Book IV

Now nigheth the New Year, past are the hours of night,
And, e'en as God doth will, darkness must yield to light,
But weather wild awakes e'en with the New Year's birth,
Aloft, the driving clouds cast the keen cold to earth,
Enow of North therein the naked wight to slay —
The snow, it smartly drave across the fells that day,
With whistling blast the wind doth whirl it from on high,
Till, in each dale, the drifts both wide and deep they lie.
The knight, he hearkened well, as in his bed he lay,
But, tho' his eyes were shut, little he slept alway.
By every cock that crew, the hour right well he knew,
And lightly gat him up, ere yet to dawn it drew,
For in the chamber burned a lamp that gave him light —
His chamberlain he called, who answered him forthright,
Bade him his byrnie bring, and saddle his good steed;
The other gat him up, and swiftly fetched his weed,
Then was Sir Gawain clad in fitting wise, and fair,
First, in his clothes he 's wrapt, the cold from him to 'ware,
Then he his harness doffs, that well was kept, I ween,
The plates, the coat of mail, alike are polished clean,
And of his byrnie rich, the rings from rust are freed,
'T was fresh as at the first — Of thanks, he fain full meed
would bring —
He did on him each piece,
They lacked no burnishing,
Gayest from here to Greece,
His steed he bade them bring.

The while in richest weed he doth himself array,
His coat, with cognizance embroidered clear and gay,
On velvet, rich adorned, with stones of virtue high
Well wrought and bound, the seams embroidered cunningly,
And all, with fairest skins, within well furred and lined —
The lace, the lady's gift, he doth not leave behind,
Gawain forgat it not, since 't was for his own good —
He belted fast his brand around him as he stood,
Then twined the token twice, and drew it round him tight,
Well did that silken cord enswathe the goodly knight;
The girdle of green silk, in sooth, beseemed him well,
On cloth of royal red, its hues, they richly tell.
But for that girdle's grace he ware it not, the knight,
Nor for the pendants' pride, tho' polished they, and bright,
Nor for the glittering gold, whose gleam the ends doth light —
But 't was to save himself, when he must shortly stand
And bide without debate, from knife or glittering brand
a blow —
Now, armed, the goodly knight
Forth from the hall doth go,
On all who there be dight
His thanks he would bestow.

Ready was Gringalet, his charger great and tall,
Stabled the steed had been in fitting wise withal,
Eager to start, the horse delay might little brook —
The knight, he drew anear, and on his coat did look,
Spake softly to himself, and by his sooth he sware,
'The men within this moat for honour fitly care,
May they, with their good lord, all joy henceforward share,
And may love be her meed thro' life, that fair ladie,
Who thus a passing guest cherish for charitie,
And honour hold in hand — may He repay withal
Who rules on high, the folk within this goodly hall,
If I my life on land might somewhat longer lead
Then readily reward I 'Id give, as fits your meed — '
He to the stirrup steps, and doth his steed bestride,
Upon his shoulder lays his shield as fit, that tide,
Then spurreth Gringalet, anon, with spurs of gold,
The steed no longer stands, but on the stones so cold
doth dance —
Mounted, his squire doth bear
Aloft, his spear and lance, —
' Christ keep this castle fair
And give it aye good chance.'

They let the bridge adown, the gateway, broad and wide,
Unbar, and open set the door on either side;
The knight, he crossed himself, and passed the castle bound,
Praising the porter good, who, kneeling low on ground,
Gave him Good-day, and prayed that God might save Gawain —
So doth he wend his way, with one wight in his train,
To lead him to that place of peril stern and grim,
Where he must pay the price, where bale awaiteth him.
By hedgerow winds their way, where boughs are stripped and bare,
Anon, they climb the cliffs, where cold and chill the air,
The heaven its showers up-held, but here on earth 't was ill,
In mist was merged the moor, mist clung to every hill,
Each ware a cap of cloud, and cloak of mist so dank;
Bubbling, the brooks they brake in foam upon the bank,
Splashed sheer upon the shores, there, where they shelved adown,
Yea, lone and drear the way, beneath the dark wood's frown
Until the rising sun with gold the hillcrest crown
that tide —
They climbed a hill full high
White snow lay on its side,
The guide, who rode hard by,
Now bade him to abide.

'Now lord, as I was pledged, I have ye hither led,
Now are ye nigh the place of note, your quest is sped
That ye have straitly sought, and asked for specially,
But now I know ye well, in sooth, I 'Id say to ye —
(Since ye be such a lord that men full well may love,)
Would ye but work my will your welfare it might prove —
The place whereto ye pass right perilous men hold,
A wight doth ward that waste, the worst is he on mould,
For stiff is he, and stern, and over keen to strike,
For height on middle-earth no man hath seen his like;
Bigger of body he, than any four who won
A place in Arthur's house, yea, e'en were Hector one!
And this his custom cursed — here at the Chapel Green
There passeth never man, tho' proud in arms, I ween,
But he doth do to death by dint of deadly blow,
For all discourteous he, nor mercy doth he know.
Chaplain be he, or churl, who by that chapel rides,
Mass priest, or hooded monk, or any man beside,
Is he as fain to slay as he himself to live —
So soothly as ye sit on steed, this rede I give:
Go ye there, with his will, ye come not hence alive —
Trow me, I speak the truth — yea, had ye twenty lives
to spend —
Long time hath he dwelt here,
His conquests know no end,
Against his dints so drear
No shield may ye defend.'

'Wherefore, Sir Gawain good, let ye this man alone,
And for God's sake, I pray, from this place get ye gone.
Ride by some other road, Christ speed ye on your way —
I'll hie me home again, but this I'll do alway,
I'll take an oath by God, and all the saints that be, i
Or by such hallows all as shall seem best to ye,
That I will hold my peace, and never tell the tale
That ye to face your foe one time for fear did fail.'
'Gramercy,' quoth Gawain (in sooth ill-pleased was he)
'All good may he receive who wisheth good to me,
That thou would 'st silence keep, I well believe of thee,
But, tried be thou, and true, if I should turn me here,
And this thy counsel take, and fly for very fear,
I were a coward knight, excused I might not be,
But at the Chapel Green I'll chance it verily,
With that same man I'll speak, e'en as shall please me well
Be it for weal or woe, as fate the lot may tell —
The knave
May well be stern in fight,
Cunning with sword and stave,
Yet God hath mickle might
His servant true to save!'

'By Mary,' quoth the squire, 'now ye so much have said
That this, your harm, henceforth, to your own count be laid;
Since ye will lose your life I'll hinder not, nor let,
Take ye your spear in hand, on head the helmet set,
And ride adown this road, that by yon rock doth wind,
Till ye the lowest depth of yonder valley. find;
A little to the left, on a lawn, shall ye see,
Within that dreary dale, the chapel, verily,
And him, that grisly giant, who shall its keeper be!
Now may God keep ye well, Sir Gawain, noble knight,
For all the gold on earth, I would not, an I might,
In fellowship with ye but one foot further go — '
With that the squire, he turned his horse's head, and so
He spurred him with his heel, and listed not to spare,
But sprang across the lawn, and left the hero there
alone —
' By God,' thus quoth Gawain,
I'll neither greet nor groan,
To God's will am I fain,
To Him my need is known!'

He spurreth Gringalet, and down the path doth ride,
Close 'neath a shelving bank, a grove was at his side;
He rides the rough road through, right down into the dale,
Then draweth rein awhile, full wild he deemed that vale;
No sign of dwelling-place he seeth anywhere,
On either side the banks rise steeply, bleak and bare,
And rough and rugged rocks, with many a stony peak,
That shuddering shadows cast — the place was ill to seek.
Gawain, he stayed his steed, and cast his glance around,
And changed full oft his cheer, ere he that chapel found.
Nor here 't was seen, nor there, right strange the chance he thought;
But soon, upon a lawn, a lawe his eye hath caught,
A smooth hill by a bank, set close beside a burn,
Where by a ford, the flood, forking, aside doth turn,
E'en as they boiled, within, bubbling, the waters spring —
The knight, he turned the rein, his horse to halt doth bring,
At the lawe lights adown, and to a linden bough
The rein, and his good steed, he maketh fast enow.
Then hies him to the hill, and, walking round about,
He cons what it might be, thereof was he in doubt.
A hole was at the end, and one on either side,
And all with grass o'er-grown, in clumps its form that hide,
'T was hollow all within, e'en as a cavern old,
Or crevice of a crag — nor might its use be told
right well —
'Good Lord,' quoth the good knight,
' Be this the Green Chapel?
The devil at midnight
Might here his matins tell!'

'I wis,' so quoth Gawain, 'that wizardry be here,
'T were ill for prayer this place, o'er grown with grasses sere,
'T were fitting, did that wight who wraps himself in green
Do his devotions here in devil's wise, I ween!
By my five wits I feel 't is the foul fiend, in truth,
Who here hath given me tryst, my life he seeks, forsooth!
A chapel of mischance, ill fortune may it win,
'T is the most cursed kirk I e'er set foot within ! '
His helmet on his head, his lance gripped fast in hand,
He nighs the rock wherein the dwelling rough doth stand;
Then, from the hill on high, as 't were from out a rock,
On bank beyond the brook, a noise his senses shock;
It clatters thro' the cliffs, as they would cleave in twain,
As one to sharpen scythe on grinding-stone were fain.
Lo! it doth whet and whir as water thro' a mill,
Lo ! it doth rush and ring — to hear it was right ill !
Then, ' By God,' quoth Gawain, ' I trow that weapon sheer
They sharpen for that knight who bade me meet him here
this stound
Let God work as He will,
No help elsewhere were found;
Tho' life be forfeit, still
I blench not for a sound.'

With that the goodly knight, he called with voice so bold,
'Who waiteth in this place a tryst with me to hold?
For here is Gawain come, here hath he found his way,
If any wight will win aught, let him come to-day,
Or now, or never, so his need be fitly sped — '
A voice spake from the bank, on high, above his head,
'Stay, and I swift will give that which I promised thee — '
Awhile the clamour rang, still rushing rapidly,
The whetstone whirled awhile, ere he his foe might see,
And then, beneath a crag, forth from a cave he sprung,
And, coming from that hole, a weapon round him swung,
A Danish axe, new dight, wherewith the blow to deal,
Bound to the handle fast was the bright blade of steel,
Four foot long, fitly filed, no less, that blade of might,
And all was wrapped and bound with lace that gleamed full bright;
E'en as before was he in gear of green, that knight —
Green was he face and foot, his hair, his beard's full flow,
But this time on the ground that knight afoot doth go,
Stalking, he held the axe, steel downward, at his side,
Thus to the water wins, and takes it in his stride.
He wades not, with his axe he leaps that water's flow,
And fierce, and bold, bestrides the bent, all white with snow
that day —
/ Sir Gawain met the knight,
No greeting did he pay,
The other quoth: 'Aright
Hast thou kept tryst to-day I'

'Gawain,' quoth the Green Knight, 'now may God give thee grace,
Welcome art thou, I wis, to this, my dwelling-place;
Thy travel hast thou timed e'en as true man should do —
Thou know'st the forward fast we sware betwixt us two;
This day, a twelve-month past, thy share thereof didst take,
And I, at this New Year, should fitting answer make.
Here in this dale alone, I trow, we be to-day,
To deal as likes us best, with none to say us nay;
Now doff thy helm from head, thy payment forthwith take,
And with no more debate than I with thee did make
When thou whipped off my head, with but one sweeping blow — '
'Nay, by God,' quoth Gawain, 'to whom my life I owe,
Nor greet will I, nor groan, for grief that may befall,
Deal, an thou wilt, the stroke, still will I stand, withal,
Nor bandy words with thee, nor e'er for mercy call — '
Straight there
He bent adown his head,
And shewed his neck all bare,
No sign he gave of dread,
But made as free from care.

Then swift the knight in green made ready for the fray,
And gripped his grim tool fast, as fain Gawain to slay,
With all his body's force the axe aloft he bare,
A mighty feint he made to deal a death-blow there,
Yea, had he driven adown in wise as he made show
That valiant knight had died beneath the deadly blow.
But as the gisarme fell Gawain, he swerved aside,
E'en as, with fell intent, it did toward him glide;
His shoulders shrank before the sharply gleaming blade,
The other, as he flinched, the axe from falling stayed —
He doth reprove that prince in proud and scornful mood :
'Thou art not that Gawain whom men aye deem so good,
Who never waxed afraid, by mountain, or by vale,
Now, ere thou feelest hurt, for fear thine heart doth fail —
Such cowardice in such knight I never thought to know —
I never flinched nor fled, when thou didst aim thy blow,
I made no parleying there, within King Arthur's hall,
My head rolled to my feet, I shewed no fear withal;
And thou, ere harm be done, full sore afraid dost seem —
Henceforward, of us twain the braver men shall deem
me aye — '
'I shrank once,' quoth Gawain,
' Henceforth thy stroke I'll stay,
Tho' none may set again
The head that falls to-day!'

'But haste thee, man, i' faith, thy task to end to bring,
Deal me my destiny, make no more dallying,
For I will stand thy stroke, and start no more, I trow,
Till thine axe hitteth me — my word be gage enow!'
'Have at thee!' quoth the knight, and with his axe made play
With wrathful mien and grim, as mad he were alway.
He struck a mighty blow, yet never wound he dealt,
The axe, his hand withheld, ere Gawain harm had felt.
The knight that stroke abode, nor flinched, that hero free,
But stood still as a stone, or stump of ancient tree
That rooted in the ground with hundred roots hath been —
Right gaily then he quoth, the giant garbed in green,
' So, now thine heart is whole, the stroke I'll deal this tide,
Thine hood, that Arthur gave, I prithee hold aside,
And keep thy neck thus bent, that naught may o'er it fall — '
Gawain was greatly wroth, and grimly spake withal:
'Why talk on thus, Sir Knight? o'er-long thy threats so bold,
I trow me in thine heart misgivings thou dost hold!'
'Forsooth,' quoth the Green Knight, 'since fierce thy speech alway
I will no longer let thine errand wait its pay
but strike — '
He frowned with lip and brow,
Made feint as he would strike
Who hopes no aid, I trow,
May well such pass mislike.

Lightly he lifts the axe, and lo! it falleth fair,
The sharp blade somewhat bit into the neck so bare;
But, tho' he swiftly struck, he hurt him no whit more
Save only on that side where thro' the skin it shore;
E'en to the flesh, I trow, it cut, the blade so good,
And o'er his shoulders ran to earth the crimson blood.
Sir Gawain saw his blood gleam red on the white snow
And swift he sprang aside, more than a spear-length's throw;
With speed his helmet good upon his head set fast,
His trusty shield and true, he o'er his shoulders cast,
Drew forth his brand so bright, and fiercely spake alway:
(I trow that in this world he ne'er was half so gay
Since first, from mother's womb he saw the light of day — )
'Now man, withhold thy blow, and proffer me no more,
A stroke here from thy hand without dispute I bore,
Would'st thou another give, that same I'll here repay,
Give thee as good again, thereto have tryst to-day,
and now —
But one stroke to me falls,
So ran the oath, I trow,
We sware in Arthur's halls,
And therefore guard thee now!'

The Green Knight drew aback, and on his axe did lean,
Setting the shaft to ground, upon the blade so keen,
He looked upon the knight awhile, there, on the land,
Doughty, and void of dread, dauntless doth Gawain stand,'
All armed for strife — at heart it pleased him mightily,
Then, with voice loud and clear he speaketh merrily,
Hailing aloud the knight, gaily to him doth say:
'Bold Sir, upon this bent be not so stern to-day,
For none, discourteous, here methinks mishandled thee,
Nor will, save e'en as framed at court in forward free;
I promised thee a stroke, thou hast it at this same,
With that be thou content, I make no further claim.
An such had been my will, a buffet, verily,
Rougher I might have dealt, and so done worse to thee,
Firstly, I menace made with but a feigned blow,
And harmed thee ne'er a whit; that, I would have thee know,
Was for the forward fast we made in that first night
When thou didst swear me troth, and kept that troth aright,
Thou gav'st me all thy gain, e'en as good knight and true —
Thus for the morrow's morn another feint was due,
Didst kiss my gentle wife, and kisses gave again —
For these two from mine axe two blows I did but feign j
this stead —
To true man payment true,
Of that may none have dread,
Then, didst withhold my due,
Therefore thy blood I shed.'

"T is my weed thou dost wear, that self-same lace of green,
'T was woven by my wife, I know it well, I ween,
Thy kisses all I know, thy ways, thy virtues all,
The wooing of my wife, 't was I who willed it all;
I bade her test thy truth — By God who gave me birth )
Thou art the truest knight that ever trode this earth !
As one a pearl doth prize; measured 'gainst pease, tho' white,
So do I hold Gawain above all other knight!
Didst thou a little lack, Sir Knight, in loyalty,
'T was not for woman's love, or aught of villainy,
'T was but for love of life, therefore I blame thee less — '
Awhile Sir Gawain stood, silent, for sorriness,
Right sore aggrieved was he, and angered at that same;
Then all his body's blood rushed to his face in flame,
And all for shame he shrank, while yet the Green Knight spake —
Then in this fashion first lament the knight did make;
'Covetousness, accurst be thou, and cowardice,
In virtue's stead ye bring both villainy and vice — '
With that he caught the knot, and loosed the lace so bright,
Giveth the girdle green again to the Green Knight,
'Lo! there the false thing take, a foul fate it befall,
Fear of thy blow, it taught me cowardice withal,
With custom covetous to league me, and thus wrong
Largesse and loyalty, which do to knights belong.
Faulty am I, and false, to fear hath been a prey,
From treachery and untruth is sorrow born alway,
and care —
So here I own to thee
That faithless did I fare;
Take thou thy will of me,
Henceforth I'll be more 'ware!'

The Green Knight laughed aloud, and spake right merrily,
'Whole am I of the hurt that thou didst deal to me;
Thy misdeeds hast thou shewn, and hast confessed thee clean,
Hast borne the penance sharp of this, mine axe-edge keen,
I hold thee here absolved, and purged as clean this morn
As thou hadst ne'er done wrong since the day thou wert born.
This girdle, hemmed with gold, Sir Knight, I give to thee,
'T is green as this my robe, as thou right well may'st see,
Look thou thereon, Gawain, whenas thou forth dost fare,
Mid many a prince of price, and this for token bear
Of chance midst chivalrous knights, that thou didst here abide —
And thou, in this New Year with me shalt homeward ride,
With me in revel spend the remnant of this tide
I ween — '
The lord, he held him fast,
Quoth: 'Tho' my wife hath been
Your foe, that is well past,
Peace be ye twain between!'

'Nay, forsooth,' quoth Gawain, he seized his helm full fain,
And set it on his head, and thanked his host again;
'Sad was my sojourning, yet bliss be yours alway,
May He, who ruleth all, right swiftly ye repay.
To her, your comely wife, commend me courteously,
Yea, and that other dame, honoured they both may be
Who thus their knight with craft right skilful did beguile —
And yet small marvel 't is if one, thro' woman's wile
Befooled shall be oft-times, and brought to sorrow sore,
For so was he betrayed, Adam, our sire, of yore,
And Solomon full oft! Delilah swift did bring
Samson unto his fate; and David too, the king,
By Bathsheba ensnared, grief to his lot must fall — '
Since women these beguiled 't were profit great withal
An one might love them well, and yet believe them not!
For of all men on earth had these the fairest lot,
All other they excelled 'neath Heaven — if they, God wot,-
be mused,
Yielding themselves to wile
Of women, whom they used,
Then, an one me beguile,
I hold me well excused.'

'But for your girdle, good, may God the gift repay,
I take it of good will; not for its gold alway,
For samite, nor for silk, nor for its pendants fair,
For worship, nor for weal, will I that token wear;
In sign of this, my sin, the silk I still shall see,
And, riding in renown, reproach me bitterly,
Of this my fault, how flesh is all too frail, and fain
To yield when sore enticed, and gather to it stain.
Thus, when for prowess fair in arms I yield to pride,
I,'ll look upon this lace, and so more humbly ride.
But one thing would I pray, an so it please ye well,
Lord are ye of this land, where I awhile did dwell
With ye in worship fair — (For this, reward be told
From Him who sits on high, and doth the world uphold — )
But tell me now your name, no more from ye I crave — '
'That truly will I tell,' so spake that baron brave:
'Bercilak de Hautdesert, so men me rightly call —
'T is she, Morgain la Faye, who dwelleth in mine hall,-
(Who knoweth many a craft, well versed in cunning wile
Mistress of Merlin erst,) doth many a man beguile,
(And many a druerie dear she dealt with that same wight,
Who was a skilful clerk, and well he knew each knight
of fame — )
Morgain, the goddess, she,
So men that lady name,
And none so proud shall be
But she his pride can tame!'

'She sent me in this guise unto King Arthur's hall
To test your knightly pride, if it were sooth, withal,
The fair renown that runs, of this, your Table Round,
'T was she taught me the craft which ye so strange have found,
To grieve Gaynore, the queen, and her to death to fright
Thro' fear of that same man who spake, a ghastly sight,
Before the table high, with severed head in hand —
'T is she, that ancient dame ye saw in this my land,
And she is e'en thine aunt, sister to Arthur true,
Born of Tintagel's dame, whom later Uther knew,
And gat with her a son, Arthur, our noble king,
Therefore unto thine aunt I would thee straightway bring,
Make merry in mine house, my men are to thee fain,
And I wish thee as well, here on my faith, Gawain,
As any man on earth, for true art thou, and tried — '
But yet he said him 'nay' with him he would not ride.
They clasp, and kiss again — the other, each commends
Unto the Prince of Peace, and there they part as friends
on mould —
To the king's hall, I ween,
Sir Gawain rideth bold,
He gat, that knight in green,
Where'er he would on wold.

The wild ways of the world Sir Gawain now must trace
A-horse, of this his life, he now hath gotten grace;
He harbours oft in house, and oft, I ween, without,
Oft venture bold, in vale, vanquished in battle stout,
Such as, at this same time, I care not to recall —
Whole was the hurt he won upon his neck withal,
And the bright belt of green he ware about him wound,
Even in baldric's wise, fast at his side 't was bound;
'Neath his left arm the lace was fastened in a knot,
This token of his fault he bare with him, I wot.
So cometh he to court, all hale, the knight so true,
Weal wakened in those halls whenas the dwellers knew
That good Gawain had come — Methinks they deemed it gain,
To greet that knight with kiss the king and queen were fain,
And many a valiant knight would kiss and clasp him there —
Eager, they tidings ask, How did his venture fare?
And he doth truly tell of all his toil and care;
Of the Green Chapel's chance, the fashion of the knight,
The lady's proffered love, last, of the lace aright
He tells, and on his neck he shews them, as a brand,
The cut that, for his fault, he v/on from that knight's hand
in blame —
Grieving, he spake alway,
And groaned for very shame,
The red blood rose, that day,
E'en to his face, like flame.

'Lo! lord,' so spake the knight, handling the lace so fair,
See here the brand of blame that on my neck I bear,
Lo! here the harm and loss I to myself have wrought,
The cowardice covetous in which I there was caught,
This token of untruth, wherein I was held fast;
And I this needs must wear long as my life shall last.
For none may hide his harm, nor may that be undone,
Once caught within a snare the net is ne'er unspun ! '
The king, he cheered the knight, the courtiers, with their lord,
Laughed loudly at the tale, and sware with one accord,
That lords and ladies all, of this, the Table Round,
Each of the Brotherhood, should bear, as baldric bound,
About his waist, a band, a badge of green so bright,
This would they fitly wear in honour of that knight.
With one accord they sware, those knights so good and true,
And he who bare that badge the greater honour knew.
The best book of Romance, in that 't is written all,
How in King Arthur's days this venture did befall,
The Brutus books thereof, I trow, shall witness bear —
And since Brutus the bold at first did hither fare,
Whose fathers the assault and siege of Troy did share,
I wis,
Many have been of yore
The ventures such as this,
Christ, who a thorn-crown bore,
Bring us unto His bliss! Amen.