Sir Gawain and the Green Knight — Part III
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight — Part III
The Gawain Poet
[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.
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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