in bread, some
broiled on the embers, some sodden, some stewed and savoured with
spices, with all sorts of cunning devices to his taste. And often he
called it a feast, when they spake gaily to him all together, and said,
“Now take ye this penance, and it shall be for your amendment.” Much
mirth thereof did Sir Gawain make.


Sir Gawain tells his name

Then they questioned that prince courteously of whence he came; and he
told them that he was of the court of Arthur, who is the rich royal King
of the Round Table, and that it was Gawain himself who was within their
walls, and would keep Christmas with them, as the chance had fallen out.
And when the lord of the castle heard those tidings he laughed aloud for
gladness, and all men in that keep were joyful that they should be in
the company of him to whom belonged all fame, and valour, and courtesy,
and whose honour was praised above that of all men on earth. Each said
softly to his fellow, “Now shall we see courteous bearing, and the
manner of speech befitting courts. What charm lieth in gentle speech
shall we learn without asking, since here we have welcomed the fine
father of courtesy. God has surely shewn us His grace since He sends us
such a guest as Gawain! When men shall sit and sing, blithe for Christ’s
birth, this knight shall bring us to the knowledge of fair manners, and
it may be that hearing him we may learn the cunning speech of love.”

By the time the knight had risen from dinner it was near nightfall. Then
chaplains took their way to the chapel, and rang loudly, even as they
should, for the solemn evensong of the high feast. Thither went the
lord, and the lady also, and entered with her maidens into a comely
closet, and thither also went Gawain. Then the lord took him by the
sleeve and led him to a seat, and called him by his name, and told him
he was of all men in the world the most welcome. And Sir Gawain thanked
him truly, and each kissed the other, and they sat gravely together
throughout the service.


The lady of the castle

Then was the lady fain to look upon that knight; and she came forth from
her closet with many fair maidens. The fairest of ladies was she in
face, and figure, and colouring, fairer even than Guinevere, so the
knight thought. She came through the chancel to greet the hero, another
lady held her by the left hand, older than she, and seemingly of high
estate, with many nobles about her. But unlike to look upon were those
ladies, for if the younger were fair, the elder was yellow. Rich red
were the cheeks of the one, rough and wrinkled those of the other; the
kerchiefs of the one were broidered with many glistening pearls, her
throat and neck bare, and whiter than the snow that lies on the hills;
the neck of the other was swathed in a gorget, with a white wimple over
her black chin. Her forehead was wrapped in silk with many folds, worked
with knots, so that naught of her was seen save her black brows, her
eyes, her nose, and her lips, and those were bleared, and ill to look
upon. A worshipful lady in sooth one might call her! In figure was she
short and broad, and thickly made—far fairer to behold was she whom she
led by the hand.

When Gawain beheld that fair lady, who looked at him graciously, with
leave of the lord he went towards them, and, bowing low, he greeted the
elder, but the younger and fairer he took lightly in his arms, and
kissed her courteously, and greeted her in knightly wise. Then she
hailed him as friend, and he quickly prayed to be counted as her
servant, if she so willed. Then they took him between them, and talking,
led him to the chamber, to the hearth, and bade them bring spices, and
they brought them in plenty with the good wine that was wont to be drunk
at such seasons. Then the lord sprang to his feet and bade them make
merry, and took off his hood, and hung it on a spear, and bade him win
the worship thereof who should make most mirth that Christmas-tide. “And
I shall try, by my faith, to fool it with the best, by the help of my
friends, ere I lose my raiment.” Thus with gay words the lord made trial
to gladden Gawain with jests that night, till it was time to bid them
light the tapers, and Sir Gawain took leave of them and gat him to rest.


Of the Christmas feast

In the morn when all men call to mind how Christ our Lord was born on
earth to die for us, there is joy, for His sake, in all dwellings of the
world; and so was there here on that day. For high feast was held, with
many dainties and cunningly cooked messes. On the daïs sat gallant men,
clad in their best. The ancient dame sat on the high seat, with the lord
of the castle beside her. Gawain and the fair lady sat together, even in
the midst of the board, when the feast was served; and so throughout all
the hall each sat in his degree, and was served in order. There was
meat, there was mirth, there was much joy, so that to tell thereof would
take me too long, though peradventure I might strive to declare it. But
Gawain and that fair lady had much joy of each other’s company through
her sweet words and courteous converse. And there was music made before
each prince, trumpets and drums, and merry piping; each man hearkened
his minstrel, and they too hearkened theirs.


How the feast came to an end but Gawain abode at the castle

So they held high feast that day and the next, and the third day
thereafter, and the joy on S. John’s Day was fair to hearken, for ’twas
the last of the feast, and the guests would depart in the grey of the
morning. Therefore they awoke early, and drank wine, and danced fair
carols, and at last, when it was late, each man took his leave to wend
early on his way. Gawain would bid his host farewell, but the lord took
him by the hand, and led him to his own chamber beside the hearth, and
there he thanked him for the favour he had shown him in honouring his
dwelling at that high season, and gladdening his castle with his fair
countenance. “I wis, sir, that while I live I shall be held the worthier
that Gawain has been my guest at God’s own feast.”

“Gramercy, sir,” quoth Gawain, “in good faith, all the honour is yours,
may the High King give it ye, and I am but at your will to work your
behest, inasmuch as I am beholden to ye in great and small by rights.”

Then the lord did his best to persuade the knight to tarry with him, but
Gawain answered that he might in no wise do so. Then the host asked him
courteously what stern behest had driven him at the holy season from the
king’s court, to fare all alone, ere yet the feast was ended?

“Forsooth,” quoth the knight, “ye say but the truth: ’tis a high quest
and a pressing that hath brought me afield, for I am summoned myself to
a certain place, and I know not whither in the world I may wend to find
it; so help me Christ, I would give all the kingdom of Logres an I might
find it by New Year’s morn. Therefore, sir, I make request of ye that ye
tell me truly if ye ever heard word of the Green Chapel, where it may be
found, and the Green Knight that keeps it. For I am pledged by solemn
compact sworn between us to meet that knight at the New Year if so I
were on life; and of that same New Year it wants but little—I’ faith, I
would look on that hero more joyfully than on any other fair sight!
Therefore, by your will, it behoves me to leave ye, for I have but
barely three days, and I would as fain fall dead as fail of mine
errand.”

Then the lord quoth, laughing, “Now must ye needs stay, for I will show
ye your goal, the Green Chapel, ere your term be at an end, have ye no
fear! But ye can take your ease, friend, in your bed, till the fourth
day, and go forth on the first of the year, and come to that place at
mid-morn to do as ye will. Dwell here till New Year’s Day, and then rise
and set forth, and ye shall be set in the way; ’tis not two miles
hence.”

Then was Gawain glad, and he laughed gaily. “Now I thank ye for this
above all else. Now my quest is achieved I will dwell here at your will,
and otherwise do as ye shall ask.”

Then the lord took him, and set him beside him, and bade the ladies be
fetched for their greater pleasure, tho’ between themselves they had
solace. The lord, for gladness, made merry jest, even as one who wist
not what to do for joy; and he cried aloud to the knight, “Ye have
promised to do the thing I bid ye: will ye hold to this behest, here, at
once?”

“Yea, forsooth,” said that true knight, “while I abide in your burg I am
bound by your behest.”

“Ye have travelled from far,” said the host, “and since then ye have
waked with me, ye are not well refreshed by rest and sleep, as I know.
Ye shall therefore abide in your chamber, and lie at your ease to-morrow
at Mass-tide, and go to meat when ye will with my wife, who shall sit
with ye, and comfort ye with her company till I return; and I shall rise
early and go forth to the chase.” And Gawain agreed to all this
courteously.


Sir Gawain makes a covenant with his host

“Sir knight,” quoth the host, “we will make a covenant. Whatsoever I win
in the wood shall be yours, and whatever may fall to your share, that
shall ye exchange for it. Let us swear, friend, to make this exchange,
however our hap may be, for worse or for better.”

“I grant ye your will,” quoth Gawain the good; “if ye list so to do, it
liketh me well.”

“Bring hither the wine-cup, the bargain is made,” so said the lord of
that castle. They laughed each one, and drank of the wine, and made
merry, these lords and ladies, as it pleased them. Then with gay talk
and merry jest they arose, and stood, and spoke softly, and kissed
courteously, and took leave of each other. With burning torches, and
many a serving man, was each led to his couch; yet ere they gat them to
bed the old lord oft repeated their covenant, for he knew well how to
make sport.




                                  III


    [Illustration: Illustrated drop-cap]


The first day’s hunting

Full early, ere daylight, the folk rose up; the guests who would depart
called their grooms, and they made them ready, and saddled the steeds,
tightened up the girths, and trussed up their mails. The knights, all
arrayed for riding, leapt up lightly, and took their bridles, and each
rode his way as pleased him best.

The lord of the land was not the last. Ready for the chase, with many of
his men, he ate a sop hastily when he had heard Mass, and then with
blast of the bugle fared forth to the field.[8] He and his nobles were
to horse ere daylight glimmered upon the earth.

Then the huntsmen coupled their hounds, unclosed the kennel door, and
called them out. They blew three blasts gaily on the bugles, the hounds
bayed fiercely, and they that would go a-hunting checked and chastised
them. A hundred hunters there were of the best, so I have heard tell.
Then the trackers gat them to the trysting-place and uncoupled the
hounds, and the forest rang again with their gay blasts.

At the first sound of the hunt the game quaked for fear, and fled,
trembling, along the vale. They betook them to the heights, but the
liers in wait turned them back with loud cries; the harts they let pass
them, and the stags with their spreading antlers, for the lord had
forbidden that they should be slain, but the hinds and the does they
turned back, and drave down into the valleys. Then might ye see much
shooting of arrows. As the deer fled under the boughs a broad whistling
shaft smote and wounded each sorely, so that, wounded and bleeding, they
fell dying on the banks. The hounds followed swiftly on their tracks,
and hunters, blowing the horn, sped after them with ringing shouts that
well-nigh burst the cliffs asunder. What game escaped those that shot
was run down at the outer ring. Thus were they driven on the hills, and
harassed at the waters, so well did the men know their work, and the
greyhounds were so great and swift that they ran them down as fast as
the hunters could slay them. Thus the lord passed the day in mirth and
joyfulness, even to nightfall.


How the lady of the castle came to Sir Gawain

So the lord roamed the woods, and Gawain, that good knight, lay ever
a-bed, curtained about, under the costly coverlet, while the daylight
gleamed on the walls. And as he lay half slumbering, he heard a little
sound at the door, and he raised his head, and caught back a corner of
the curtain, and waited to see what it might be. It was the lovely lady,
the lord’s wife; she shut the door softly behind her, and turned towards
the bed; and Gawain laid him down softly and made as if he slept. And
she came lightly to the bedside, within the curtain, and sat herself
down beside him, to wait till he wakened. The knight lay there awhile,
and marvelled within himself what her coming might betoken; and he said
to himself, “’Twere more seemly if I asked her what hath brought her
hither.” Then he made feint to waken, and turned towards her, and opened
his eyes as one astonished, and crossed himself; and she looked on him
laughing, with her cheeks red and white, lovely to behold.

“Good morrow, Sir Gawain,” said that fair lady; “ye are but a careless
sleeper, since one can enter thus. Now are ye taken unawares, and lest
ye escape me I shall bind you in your bed; of that be ye assured!”
Laughing, she spake these words.

“Good morrow, fair lady,” quoth Gawain blithely. “I will do your will,
as it likes me well. For I yield me readily, and pray your grace, and
that is best, by my faith, since I needs must do so.” Thus he jested
again, laughing. “But an ye would, fair lady, grant me this grace that
ye pray your prisoner to rise. I would get me from bed, and array me
better, then could I talk with ye in more comfort.”

“Nay, forsooth, fair sir,” quoth the lady, “ye shall not rise, I will
rede ye better. I shall keep ye here, since ye can do no other, and talk
with my knight whom I have captured. For I know well that ye are Sir
Gawain, whom all the world worships, wheresoever ye may ride. Your
honour and your courtesy are praised by lords and ladies, by all who
live. Now ye are here and we are alone, my lord and his men are afield;
the serving men in their beds, and my maidens also, and the door shut
upon us. And since in this hour I have him that all men love, I shall
use my time well with speech, while it lasts. Ye are welcome to my
company, for it behoves me in sooth to be your servant.”

“In good faith,” quoth Gawain, “I think me that I am not he of whom ye
speak, for unworthy am I of such service as ye here proffer. In sooth, I
were glad if I might set myself by word or service to your pleasure; a
pure joy would it be to me!”

“In good faith, Sir Gawain,” quoth the gay lady, “the praise and the
prowess that pleases all ladies I lack them not, nor hold them light;
yet are there ladies enough who would liever now have the knight in
their hold, as I have ye here, to dally with your courteous words, to
bring them comfort and to ease their cares, than much of the treasure
and the gold that are theirs. And now, through the grace of Him who
upholds the heavens, I have wholly in my power that which they all
desire!”

Thus the lady, fair to look upon, made him great cheer, and Sir Gawain,
with modest words, answered her again: “Madam,” he quoth, “may Mary
requite ye, for in good faith I have found in ye a noble frankness. Much
courtesy have other folk shown me, but the honour they have done me is
naught to the worship of yourself, who knoweth but good.”

“By Mary,” quoth the lady, “I think otherwise; for were I worth all the
women alive, and had I the wealth of the world in my hand, and might
choose me a lord to my liking, then, for all that I have seen in ye, Sir
Knight, of beauty and courtesy and blithe semblance, and for all that I
have hearkened and hold for true, there should be no knight on earth to
be chosen before ye!”

“Well I wot,” quoth Sir Gawain, “that ye have chosen a better; but I am
proud that ye should so prize me, and as your servant do I hold ye my
sovereign, and your knight am I, and may Christ reward ye.”

So they talked of many matters till mid-morn was past, and ever the lady
shewed her love to him, and the knight turned her speech aside. For
though she were the brightest of maidens, yet had he forborne to shew
her love for the danger that awaited him, and the blow that must be
given without delay.

Then the lady prayed her leave from him, and he granted it readily. And
she gave him good-day, with laughing glance, but he must needs marvel at
her words:

“Now He that speeds fair speech reward ye this disport; but that ye be
Gawain my mind misdoubts me greatly.”

“Wherefore?” quoth the knight quickly, fearing lest he had lacked in
some courtesy.

And the lady spake: “So true a knight as Gawain is holden, and one so
perfect in courtesy, would never have tarried so long with a lady but he
would of his courtesy have craved a kiss at parting.”


How the lady kissed Sir Gawain

Then quoth Gawain, “I wot I will do even as it may please ye, and kiss
at your commandment, as a true knight should who forbears to ask for
fear of displeasure.”

At that she came near and bent down and kissed the knight, and each
commended the other to Christ, and she went forth from the chamber
softly.

Then Sir Gawain arose and called his chamberlain and chose his garments,
and when he was ready he gat him forth to Mass, and then went to meat,
and made merry all day till the rising of the moon, and never had a
knight fairer lodging than had he with those two noble ladies, the elder
and the younger.

And ever the lord of the land chased the hinds through holt and heath
till eventide, and then with much blowing of bugles and baying of hounds
they bore the game homeward; and by the time daylight was done all the
folk had returned to that fair castle. And when the lord and Sir Gawain
met together, then were they both well pleased. The lord commanded them
all to assemble in the great hall, and the ladies to descend with their
maidens, and there, before them all, he bade the men fetch in the spoil
of the day’s hunting, and he called unto Gawain, and counted the tale of
the beasts, and showed them unto him, and said, “What think ye of this
game, Sir Knight? Have I deserved of ye thanks for my woodcraft?”

“Yea, I wis,” quoth the other, “here is the fairest spoil I have seen
this seven year in the winter season.”


How the covenant was kept

“And all this do I give ye, Gawain,” quoth the host, “for by accord of
covenant ye may claim it as your own.”

“That is sooth,” quoth the other, “I grant you that same; and I have
fairly won this within walls, and with as good will do I yield it to
ye.” With that he clasped his hands round the lord’s neck and kissed him
as courteously as he might. “Take ye here my spoils, no more have I won;
ye should have it freely, though it were greater than this.”

“’Tis good,” said the host, “gramercy thereof. Yet were I fain to know
where ye won this same favour, and if it were by your own wit?”

“Nay,” answered Gawain, “that was not in the bond. Ask me no more: ye
have taken what was yours by right, be content with that.”

They laughed and jested together, and sat them down to supper, where
they were served with many dainties; and after supper they sat by the
hearth, and wine was served out to them; and oft in their jesting they
promised to observe on the morrow the same covenant that they had made
before, and whatever chance might betide to exchange their spoil, be it
much or little, when they met at night. Thus they renewed their bargain
before the whole court, and then the night-drink was served, and each
courteously took leave of the other and gat him to bed.


Of the second day’s hunting

By the time the cock had crowed thrice the lord of the castle had left
his bed; Mass was sung and meat fitly served. The folk were forth to the
wood ere the day broke, with hound and horn they rode over the plain,
and uncoupled their dogs among the thorns. Soon they struck on the
scent, and the hunt cheered on the hounds who were first to seize it,
urging them with shouts. The others hastened to the cry, forty at once,
and there rose such a clamour from the pack that the rocks rang again.
The huntsmen followed hard after with shouting and blasts of the horn;
and the hounds drew together to a thicket betwixt the water and a high
crag in the cliff beneath the hillside. As the rough rocks were ill for
riding the huntsmen sprang to earth and hastened on foot, and cast about
round the hill and the thicket. The knights wist well what beast was
within, and would drive him forth with the bloodhounds. And as they beat
the bushes, suddenly over the beaters there rushed forth a wondrous
great and fierce boar, long since had he left the herd to roam by
himself. Grunting, he cast many to the ground, and fled forth at his
best speed, without more mischief. The men hallooed loudly and cried,
“_Hay! Hay!_” and blew the horns to urge on the hounds, and rode swiftly
after the boar. Many a time did he turn to bay and tare the hounds, and
they yelped, and howled shrilly. Then the men made ready their arrows
and shot at him, but the points were turned on his thick hide, and the
barbs would not bite upon him, for the shafts shivered in pieces, and
the head but leapt again wherever it hit.

But when the boar felt the stroke of the arrows he waxed mad with rage,
and turned on the hunters and tare many, so that, affrighted, they fled
before him. But the lord on a swift steed pursued him, blowing his
bugle; as a gallant knight he rode through the woodland chasing the boar
till the sun grew low.

So did the hunters this day, while Sir Gawain lay in his bed lapped in
rich gear; and the lady forgat not to salute him, for early was she at
his side, to cheer his mood.


Of the lady and Sir Gawain

She came to the bedside and looked on the knight, and Gawain gave her
fit greeting, and she greeted him again with ready words, and sat her by
his side and laughed, and with a sweet look she spoke to him:

“Sir, if ye be Gawain, I think it a wonder that ye be so stern and cold,
and care not for the courtesies of friendship, but if one teach ye to
know them ye cast the lesson out of your mind. Ye have soon forgotten
what I taught ye yesterday, by all the truest tokens that I knew!”

“What is that?” quoth the knight. “I trow I know not. If it be sooth
that ye say, then is the blame mine own.”

“But I taught ye of kissing,” quoth the fair lady. “Wherever a fair
countenance is shown him, it behoves a courteous knight quickly to claim
a kiss.”

“Nay, my dear,” said Sir Gawain, “cease that speech; that durst I not do
lest I were denied, for if I were forbidden I wot I were wrong did I
further entreat.”

“I’ faith,” quoth the lady merrily, “ye may not be forbid, ye are strong
enough to constrain by strength an ye will, were any so discourteous as
to give ye denial.”

“Yea, by Heaven,” said Gawain, “ye speak well; but threats profit little
in the land where I dwell, and so with a gift that is given not of good
will! I am at your commandment to kiss when ye like, to take or to leave
as ye list.”

Then the lady bent her down and kissed him courteously.


How the lady strove to beguile Sir Gawain with words of love

And as they spake together she said, “I would learn somewhat from ye, an
ye would not be wroth, for young ye are and fair, and so courteous and
knightly as ye are known to be, the head of all chivalry, and versed in
all wisdom of love and war—’tis ever told of true knights how they
adventured their lives for their true love, and endured hardships for
her favours, and avenged her with valour, and eased her sorrows, and
brought joy to her bower; and ye are the fairest knight of your time,
and your fame and your honour are everywhere, yet I have sat by ye here
twice, and never a word have heard of love! Ye who are so courteous and
skilled in such lore ought surely to teach one so young and unskilled
some little craft of true love! Why are ye so unlearned who art
otherwise so famous? Or is it that ye deem me unworthy to hearken to
your teaching? For shame, Sir Knight! I come hither alone and sit at
your side to learn of ye some skill; teach me of your wit, while my lord
is from home.”

“In good faith,” quoth Gawain, “great is my joy and my profit that so
fair a lady as ye are should deign to come hither, and trouble ye with
so poor a man, and make sport with your knight with kindly countenance,
it pleaseth me much. But that I, in my turn, should take it upon me to
tell of love and such like matters to ye who know more by half, or a
hundred fold, of such craft than I do, or ever shall in all my lifetime,
by my troth ’twere folly indeed! I will work your will to the best of my
might as I am bounden, and evermore will I be your servant, so help me
Christ!”

Then often with guile she questioned that knight that she might win him
to woo her, but he defended himself so fairly that none might in any
wise blame him, and naught but bliss and harmless jesting was there
between them. They laughed and talked together till at last she kissed
him, and craved her leave of him, and went her way.


How the boar was slain

Then the knight arose and went forth to Mass, and afterward dinner was
served, and he sat and spake with the ladies all day. But the lord of
the castle rode ever over the land chasing the wild boar, that fled
through the thickets, slaying the best of his hounds and breaking their
backs in sunder; till at last he was so weary he might run no longer,
but made for a hole in a mound by a rock. He got the mound at his back
and faced the hounds, whetting his white tusks and foaming at the mouth.
The huntsmen stood aloof, fearing to draw nigh him; so many of them had
been already wounded that they were loth to be torn with his tusks, so
fierce he was and mad with rage. At length the lord himself came up, and
saw the beast at bay, and the men standing aloof. Then quickly he sprang
to the ground and drew out a bright blade, and waded through the stream
to the boar.

When the beast was ware of the knight with weapon in hand, he set up his
bristles and snorted loudly, and many feared for their lord lest he
should be slain. Then the boar leapt upon the knight so that beast and
man were one atop of the other in the water; but the boar had the worst
of it, for the man had marked, even as he sprang, and set the point of
his brand to the beast’s chest, and drove it up to the hilt, so that the
heart was split in twain, and the boar fell snarling, and was swept down
by the water to where a hundred hounds seized on him, and the men drew
him to shore for the dogs to slay.

Then was there loud blowing of horns and baying of hounds, the huntsmen
smote off the boar’s head, and hung the carcase by the four feet to a
stout pole, and so went on their way homewards. The head they bore
before the lord himself, who had slain the beast at the ford by force of
his strong hand.

It seemed him o’er long ere he saw Sir Gawain in the hall, and he blew a
blast on his horn to let all men know that he was come again to take his
part in the covenant. And when he saw Gawain the lord laughed aloud, and
bade them call the ladies and the household together, and he showed them
the game, and told them the tale, how they had hunted the wild boar
through the woods, and of his length and breadth and height; and Sir
Gawain commended his deeds and praised him for his valour, well proven,
for so mighty a beast had he never seen before.


The keeping of the covenant

Then they handled the huge head, and the lord said aloud, “Now, Gawain,
this game is your own by sure covenant, as ye right well know.”

“’Tis sooth,” quoth the knight, “and as truly will I give ye all I have
gained.” He took the host round the neck, and kissed him courteously
twice. “Now are we quits,” he said, “this eventide, of all the covenants
that we made since I came hither.”

And the lord answered, “By S. Giles, ye are the best I know; ye will be
rich in a short space if ye drive such bargains!”

Then they set up the tables on trestles, and covered them with fair
cloths, and lit waxen tapers on the walls. The knights sat and were
served in the hall, and much game and glee was there round the hearth,
with many songs, both at supper and after; songs of Christmas, and new
carols, with all the mirth one may think of. And ever that lovely lady
sat by the knight, and with still stolen looks made such feint of
pleasing him, that Gawain marvelled much, and was wroth with himself,
but he could not for his courtesy return her fair glances, but dealt
with her cunningly, however she might strive to wrest the thing.

When they had tarried in the hall so long as it seemed them good, they
turned to the inner chamber and the wide hearth-place, and there they
drank wine, and the host proffered to renew the covenant for New Year’s
Eve; but the knight craved leave to depart on the morrow, for it was
nigh to the term when he must fulfil his pledge. But the lord would
withhold him from so doing, and prayed him to tarry, and said,

“As I am a true knight I swear my troth that ye shall come to the Green
Chapel to achieve your task on New Year’s morn, long before prime.
Therefore abide ye in your bed, and I will hunt in this wood, and hold
ye to the covenant to exchange with me against all the spoil I may bring
hither. For twice have I tried ye, and found ye true, and the morrow
shall be the third time and the best. Make we merry now while we may,
and think on joy, for misfortune may take a man whensoever it wills.”

Then Gawain granted his request, and they brought them drink, and they
gat them with lights to bed.


Of the third day’s hunting

Sir Gawain lay and slept softly, but the lord, who was keen on
woodcraft, was afoot early. After Mass he and his men ate a morsel, and
he asked for his steed; all the knights who should ride with him were
already mounted before the hall gates.

’Twas a fair frosty morning, for the sun rose red in ruddy vapour, and
the welkin was clear of clouds. The hunters scattered them by a forest
side, and the rocks rang again with the blast of their horns. Some came
on the scent of a fox, and a hound gave tongue; the huntsmen shouted,
and the pack followed in a crowd on the trail. The fox ran before them,
and when they saw him they pursued him with noise and much shouting, and
he wound and turned through many a thick grove, often cowering and
hearkening in a hedge. At last by a little ditch he leapt out of a
spinney, stole away slily by a copse path, and so out of the wood and
away from the bounds. But he went, ere he wist, to a chosen tryst, and
three started forth on him at once, so he must needs double back, and
betake him to the wood again.

Then was it joyful to hearken to the hounds; when all the pack had met
together and had sight of their game they made as loud a din as if all
the lofty cliffs had fallen clattering together. The huntsmen shouted
and threatened, and followed close upon him so that he might scarce
escape, but Reynard was wily, and he turned and doubled upon them, and
led the lord and his men over the hills, now on the slopes, now in the
vales, while the knight at home slept through the cold morning beneath
his costly curtains.


How the lady came for the third time to Sir Gawain

But the fair lady of the castle rose betimes, and clad herself in a rich
mantle that reached even to the ground, and was bordered and lined with
costly furs. On her head she wore no golden circlet, but a network of
precious stones, that gleamed and shone through her tresses in clusters
of twenty together. Thus she came into the chamber and set open a
window, and called to him gaily, “Sir Knight, how may ye sleep? The
morning is so fair.”

Sir Gawain was deep in slumber, and in his dream he vexed him much for
the destiny that should befall him on the morrow, when he should meet
the knight at the Green Chapel, and abide his blow; but when the lady
spake he heard her, and came to himself, and roused from his dream and
answered swiftly. The lady came laughing, and kissed him courteously,
and he welcomed her fittingly with a cheerful countenance. He saw her so
glorious and gaily dressed, so faultless of features and complexion,
that it warmed his heart to look upon her.

They spake to each other smiling, and all was bliss and good cheer
between them. They exchanged fair words, and much happiness was therein,
yet was there a gulf between them, and she might win no more of her
knight, for that gallant prince watched well his words—he would neither
take her love, nor frankly refuse it. He cared for his courtesy, lest he
be deemed churlish, and yet more for his honour lest he be traitor to
his host. “God forbid,” quoth he to himself, “that it should so befall.”
Thus with courteous words did he set aside all the special speeches that
came from her lips.

Then spake the lady to the knight, “Ye deserve blame if ye hold not that
lady who sits beside ye above all else in the world, if ye have not
already a love whom ye hold dearer, and like better, and have sworn such
firm faith to that lady that ye care not to loose it—as I scarce may
believe. And now I pray ye straitly that ye tell me that in truth, and
hide it not.”

And the knight answered, “By S. John” (and he smiled as he spake) “no
such love have I, nor do I think to have yet awhile.”

“That is the worst word I may hear,” quoth the lady, “but in sooth I
have mine answer; kiss me now courteously, and I will go hence; I can
but mourn as a maiden that loves much.”

Sighing, she stooped down and kissed him, and then she rose up and spake
as she stood, “Now, dear, at our parting do me this grace: give me some
gift, if it were but thy glove, that I may bethink me of my knight, and
lessen my mourning.”


The lady would fain have a parting gift from Gawain

“Now, I wis,” quoth the knight, “I would that I had here but the least
thing that I possess on earth that I might leave ye as love-token, great
or small, for ye have deserved forsooth more reward than I might give
ye. But it is not to your honour to have at this time a glove for reward
as gift from Gawain, and I am here on a strange errand, and have no man
with me, nor mails with goodly things—that mislikes me much, lady, at
this time; but each man must fare as he is taken, if for sorrow and
ill.”


She would give him her ring

“Nay, knight highly honoured,” quoth that lovesome lady, “though I have
naught of yours, yet shall ye have somewhat of mine.” With that she
reached him a ring of red gold with a sparkling stone therein, that
shone even as the sun (wit ye well, it was worth many marks); but the
knight refused it, and spake readily,

“I will take no gift, lady, at this time. I have none to give, and none
will I take.”

She prayed him to take it, but he refused her prayer, and sware in sooth
that he would not have it.


Or her girdle

The lady was sorely vexed, and said, “If ye refuse my ring as too
costly, that ye will not be so highly beholden to me, I will give ye my
girdle[9] as a lesser gift.” With that she loosened a lace that was
fastened at her side, knit upon her kirtle under her mantle. It was
wrought of green silk, and gold, only braided by the fingers, and that
she offered to the knight, and besought him though it were of little
worth that he would take it, and he said nay, he would touch neither
gold nor gear ere God give him grace to achieve the adventure for which
he had come hither. “And therefore, I pray ye, displease ye not, and ask
me no longer, for I may not grant it. I am dearly beholden to ye for the
favour ye have shown me, and ever, in heat and cold, will I be your true
servant.”


The virtue of the girdle

“Now,” said the lady, “ye refuse this silk, for it is simple in itself,
and so it seems, indeed; lo, it is small to look upon and less in cost,
but whoso knew the virtue that is knit therein he would, peradventure,
value it more highly. For whatever knight is girded with this green
lace, while he bears it knotted about him there is no man under heaven
can overcome him, for he may not be slain for any magic on earth.”


How Sir Gawain took the girdle

Then Gawain bethought him, and it came into his heart that this were a
jewel for the jeopardy that awaited him when he came to the Green Chapel
to seek the return blow—could he so order it that he should escape
unslain, ’twere a craft worth trying. Then he bare with her chiding, and
let her say her say, and she pressed the girdle on him and prayed him to
take it, and he granted her prayer, and she gave it him with good will,
and besought him for her sake never to reveal it but to hide it loyally
from her lord; and the knight agreed that never should any man know it,
save they two alone. He thanked her often and heartily, and she kissed
him for the third time.

Then she took her leave of him, and when she was gone Sir Gawain arose,
and clad him in rich attire, and took the girdle, and knotted it round
him, and hid it beneath his robes. Then he took his way to the chapel,
and sought out a priest privily, and prayed him to teach him better how
his soul might be saved when he should go hence; and there he shrived
him, and showed his misdeeds, both great and small, and besought mercy
and craved absolution; and the priest assoiled him, and set him as clean
as if Doomsday had been on the morrow. And afterwards Sir Gawain made
him merry with the ladies, with carols, and all kinds of joy, as never
he did but that one day, even to nightfall; and all the men marvelled at
him, and said that never since he came thither had he been so merry.


The death of the fox

Meanwhile the lord of the castle was abroad chasing the fox; awhile he
lost him, and as he rode through a spinney he heard the hounds near at
hand, and Reynard came creeping through a thick grove, with all the pack
at his heels. Then the lord drew out his shining brand, and cast it at
the beast, and the fox swerved aside for the sharp edge, and would have
doubled back, but a hound was on him ere he might turn, and right before
the horse’s feet they all fell on him, and worried him fiercely,
snarling the while.

Then the lord leapt from his saddle, and caught the fox from their jaws,
and held it aloft over his head, and hallooed loudly, and the hunters
hied them thither, blowing their horns; all that bare bugles blew them
at once, and all the others shouted. ’Twas the merriest meeting that
ever men heard, the clamour that was raised at the death of the fox.
They rewarded the hounds, stroking them and rubbing their heads, and
took Reynard and stripped him of his coat; then blowing their horns,
they turned them homewards, for it was nigh nightfall.


How Sir Gawain kept not all the covenant

The lord was gladsome at his return, and found a bright fire on the
hearth, and the knight beside it, the good Sir Gawain, who was in joyous
mood for the pleasure he had had with the ladies. He wore a robe of
blue, that reached even to the ground, and a surcoat richly furred, that
became him well. A hood like to the surcoat fell on his shoulders, and
all alike were done about with fur. He met the host in the midst of the
floor, and jesting, he greeted him, and said, “Now shall I be first to
fulfil our covenant which we made together when there was no lack of
wine.” Then he embraced the knight, and kissed him thrice, as solemnly
as he might.

“Of a sooth,” quoth the other, “ye have good luck in the matter of this
covenant, if ye made a good exchange!”

“Yea, it matters naught of the exchange,” quoth Gawain, “since what I
owe is swiftly paid.”

“Marry,” said the other, “mine is behind, for I have hunted all this
day, and naught have I got but this foul fox-skin, and that is but poor
payment for three such kisses as ye have here given me.”

“Enough,” quoth Sir Gawain, “I thank ye, by the Rood.”

Then the lord told them of his hunting, and how the fox had been slain.

With mirth and minstrelsy, and dainties at their will, they made them as
merry as a folk well might till ’twas time for them to sever, for at
last they must needs betake them to their beds. Then the knight took his
leave of the lord, and thanked him fairly.

“For the fair sojourn that I have had here at this high feast may the
High King give ye honour. I give ye myself, as one of your servants, if
ye so like; for I must needs, as ye know, go hence with the morn, and ye
will give me, as ye promised, a guide to show me the way to the Green
Chapel, an God will suffer me on New Year’s Day to deal the doom of my
weird.”

“By my faith,” quoth the host, “all that ever I promised, that shall I
keep with good will.” Then he gave him a servant to set him in the way,
and lead him by the downs, that he should have no need to ford the
stream, and should fare by the shortest road through the groves; and
Gawain thanked the lord for the honour done him. Then he would take
leave of the ladies, and courteously he kissed them, and spake, praying
them to receive his thanks, and they made like reply; then with many
sighs they commended him to Christ, and he departed courteously from
that folk. Each man that he met he thanked him for his service and his
solace, and the pains he had been at to do his will; and each found it
as hard to part from the knight as if he had ever dwelt with him.


How Sir Gawain took leave of his host

Then they led him with torches to his chamber, and brought him to his
bed to rest. That he slept soundly I may not say, for the morrow gave
him much to think on. Let him rest a while, for he was near that which
he sought, and if ye will but listen to me I will tell ye how it fared
with him thereafter.




                                   IV


    [Illustration: Illustrated drop-cap]

Now the New Year drew nigh, and the night passed, and the day chased the
darkness, as is God’s will; but wild weather wakened therewith. The
clouds cast the cold to the earth, with enough of the north to slay them
that lacked clothing. The snow drave smartly, and the whistling wind
blew from the heights, and made great drifts in the valleys. The knight,
lying in his bed, listened, for though his eyes were shut he might sleep
but little, and hearkened every cock that crew.

He arose ere the day broke, by the light of a lamp that burned in his
chamber, and called to his chamberlain, bidding him bring his armour and
saddle his steed. The other gat him up, and fetched his garments, and
robed Sir Gawain.


The robing of Sir Gawain

First he clad him in his clothes to keep off the cold, and then in his
harness, which was well and fairly kept. Both hauberk and plates were
well burnished, the rings of the rich byrny freed from rust, and all as
fresh as at first, so that the knight was fain to thank them. Then he
did on each piece, and bade them bring his steed, while he put the
fairest raiment on himself; his coat with its fair cognizance, adorned
with precious stones upon velvet, with broidered seams, and all furred
within with costly skins. And he left not the lace, the lady’s gift,
that Gawain forgot not, for his own good. When he had girded on his
sword he wrapped the gift twice about him, swathed around his waist. The
girdle of green silk set gaily and well upon the royal red cloth, rich
to behold, but the knight ware it not for pride of the pendants,
polished though they were, with fair gold that gleamed brightly on the
ends, but to save himself from sword and knife, when it behoved him to
abide his hurt without question. With that the hero went forth, and
thanked that kindly folk full often.


How Sir Gawain went forth from the castle

Then was Gringalet ready, that was great and strong, and had been well
cared for and tended in every wise; in fair condition was that proud
steed, and fit for a journey. Then Gawain went to him, and looked on his
coat, and said by his sooth, “There is a folk in this place that
thinketh on honour; much joy may they have, and the lord who maintains
them, and may all good betide that lovely lady all her life long. Since
they for charity cherish a guest, and hold honour in their hands, may He
who holds the heaven on high requite them, and also ye all. And if I
might live anywhile on earth, I would give ye full reward, readily, if
so I might.” Then he set foot in the stirrup and bestrode his steed, and
his squire gave him his shield, which he laid on his shoulder. Then he
smote Gringalet with his golden spurs, and the steed pranced on the
stones and would stand no longer.

By that his man was mounted, who bare his spear and lance, and Gawain
quoth, “I commend this castle to Christ, may He give it ever good
fortune.” Then the drawbridge was let down, and the broad gates unbarred
and opened on both sides; the knight crossed himself, and passed through
the gateway, and praised the porter, who knelt before the prince, and
gave him good-day, and commended him to God. Thus the knight went on his
way with the one man who should guide him to that dread place where he
should receive rueful payment.

The two went by hedges where the boughs were bare, and climbed the
cliffs where the cold clings. Naught fell from the heavens, but ’twas
ill beneath them; mist brooded over the moor and hung on the mountains;
each hill had a cap, a great cloak, of mist. The streams foamed and
bubbled between their banks, dashing sparkling on the shores where they
shelved downwards. Rugged and dangerous was the way through the woods,
till it was time for the sun-rising. Then were they on a high hill; the
snow lay white beside them, and the man who rode with Gawain drew rein
by his master.


The squire’s warning

“Sir,” he said, “I have brought ye hither, and now ye are not far from
the place that ye have sought so specially. But I will tell ye for
sooth, since I know ye well, and ye are such a knight as I well love,
would ye follow my counsel ye would fare the better.


Of the knight of the Green Chapel

“The place whither ye go is accounted full perilous, for he who liveth
in that waste is the worst on earth, for he is strong and fierce, and
loveth to deal mighty blows; taller is he than any man on earth, and
greater of frame than any four in Arthur’s court, or in any other. And
this is his custom at the Green Chapel: there may no man pass by that
place, however proud his arms, but he does him to death by force of his
hand, for he is a discourteous knight, and shews no mercy. Be he churl
or chaplain who rides by that chapel, monk or mass-priest, or any man
else, he thinks it as pleasant to slay them as to pass alive himself.
Therefore, I tell ye, as sooth as ye sit in saddle, if ye come there and
that knight know it, ye shall be slain, though ye had twenty lives; trow
me that truly! He has dwelt here full long and seen many a combat; ye
may not defend ye against his blows. Therefore, good Sir Gawain, let the
man be, and get ye away some other road; for God’s sake seek ye another
land, and there may Christ speed ye! And I will hie me home again, and I
promise ye further that I will swear by God and the saints, or any other
oath ye please, that I will keep counsel faithfully, and never let any
wit the tale that ye fled for fear of any man.”


Sir Gawain is none dismayed

“Gramercy,” quoth Gawain, but ill pleased. “Good fortune be his who
wishes me good, and that thou wouldst keep faith with me I well believe;
but didst thou keep it never so truly, an I passed here and fled for
fear as thou sayest, then were I a coward knight, and might not be held
guiltless. So I will to the chapel let chance what may, and talk with
that man, even as I may list, whether for weal or for woe as fate may
have it. Fierce though he may be in fight, yet God knoweth well how to
save His servants.”

“Well,” quoth the other, “now that ye have said so much that ye will
take your own harm on yourself, and ye be pleased to lose your life, I
will neither let nor keep ye. Have here your helm and the spear in your
hand, and ride down this same road beside the rock till ye come to the
bottom of the valley, and there look a little to the left hand, and ye
shall see in that vale the chapel, and the grim man who keeps it. Now
fare ye well, noble Gawain; for all the gold on earth I would not go
with ye nor bear ye fellowship one step further.” With that the man
turned his bridle into the wood, smote the horse with his spurs as hard
as he could, and galloped off, leaving the knight alone.

Quoth Gawain, “I will neither greet nor groan, but commend myself to
God, and yield me to His will.”

Then the knight spurred Gringalet, and rode adown the path close in by a
bank beside a grove. So he rode through the rough thicket, right into
the dale, and there he halted, for it seemed him wild enough. No sign of
a chapel could he see, but high and burnt banks on either side and rough
rugged crags with great stones above. An ill-looking place he thought
it.

Then he drew in his horse and looked around to seek the chapel, but he
saw none and thought it strange. Then he saw as it were a mound on a
level space of land by a bank beside the stream where it ran swiftly,
the water bubbled within as if boiling. The knight turned his steed to
the mound, and lighted down and tied the rein to the branch of a linden;
and he turned to the mound and walked round it, questioning with himself
what it might be. It had a hole at the end and at either side, and was
overgrown with clumps of grass, and it was hollow within as an old cave
or the crevice of a crag; he knew not what it might be.


The finding of the chapel

“Ah,” quoth Gawain, “can this be the Green Chapel? Here might the devil
say his mattins at midnight! Now I wis there is wizardry here. ’Tis an
ugly oratory, all overgrown with grass, and ’twould well beseem that
fellow in green to say his devotions on devil’s wise. By my five wits,
’tis the foul fiend himself who hath set me this tryst, to destroy me
here! This is a chapel of mischance: ill-luck betide it, ’tis the
cursedest kirk that ever I came in!”

Helmet on head and lance in hand, he came up to the rough dwelling, when
he heard over the high hill beyond the brook, as it were in a bank, a
wondrous fierce noise, that rang in the cliff as if it would cleave
asunder. ’Twas as if one ground a scythe on a grindstone, it whirred and
whetted like water on a mill-wheel and rushed and rang, terrible to
hear.

“By God,” quoth Gawain, “I trow that gear is preparing for the knight
who will meet me here. Alas! naught may help me, yet should my life be
forfeit, I fear not a jot!” With that he called aloud. “Who waiteth in
this place to give me tryst? Now is Gawain come hither: if any man will
aught of him let him hasten hither now or never.”


The coming of the Green Knight

“Stay,” quoth one on the bank above his head, “and ye shall speedily
have that which I promised ye.” Yet for a while the noise of whetting
went on ere he appeared, and then he came forth from a cave in the crag
with a fell weapon, a Danish axe newly dight, wherewith to deal the
blow. An evil head it had, four feet large, no less, sharply ground, and
bound to the handle by the lace that gleamed brightly. And the knight
himself was all green as before, face and foot, locks and beard, but now
he was afoot. When he came to the water he would not wade it, but sprang
over with the pole of his axe, and strode boldly over the brent that was
white with snow.

Sir Gawain went to meet him, but he made no low bow. The other said,
“Now, fair sir, one may trust thee to keep tryst. Thou art welcome,
Gawain, to my place. Thou hast timed thy coming as befits a true man.
Thou knowest the covenant set between us: at this time twelve months
agone thou didst take that which fell to thee, and I at this New Year
will readily requite thee. We are in this valley, verily alone, here are
no knights to sever us, do what we will. Have off thy helm from thine
head, and have here thy pay; make me no more talking than I did then
when thou didst strike off my head with one blow.”

“Nay,” quoth Gawain, “by God that gave me life, I shall make no moan
whatever befall me, but make thou ready for the blow and I shall stand
still and say never a word to thee, do as thou wilt.”

With that he bent his head and shewed his neck all bare, and made as if
he had no fear, for he would not be thought a-dread.


How Sir Gawain failed to stand the blow

Then the Green Knight made him ready, and grasped his grim weapon to
smite Gawain. With all his force he bore it aloft with a mighty feint of
slaying him: had it fallen as straight as he aimed he who was ever
doughty of deed had been slain by the blow. But Gawain swerved aside as
the axe came gliding down to slay him as he stood, and shrank a little
with the shoulders, for the sharp iron. The other heaved up the blade
and rebuked the prince with many proud words:


Of the Green Knight’s reproaches

“Thou art not Gawain,” he said, “who is held so valiant, that never
feared he man by hill or vale, but _thou_ shrinkest for fear ere thou
feelest hurt. Such cowardice did I never hear of Gawain! Neither did _I_
flinch from thy blow, or make strife in King Arthur’s hall. My head fell
to my feet, and yet I fled not, but thou didst wax faint of heart ere
any harm befell. Wherefore must I be deemed the braver knight.”

Quoth Gawain, “I shrank once, but so will I no more, though an _my_ head
fall on the stones I cannot replace it. But haste, Sir Knight, by thy
faith, and bring me to the point, deal me my destiny, and do it out of
hand, for I will stand thee a stroke and move no more till thine axe
have hit me—my troth on it.”

“Have at thee, then,” quoth the other, and heaved aloft the axe with
fierce mien, as if he were mad. He struck at him fiercely but wounded
him not, withholding his hand ere it might strike him.

Gawain abode the stroke, and flinched in no limb, but stood still as a
stone or the stump of a tree that is fast rooted in the rocky ground
with a hundred roots.

Then spake gaily the man in green, “So now thou hast thine heart whole
it behoves me to smite. Hold aside thy hood that Arthur gave thee, and
keep thy neck thus bent lest it cover it again.”

Then Gawain said angrily, “Why talk on thus? Thou dost threaten too
long. I hope thy heart misgives thee.”


How the Green Knight dealt the blow

“For sooth,” quoth the other, “so fiercely thou speakest I will no
longer let thine errand wait its reward.” Then he braced himself to
strike, frowning with lips and brow, ’twas no marvel that he who hoped
for no rescue misliked him. He lifted the axe lightly and let it fall
with the edge of the blade on the bare neck. Though he struck swiftly it
hurt him no more than on the one side where it severed the skin. The
sharp blade cut into the flesh so that the blood ran over his shoulder
to the ground. And when the knight saw the blood staining the snow, he
sprang forth, swift-foot, more than a spear’s length, seized his helmet
and set it on his head, cast his shield over his shoulder, drew out his
bright sword, and spake boldly (never since he was born was he half so
blithe), “Stop, Sir Knight, bid me no more blows. I have stood a stroke
here without flinching, and if thou give me another, I shall requite
thee, and give thee as good again. By the covenant made betwixt us in
Arthur’s hall but one blow falls to me here. Halt, therefore.”


Of the three covenants

Then the Green Knight drew off from him, and leaned on his axe, setting
the shaft on the ground, and looked on Gawain as he stood all armed and
faced him fearlessly—at heart it pleased him well. Then he spake merrily
in a loud voice, and said to the knight, “Bold sir, be not so fierce, no
man here hath done thee wrong, nor will do, save by covenant, as we made
at Arthur’s court. I promised thee a blow and thou hast it—hold thyself
well paid! I release thee of all other claims. If I had been so minded I
might perchance have given thee a rougher buffet. First I menaced thee
with a feigned one, and hurt thee not for the covenant that we made in
the first night, and which thou didst hold truly. All the gain didst
thou give me as a true man should. The other feint I proffered thee for
the morrow: my fair wife kissed thee, and thou didst give me her
kisses—for both those days I gave thee two blows without scathe—true
man, true return. But the third time thou didst fail, and therefore
hadst thou that blow. For ’tis my weed thou wearest, that same woven
girdle, my own wife wrought it, that do I wot for sooth. Now know I well
thy kisses, and thy conversation, and the wooing of my wife, for ’twas
mine own doing. I sent her to try thee, and in sooth I think thou art
the most faultless knight that ever trode earth. As a pearl among white
peas is of more worth than they, so is Gawain, i’ faith, by other
knights. But thou didst lack a little, Sir Knight, and wast wanting in
loyalty, yet that was for no evil work, nor for wooing neither, but
because thou lovedst thy life—therefore I blame thee the less.”


The shame of Sir Gawain

Then the other stood a great while still, sorely angered and vexed
within himself; all the blood flew to his face, and he shrank for shame
as the Green Knight spake; and the first words he said were, “Cursed be
ye, cowardice and covetousness, for in ye is the destruction of virtue.”
Then he loosed the girdle, and gave it to the knight. “Lo, take there
the falsity, may foul befall it! For fear of thy blow cowardice bade me
make friends with covetousness and forsake the customs of largess and
loyalty, which befit all knights. Now am I faulty and false and have
been afeard: from treachery and untruth come sorrow and care. I avow to
thee, Sir Knight, that I have ill done; do then thy will. I shall be
more wary hereafter.”

Then the other laughed and said gaily, “I wot I am whole of the hurt I
had, and thou hast made such free confession of thy misdeeds, and hast
so borne the penance of mine axe-edge, that I hold thee absolved from
that sin, and purged as clean as if thou hadst never sinned since thou
wast born. And this girdle that is wrought with gold and green, like my
raiment, do I give thee, Sir Gawain, that thou mayest think upon this
chance when thou goest forth among princes of renown, and keep this for
a token of the adventure of the Green Chapel, as it chanced between
chivalrous knights. And thou shalt come again with me to my dwelling and
pass the rest of this feast in gladness.” Then the lord laid hold of
him, and said, “I wot we shall soon make peace with my wife, who was thy
bitter enemy.”


How Sir Gawain would keep the girdle

“Nay, forsooth,” said Sir Gawain and seized his helmet and took it off
swiftly, and thanked the knight: “I have fared ill, may bliss betide
thee, and may He who rules all things reward thee swiftly. Commend me to
that courteous lady, thy fair wife, and to the other my honoured ladies,
who have beguiled their knight with skilful craft. But ’tis no marvel if
one be made a fool and brought to sorrow by women’s wiles, for so was
Adam beguiled, and many a mighty man of old, Samson, and David, and
Solomon—if one might love a woman and believe her not, ’twere great
gain! And since all they were beguiled by women, methinks ’tis the less
blame to me that I was misled! But as for thy girdle, that will I take
with good will, not for gain of the gold, nor for samite, nor silk, nor
the costly pendants, neither for weal nor for worship, but in sign of my
frailty. I shall look upon it when I ride in renown and remind myself of
the fault and faintness of the flesh; and so when pride uplifts me for
prowess of arms, the sight of this lace shall humble my heart. But one
thing would I pray, if it displease thee not: since thou art lord of
yonder land wherein I have dwelt, tell me what thy rightful name may be,
and I will ask no more.”


How the marvel was wrought

“That will I truly,” quoth the other. “Bernlak de Hautdesert am I called
in this land. Morgain le Fay dwelleth in mine house,[10] and through
knowledge of clerkly craft hath she taken many. For long time was she
the mistress of Merlin, who knew well all you knights of the court.
Morgain the goddess is she called therefore, and there is none so
haughty but she can bring him low. She sent me in this guise to yon fair
hall to test the truth of the renown that is spread abroad of the valour
of the Round Table. She taught me this marvel to betray your wits, to
vex Guinevere and fright her to death by the man who spake with his head
in his hand at the high table. That is she who is at home, that ancient
lady, she is even thine aunt, Arthur’s half-sister, the daughter of the
Duchess of Tintagel, who afterward married King Uther. Therefore I bid
thee, knight, come to thine aunt, and make merry in thine house; my folk
love thee, and I wish thee as well as any man on earth, by my faith, for
thy true dealing.”

But Sir Gawain said nay, he would in no wise do so; so they embraced and
kissed, and commended each other to the Prince of Paradise, and parted
right there, on the cold ground. Gawain on his steed rode swiftly to the
king’s hall, and the Green Knight got him whithersoever he would.


How Sir Gawain came again to Camelot

Sir Gawain, who had thus won grace of his life, rode through wild ways
on Gringalet; oft he lodged in a house, and oft without, and many
adventures did he have and came off victor full often, as at this time I
cannot relate in tale. The hurt that he had in his neck was healed, he
bare the shining girdle as a baldric bound by his side, and made fast
with a knot ’neath his left arm, in token that he was taken in a
fault—and thus he came in safety again to the court.

Then joy awakened in that dwelling when the king knew that the good Sir
Gawain was come, for he deemed it gain. King Arthur kissed the knight,
and the queen also, and many valiant knights sought to embrace him. They
asked him how he had fared, and he told them all that had chanced to
him—the adventure of the chapel, the fashion of the knight, the love of
the lady—at last of the lace. He showed them the wound in the neck which
he won for his disloyalty at the hand of the knight, the blood flew to
his face for shame as he told the tale.


Sir Gawain makes confession of his fault

“Lo, lady,” he quoth, and handled the lace, “this is the bond of the
blame that I bear in my neck, this is the harm and the loss I have
suffered, the cowardice and covetousness in which I was caught, the
token of my covenant in which I was taken. And I must needs wear it so
long as I live, for none may hide his harm, but undone it may not be,
for if it hath clung to thee once, it may never be severed.”


The knights wear the lace in honour of Gawain

Then the king comforted the knight, and the court laughed loudly at the
tale, and all made accord that the lords and the ladies who belonged to
the Round Table, each hero among them, should wear bound about him a
baldric of bright green[11] for the sake of Sir Gawain. And to this was
agreed all the honour of the Round Table, and he who ware it was
honoured the more thereafter, as it is testified in the best book of
romance.


The end of the tale

That in Arthur’s days this adventure befell, the book of Brutus bears
witness. For since that bold knight came hither first, and the siege and
the assault were ceased at Troy, I wis

  Many a venture herebefore
    Hath fallen such as this:
  May He that bare the crown of thorn
    Bring us unto His bliss.


                                 _Amen_




                                 Notes


[0]. Page 2.—_Carol._ Dance accompanied by song. Often mentioned in old
    romances.

[1]. Page 4.—_Agravain_, “_à la dure main_.” This characterisation of
    Gawain’s brother seems to indicate that there was a French source at
    the root of this story. The author distinctly tells us more than
    once that the tale, as he tells it, was written _in a book_. M.
    Gaston Paris thinks that the direct source was an Anglo-Norman poem,
    now lost.

[2]. Page 10.—_If any in this hall holds himself so hardy._ This, the
    main incident of the tale, is apparently of very early date. The
    oldest version we possess is that found in the Irish tale of the
    _Fled Bricrend_ (Bricriu’s feast), where the hero of the tale is the
    Irish champion, Cuchulinn. Two mediæval romances, the _Mule sans
    Frein_ (French) and _Diu Krône_ (German), again attribute it to
    Gawain; while the continuator of Chrétien de Troye’s _Conte del
    Graal_ gives as hero a certain Carados, whom he represents as
    Arthur’s nephew; and the prose _Perceval_ has Lancelot. So far as
    the mediæval versions are concerned, the original hero is
    undoubtedly Gawain; and our poem gives the fullest and most complete
    form of the story we possess. In the Irish version the magician is a
    _giant_, and the abnormal size and stature of the Green Knight is,
    in all probability, the survival of a primitive feature. His curious
    _colour_ is a trait found nowhere else. In _Diu Krône_ we are told
    that the challenger changes shapes in a terrifying manner, but no
    details are given.

[3]. Page 19.—_For Yule was over-past._ This passage, descriptive of the
    flight of the year, should be especially noticed. Combined with
    other passages—the description of Gawain’s journey, the early
    morning hunts, the dawning of New Year’s Day, and the ride to the
    Green Chapel—they indicate a knowledge of Nature, and an observant
    eye for her moods, uncommon among mediæval poets. It is usual enough
    to find graceful and charming descriptions of spring and early
    summer—an appreciation of _May_ in especial, when the summer courts
    were held, is part of the stock-in-trade of mediæval romancers—but a
    sympathy with the year in all its changes is far rarer, and
    certainly deserves to be specially reckoned to the credit of this
    nameless writer.

[4]. Page 22.—_First a rich carpet was stretched on the floor._ The
    description of the arming of Gawain is rather more detailed in the
    original, but some of the minor points are not easy to understand,
    the identification of sundry of the pieces of armour being doubtful.

[5]. Page 24.—_The pentangle painted thereupon in gleaming gold._ I do
    not remember that the pentangle is elsewhere attributed to Gawain.
    He often bears a red shield; but the blazon varies. Indeed, the
    heraldic devices borne by Arthur’s knights are distractingly
    chaotic—their legends are older than the science of heraldry, and no
    one has done for them the good office that the compiler of the
    Thidrek Saga has rendered to his Teutonic heroes.

[6]. Page 26.—_The Wilderness of Wirral._ This is in Cheshire. Sir F.
    Madden suggests that the forest which forms the final stage of
    Gawain’s journey is that of Inglewood, in Cumberland. The geography
    here is far clearer than is often the case in such descriptions.

[7]. Page 29.—_’Twas the fairest castle that ever a knight owned._ Here,
    again, I have omitted some of the details of the original, the
    architectural terms lacking identification.

[8]. Page 43.—_With blast of the bugle fared forth to the field._ The
    account of each day’s hunting contains a number of obsolete terms
    and details of woodcraft, not given in full. The meaning of some has
    been lost, and the minute description of skinning and dismembering
    the game would be distinctly repulsive to the general reader. They
    are valuable for a student of the history of the English sport, but
    interfere with the progress of the story. The fact that the author
    devotes so much space to them seems to indicate that he lived in the
    country and was keenly interested in field sports. (Gottfried von
    Stressbourg’s _Tristan_ contains a similar and almost more detailed
    description.)

[9]. Page 65.—_I will give thee my girdle._ This magic girdle, which
    confers invulnerability on its owner, is a noticeable feature of our
    story. It is found nowhere else in this connection, yet in other
    romances we find that Gawain possesses a girdle with similar powers
    (cf., my _Legend of Sir Gawain_, Chap. IX.). Such a talisman was
    also owned by Cuchulinn, the Irish hero, who has many points of
    contact with Gawain. It seems not improbable that this was also an
    old feature of the story. I have commented, in the Introduction, on
    the lady’s persistent wooing of Gawain, and need not repeat the
    remarks here. The Celtic _Lay of the Great Fool_ (_Amadan Mor_)
    presents some curious points of contact with our story, which may,
    however, well be noted here. In the _Lay_ the hero is mysteriously
    deprived of his legs, through the draught from a cup proffered by a
    _Gruagach_ or magician. He comes to a castle, the lord of which goes
    out hunting, leaving his wife in the care of the Great Fool, who is
    to allow no man to enter. He falls asleep, and a young knight
    arrives and kisses the host’s wife. The Great Fool, awaking, refuses
    to allow the intruder to depart; and, in spite of threats and
    blandishments, insists on detaining him till the husband returns.
    Finally, the stranger reveals himself as the host in another shape;
    he is also the _Gruagach_, who deprived the hero of his limbs, and
    the Great Fool’s brother. He has only intended to test the _Amadan
    Mor’s_ fidelity. A curious point in connection with this story is
    that it possesses a prose opening which shows a marked affinity with
    the “Perceval” _enfances_. That the Perceval and Gawain stories
    early became connected is certain, but what is the precise
    connection between them and the Celtic _Lay_ is not clear. _In its
    present form_ the latter is certainly posterior to the Grail
    romances, but it is quite possible that the matter with which it
    deals represents a tradition older than the Arthurian story.

[10]. Page 88.—_Morgain le Fay, who dwelleth in my house._ The enmity
    between Morgain le Fay and Guinevere, which is here stated to have
    been the _motif_ of the enchantment, is no invention of the author,
    but is found in the _Merlin_, probably the earliest of the Arthurian
    _prose_ romances. In a later version of our story, a poem, written
    in ballad form, and contained in the “Percy” MS., Morgain does not
    appear; her place is taken by an old witch, mother to the lady, but
    the enchantment is still due to her spells. In this later form the
    knight bears the curious name of _Sir Bredbeddle_. That given in our
    romance, _Bernlak de Hautdesert_, seems to point to the original
    French source of the story. (It is curious that Morgain should here
    be represented as extremely old, while Arthur is still in his first
    youth. There is evidently a discrepancy or misunderstanding of the
    source here.)

[11]. Page 90.—_A baldric of bright green, for sake of Sir Gawain._—The
    later version connects this _lace_ with that worn by the knights of
    the Bath; but this latter was _white_, not _green_. The knights wore
    it on the left shoulder till they had done some gallant deed, or
    till some noble lady took it off for them.


                 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson _&_ Co.
                           London & Edinburgh




                          Transcriber’s Notes


—Silently corrected a few typos.

—Retained publication information from the printed edition: this eBook
  is public-domain in the country of publication.

—In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by
  _underscores_.

—Created a Table of Contents based on the sidenotes.