Fit
I
When the siege and the assault were ceasèd at Troy,
When the burg had been broken, and burnt to ashes,
The wight that the trains of treason there laid
Was tried for his treachery, the truest on earth:
It was Éneas the Athel and his high kindred
Who kingdoms then conquered, and princes became
Of all the wealth, well-nigh, in the West Isles.
Sóon as the róyal Rómulus to Rome made his way,
That burg with great pomp then builded he first
And named it his own name, as now it is called:
Ticius in Tuscany townships founded,
Langobard in Lombardy lifted up homes,
And far o’er the French flood Felix Brutus
On many a bank full broad, Britain he set,
well fain.
War and woe and wonder
On that fair land have lain,
And oft both bliss and blunder,
Time and time again.
Now when Britain had been built by Brutus the prince,
Bold men there bred, that lov’d battle and strife
And at times a many wrought teen and trouble;
More wonders, I wis, on this wold have befallen
Than on any other I wot of, since those ancient days.
But of all that here built, that of Britain were kings,
Áy was Árthur the noblest, as I have heard tell;
And so an adventure I essay to show you,
Which many men reckon a main marvel,
All wonders o’ertopping that of the Table are told.
If ye’ll listen to my lay but a little while,
I shall tell ’t you this tide, as in town I heard it,
with tongue.
Well is it writ for you
In story brave and strong,
Linkèd with letters true;
In land has so been long
The King lay at Camelot at Christmastide,
With many a lovesome lord, leal men of the best,
All the royal brethren of the Round Table,
Amid revel full rich and reckless mirths.
There true knights tourney’d, by times, full many,
Jousted right jollily these gentle peers,
Then came to the court their carols to dance.
For the feast went on full fifteen days,
With all the meat and mirth that men could avise—
Such gladsome glee glorious to hear,
Merry din by day, and dancing o’ nights,
That all was happiness in hall and in chamber
Among lords and ladies: ’twas the liege king’s pleasure.
With all the weal of the world they wonèd together—
Knights noblest known under Christ himself,
And the loveliest ladies that life ever had,
And he the comeliest King, that the court ruled,
And these fair folk all, in the flower of their age,
so free,
On earth the happiest ay,
And the proudest Prince was he;
Ye might not find today
So brave a company.
The year was yet young, ’twas the day of New Year,
And double (as is due) on the dais was served;
Soon as the King with his knights had come into hall
And the chauntry in the chapel was chanted to an end,
Loud cry was uprais’d by common and clerk,
Who kept Noel anew and named it full oft;
Then hied in the courtiers handsel to offer,
Gaily cried Yule-gifts and gave them by hand,
All busily debating about the event—
Ladies laugh’d loud although they had lost,
And the winners were not wroth, well may ye trow.
So made they their mirth till meal-time was come,
And when they had wash’d, then went they to table,
And were rangèd by rank, as the rule is in hall.
Queen Guenore full gay was graith’d in the midst
On the royal dais, royally array’d
With sendal at the sides, and a ceiling above her,
Tapestries full rich of the red Tars
Embroider’d and beaten with the bravest gems
That might be provèd priceless, with pennies to buy,
for ay;
Loveliest she look’d of all
With glancing eyes and gray,
The dearest dame in hall,
Might each man soothly say.
But Arthur would not eat till all had been served,
He was somewhat childgear’d, and gay of his youth,
Life sat on him light, and the less he lovèd
Either too long to lie or too long to sit;
So busied him young blood, and his eager brain.
And another mood moved him: for much did he love
All noble renown, and ne’er would he eat
At such a dear season till someone had told him
Some story of chivalry, stirring and strange,
Some main marvel, that he might believe in,
Of high knightérrantry, or other adventure,
Or till someone besought him of a sickar knight
To join him in jousting and jeopardy of arms,
Stake life for life, and each allow other
As fortune should favour advantage to have.
So custom’d the King, where court he e’er held,
On each festive feast-day, with his free meiny
in Hall.
Therefore so proud of cheer
Stalwart he stands in stall;
Gaily at that New Year
Much mirth he makes with all.
Thus in stall did he stand, the stalwart Arthur,
And lightly of trifles he talk’d at the table.
Beside Queen Guenore Sir Gawain was graith’d,
And Agravain Hard-hand at her other side sat,
That were nephews to the King, and knights full noble;
Bishop Baldwin was above, at the end of the board,
And Urien’s son, Ewain, ate with his Grace.
These were dight on the dais and daintily served,
And many a sickar man sat at the sideboards.
Then came in the course with a crack of the trumpets,
Many banners full bright a-hanging thereby:
The kettledrums next and the noble pipes
Wild notes and shrill with their warbles awaken’d,
So that every heart leapt high at their touches.
Came dainties therewith and dishes full pleasant,
Fresh meats in plenty, on platters so many
That ’twas pain to find place, the people before,
To set all the silver with sews thereupon,
on cloth.
A man might serve himself
As list him, nothing loth;
Each two had dishes twelve,
Good beer and bright wine both
Now shall I of their service say you no more,
For well may ye weet, no wánt was among them.
Another note full new was sounded anon,
That the folk might have leave to fall to their vittails.
But the noise of that note had nó while ceas’d
Or the first course in the court full kindly been serv’d,
When there flúng in, on foal, a fearsome master,
His stature the tallest and stoutest on earth,
His body to the waist so broad and so burly,
And his loins and his limbs so long and so great,
Half giant at first they judg’d he might be,
But a man he was truly, the mightiest of mould
And the finest of figure that on foal might ride.
For of back and of breast his body was big,
Yet his waist and his womb were worthily small,
And his members, each one, match’d them in measure,
full clean.
All wonder’d at his hue,
And eke his lordly mien;
He seem’d bold knight and true,
But glow’d all over green.
All wondrous in green was this wight, and his weeds:
A close-fitting coat that clung on his body,
A merry mantle over it, meetly adorn’d
With fair-trimmed fur, a lining full fine
Of blythe ermine bright; and a hood with it bound,
Caught back from his locks and laid on his shoulders;
Neat hose well-haul’d, of that hue all of green,
That closed on his calf, and clean spurs under
Of oright gold, on silk bands, barrèd full richly,
And pointed shoes under shanks, that shone in the stirrup
All his vésture vérily was of verdant sheen,
Both the bars of his belt, and the bright jewels
That were richly arranged o’er the radiant array
Of silken stuffs, on himself and his saddle.
It were tedious to tell of the trifles one half
That were broider’d thereon, of the birds and the flies,
All in gay hues of green, with gold in the midst.
The pendants of his poitrel and the proud crupper,
The molains, the metal, aumáil’d were of green,
The stirrups that he stood in stain’d of the same,
The saddlebows in suit, and the splendid pommels—
All glimmer’d and gleam’d with the green jewels;
And the foal that he fared on, of fine green too,
certain;
A green horse great and strong,
A stiff steed to restrain,
With broider’d bridle-thong,
He match’d the man, ’tis plain.
All gaily in green this gallant was gear’d,
And the hair of his head with his horse was in suit;
Fair waving locks that enfolded his shoulders,
A great beard like a bush o’er his breast falling,
Which with the athel hair that hung from his head
Was bobb’d all about, the elbows above,
That the half of his arms it halchèd thereunder,
Like a King’s capados that clings on him close.
The mane of his horse full meetly it match’d,
Well crispèd and comb’d, with knots very many
Folden with fildor the fair green amongst—
A harl of the hair with a harl of the gold:
His tail and his topping were twinèd in suit,
Bounden were both with a bright green band,
And dubb’d with rich stones to the dock’s end;
On his head was a wharl-knot wound with a ribbon,
Where many bells full bright of brent gold rung.
Such a foal upon field, such a rider on foal,
No eye in that hall had beheld ere that hour,
Pardie!
He look’d as levin, bright,
Said all that did him see;
Them thought that no man might
Endure his dints to dree.
Yet had he no helmet nor hawberk either,
No pisan nor plate, not a piece of armour,
No shield nor no shaft to shove with or strike;
But he held in one hand a cluster of holly
That is greatest in green when groves are bare,
And an axe in the other, huge beyond measure,
A terrible tool to tell of in speech:
The head of this axe had an ellyard’s length,
The grain of green steel with gold was enchasèd,
The bit burnisht bright, with a broad edge on it
As well shapen to sheer as a sharp razor.
The stale to this steel was a timber full stout
That with iron was wound to the wánd’s ènd
And engravèd in green with gracious devices:
A lace round it lapp’d that lock’d at the head,
And was halchèd full often the handle about,
With many a choice tassel attachèd thereto
On buttons of bright green broider’d full rich.
This áthel híes him ín and the hall enters,
Driving to the dais: no danger he fear’d.
He gave none greeting but gazed ay before him,
And no word did he utter, but “where is” (quoth he)
“The governor of this gyng? full glad should I be
Of that same to have sight, and with him would speak
reasón.”
On knights he cast his e’en
And swagger’d up and down,
Then stopp’d, and studied keen
Who there had most renown.
There was long looking that liege to behold,
Not a man but marvel’d what it might mean,
That an athel and a horse should have such a colour
As to grow green as grass, and greener it seem’d,
Glowing more green than enamel on gold.
They studied what stood there, then stalk’d it a-nigh
With áll the wónder in the wórld what work it would do,
For many a marvel had they seen but no marvel like this;
Wherefore phantom and fäerie the folk must it deem,
And many an athel was for answer o’erawed.
All were stounded at his speech and stood there like stocks,
In a swooning silence; as on sleep they were fall’n,
All that court so stately were still as a stone
well-nigh;
Not all, in faith! for fear,
But some for courtesy;
On the Prince that had no peer
They waited for reply.
By the dais he marks this marvel of a man,
And courteously accosts him, that coward was never:
“Ye are welcome, good wight, I wis, to this place;
I am head of this hostel, Arthur my name;
May it list you alight, and lodge here, I pray you,
And whatso your will is, we shall weet after.”
“Nay, so help me,” said he, “the high God in heaven.
To wone any while, it was not mine errand.
’Tis because thy fame, Sir, is flaunted so high,
And thy burg and thy barons the best are holden,
Stoutest under steel-gear on steed to ride,
Worthiest and wightest of the world’s children,
Proved men to play with in all pure games,
And here courtesy is custom (I know it by tale),
That I have wended me hither, I wis, at this tide.
Full sure may ye be by this branch that I bear,
That I pass as in peace, and no peril I seek;
For with force had I fared in fighting array,
I have a hauberk at home and a helmet too,
A shield and a sharp spear, shining all bright,
And other weapons to wield, full well do I know;
But war I would not, and my weeds are the softer.
If so hardy thou be as by all thou art holden,
Thou wilt grant of thy grace the game that I ask
by right.”
Arthur made answer clear,
Said he, “Sir courteous knight,
If thou crave combat here
Thou failest not to fight.”
“Nay, in faith,” said the fell man, “no fight do I challenge;
The boys on this bench are but beardless children.
Were I haspèd in arms on a hígh stèed.
No man here could match me, their might is too feeble.
Wherefore I crave in this court but a Christmas game,
For ’tis Yule and New Year, and youth ye have here:
If any in this house so hardy him hold,
Be so bold in his blood, and of brain so wild,
As stiffly to strike one stroke for another,
I give him for gift this gísarm noble,
This axe so heavy, to handle as he likes,
And I bide the first blow, as bare as I sit.
If any be so true as to test what I tell ye,
Let him leap to me lightly, I lend him this weapon
(He may keep it his own, I quit-claim it for ever)
To stand him a stroke full stoutly on floor;
And I bargain for naught but a blow in return,
barlay:
Yet give I him respite,
A twelvemonth and a day;
Now haste! Will any wight
Herein dare ought to say?”
If at first they were stounded, e’en stiller were then
All the athels in hall, both the high and the low.
The rider on his rouncy wroth him in saddle,
And rudely his red eyes rolling about him
Pucker’d his bristled brows, that blinkèd so green,
And waving his beard watch’d who would rise.
When none him accosted he cough’d very loud,
Stretch’d him with an air, and straightway gan speak:
“What! is this Arthur’s house?” quoth the athel at last,
“That the rumour runs of through realms so many?
Where are your pomp and your pride, and the prowess ye vaunt of,
Your warplay so grim, and your great talking?
Now is the revel and renown of the Round Table
By a word o’erwalted of one wight’s speech,
For all dote ye for dread ere a dint be offered.”
With that he laugh’d so loud that the liege King griev’d,
And for shame the blood shot to his face so sheen
of cheer.
He wax’d as wroth as wind,
So did all that were there.
The King so bold by kind
Then stood that stalwart near,
And said, “Athel, by heaven, thy asking is foolish;
And as folly thou hast sought, befalls thee to find it.
I know none that is abasht at thy boasting so big;
Give me now thy gisarm, in God’s name, I pray thee,
For gladly I grant thee the grace thou hast ask’d.”
He leapt to him lightly, and lent him his hand,
And fiercely the fell man alighted on foot.
Now Arthur has his axe, and the haulm he grips,
And sternly makes play, of his stroke thinking.
The stalwart before him stands like a tower,
Higher than ány in that hóuse by a head and far more;
With stern cheer he stands, and his beard he strokes,
Then with countenance dree he draws down his coat,
No more daunted or dismay’d for the dread buffet
Than if boy upon bench had brought him to drink
of wine.
Gawain from seat did rise
And to the King incline,
“I beseech you, Sir, (he cries)
This mellay might be mine.”
“Would ye now! worthy lord,” said that wight to the King,
“Bid me stir from this stall and stand by you there,
That so without villainy I void from this table?
If my liege lady liked it not ill
Before this high court I would come to your counsel.
For methinks it not seemly (’tis sooth that I say)
That the King’s own person to combat be call’d,
Though yourself be desirous to take up the suit,
While so bold men on bench about you are sitting—
And no wights in the world of will are so keen
Or have better bodies on bent, where battle is rear’d.
I am weakest, I wot, and the feeblest of wit,
And least loss were my life, would ye learn but the truth—
That my uncle ye are, is all I can plead,
And no bounty but your blood in my body I know.
This antick adventure behoves not your Highness;
To me let it fall, since first I besought it,
And if I counsel not comely, the Court shall decide,
nor blame.”
The courtiers, whispering,
Debate the double claim,
Relieve the crownèd King
And give Gawain the game.
Then commanded the King that the Knight should arise;
And he drew from his seat, and came down from the dais,
Kneel’d to the King, and claspèd the weapon;
And the liege lord releas’d it, and lifting his hand
God’s blessing him gave and gladly him bade
Both his heart and his hand right hardy to keep.
“Mind, cousin!” quoth the King, “one cut that thou give him.
And if thou fight with him fair, unafearèd, I trow,
Shalt thou dree any dint he may deal thee after.”
Then grips he the gisarm and goes to his man.
Who boldly him bides and no whit is abash’d
But speaks to Sir Gawain, that gallant in green:
“Recite we our forewards ere further we fare.
I conjure thee, as true Knight, that truly thou tell me
What is thy name: thy word I would have.”
“In good faith,” quoth he, “Gawain my name is
Who deal thee this dint, what doom so betide,
And at this time twelvemonth I take one of thee
With what weapon thou wilt, and no wight with me bring
alive.”
He answers him again,
“Sir Gawain, so may I thrive,
But I am wondrous fain
This dint that thou shalt drive.”
“Egod,” quoth the green one, “right glad am I, Sir,
At thy hand to receive the service I sought;
Thou hast rightly rehears’d, by reasons full true,
All the covenant clean, that I craved of the King,
Sáve that thou assure me on thy sickar troth,
That thyself thou wilt seek me, wheresó that thou thinkest
I may be found upon fold, and fetch thee such wages
As thou deal’st me today this dais beside.”
“Whither,” said the wight, “shall I wend on that errand?
Where thou wonest I wot not, by Him that me wrought,
Nor know I thee, Sir Knight, by court or by name;
Now teach me thereto, and tell me the truth,
And áll my wít I shall wáre to win to thy place—
I swear it for sooth, as a sickar knight.”
“ ’Tis enough at New Year (what needs any more?)”
Said the gallant in green to the knightly Gawain,
“If I tell thee of that, when the tap I have ta’en.
When thou hast smitten me fair, I shall smartly teach thee
Of my house and my home and my ówn nàme;
Then my troth mayst thou try, and to foreward be true.
And no speech if I spend, thou speedest the better,
For thou may’st lodge in thy land, nor look any further:—
Let be!
Grip thy grim tool amain,
Thy dints now let us see.”
“Gladly, sir,” says Gawain,
And stern his axe strokes he.
The Green Knight on ground graithly him dresses,
A little he louts, to let the skin show,
His long lovely locks he lays o’er his crown,
And the naked nape for the knock makes ready.
Gawain gripp’d his axe and heav’d it on high
(His left foot forward, firm on the floor),
Then swung it adown full swift on the bare,
That the sharp edge shore, sheer through the báckbone,
Cut the flesh cleanly, and clove him in two.
The blade of the bright steel bit in the ground,
The head from a-high to the earth bounded,
So that many foin’d it with their feet, as forward it roll’d.
The blood from the body blink’d on the green:
Yet nor falter’d nor fell the fey man for all that,
But started forth stoutly on stalwart shanks,
And roughly he reach’d, mid the ranks on the floor,
For his lovely head, that he lifted at once:
Then he turns to his colt and, catching the bridle,
Steps into steelbow and strides aloft,
Holding by the hair his head in his hand,
And as soberly seats him in saddle again
As no únhap had ail’d him, though headless he was.
Sans head,
He writhèd every way
The gruesome trunk that bled;
Ere he had said his say
Many of him had dread.
For the head in his hand he holds up aright,
Toward the dukes on the dais he dresses the face,
And it lifts up its lids, and looks with its eyes,
And moots with its mouth as much as this speech:
“See, Gawain, thou be graith to go as thou said’st
And as faithfully seek, good friend, till thou find me,
As in hall thou didst promise, in these athels’ hearing.
To the Green Chapel fare, I charge thee, to fetch
Such a dint as thou dealtest, the due that thou owest
To be presently paid at New-Year by prime.
Men know me as Knight of the Green Chapel:
So to find, if thou seek, failest thou never.
Wherefore come, or coward behoves thee be call’d.”
With a roar and a rout the reins did he turn,
Flung oút at the háll-door, his head in his hand.
And the flint-sparks flew from his fóal’s hòoves.
Whither he went no wight of them knew,
Any more than they wist from whence he was come:
What then?
The King and Gawain there
At the green one laugh’d and gren;
Yet all must it declare
A marvel among men.
Though Arthur the high King at heart had wonder,
No sign he let see, but said as beseem’d
To the comely queen, with courteous speech:
“Dear dame, this day be ye daunted no whit!
Well becomes such craft at Christmastide,
Laiking of interlude, laughter and song,
Among courtly carols of knights and ladies.
Ne’ertheless to my meat I máy me address,
For a marvel have I met, I must not gainsay it.”
He glanced on Sir Gawain, and graciously said he:
“Now, Sir, hang up thine axe, that has hewen enough.”
Then over the dais ’twas dight on a dorser,
Where all might behold it on high and marvel,
And by title thereof tell the tale of wonder.
Then they moved to their meal full meetly together,
The King and the knight, and keen men them served
Of all dainties double, as dearest them seem’d.
With all manner of meat, and minstrelsy too,
They spent the glad day, till speeded an end
in land.
Now, Gawain, make thou sure
Faint-heart that thou withstand,
To seek the adventure
That thou hast ta’en in hand.