Sir Gawain and the Green Knight — Part I
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight — Part I
The Gawain Poet
[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.
Verse breaks and indentation are preserved. Wrapped lines have a hanging indent. Width adapts to your screen.
Complete four-part 1898 retelling in modern English prose by Jessie L. Weston. · Translated by Jessie L. Weston
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