The High History of the Holy Graal
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Title: The High History of the Holy Graal
Translator: Sebastian Evans
Release date: December 1, 1996 [eBook #750]
Most recently updated: January 1, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/750
Credits: Produced by Douglas B. Killings. HTML version by Al Haines.
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HIGH HISTORY OF THE HOLY GRAAL ***
Produced by Douglas B. Killings. HTML version by Al Haines.
Originally written in Old French, sometime in the early half of the
13th Century A.D., as a continuation of Chretien DeTroyes' unfinished
work "Perceval, or the Knight of the Grail". Author unknown.
Translation by Sebastian Evans, 1898.
The High History of the Holy Graal
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY:
ORIGINAL TEXT--
Potvin, Ch. (Ed.): "Perceval le Gallois ou le conte du Graal", Vol. I
(Soc. Bibl. Belges., Mons., 1866).
RECOMMENDED READING--
Anonymous (Trans. P.M. Matarasso): "The Quest for the Holy Graal"
(Penguin Classics, London, 1969).
DeTroyes, Chretien (Trans. William W. Kibler & Carleton W. Carroll):
"Arthurian Romances" (Penguin Classics, London, 1991). Contains the
unfinished work "Perceval".
Eschenbach, Wolfram von (Trans. A.T. Hatto): "Parzival" (Penguin
Classics, London, 1980).
Malory, Sir Thomas (Ed. Janet Cowen): "Le Morte D'Arthur", Vol. I & II
(Penguin Classics, London, 1969).
*****************************************************************
INTRODUCTION
This book is translated from the first volume of "Perceval le Gallois
ou le conte du Graal"; edited by M. Ch. Potvin for 'La Societe des
Bibliophiles Belges' in 1866, (1) from the MS. numbered 11,145 in the
library of the Dukes of Burgundy at Brussels. This MS. I find thus
described in M. F. J. Marchal's catalogue of that priceless collection:
'"Le Roman de Saint Graal", beginning "Ores lestoires", in the French
language; date, first third of the sixteenth century; with ornamental
capitals.' (2) Written three centuries later than the original
romance, and full as it is of faults of the scribe, this manuscript is
by far the most complete known copy of the "Book of the Graal" in
existence, being defective only in Branch XXI. Titles 8 and 9, the
substance of which is fortunately preserved elsewhere. Large
fragments, however, amounting in all to nearly one-seventh of the
whole, of a copy in handwriting of the thirteenth century, are
preserved in six consecutive leaves and one detached leaf bound up with
a number of other works in a MS. numbered 113 in the City Library at
Berne. The volume is in folio on vellum closely written in three
columns to the page, and the seven leaves follow the last poem
contained in it, entitled "Duremart le Gallois". The manuscript is well
known, having been lent to M. de Sainte Palaye for use in the Monuments
of French History issued by the Benedictines of the Congregation of St
Maur. Selections from the poems it contains are given in Sinner's
"Extraits de Poesie du XIII. Siecle", (3) and it is described,
unfortunately without any reference to these particular leaves, by the
same learned librarian in the "Catalogus Codicum MSS. Bibl. Bernensis",
J.R. Sinner. (4)
M. Potvin has carefully collated for his edition all that is preserved
of the Romance in this manuscript, comprising all the beginning of the
work as far as Branch III. Title 8, about the middle, and from Branch
XIX. Title 23, near the beginning, to Branch XXX. Title 5, in the
middle. Making allowance for variations of spelling and sundry minor
differences of reading, by no means always in favour of the earlier
scribe, the Berne fragments are identical with the corresponding
portions of the Brussels manuscript, and it is therefore safe to assume
that the latter is on the whole an accurate transcript of the entire
original Romance.
The only note of time in the book itself is contained in the
declaration at the end. From this it appears that it was written by
order of the Seingnor of Cambrein for Messire Jehan the Seingnor of
Neele. M. Potvin, without giving any reason for so doing, assumes that
this Lord of Cambrein is none other than the Bishop of Cambrai. If
this assumption be correct, the person referred to was probably either
John of Berhune, who held the see from 1200 till July 27, 1219, or his
successor Godfrey of Fontaines (Conde), who held it till 1237. To me,
however, it seems more likely that the personage intended was in
reality the 'Seingnor' of Cambrin, the chef-lieu of a canton of the
same name, on a small hill overlooking the peat-marshes of Bethune,
albeit I can find no other record of any such landed proprietor's
existence.
Be this as it may, the Messire Jehan, Seingnor of Neele, can hardly be
other than the John de Nesle who was present at the battle of Bouvines
in 1214, and who in 1225 sold the lordship of Bruges to Joan of
Flanders. (5) These dates therefore may be regarded as defining that
of the original Romance within fairly narrow limits.
This conclusion is confirmed by other evidence. An early Welsh
translation of the story was published with an English version and a
glossary by the Rev. Robert Williams in the first volume of his
"Selections from the Hengwrt MSS". (6) The first volume of this work
is entitled "Y Seint Greal, being the adventures of King Arthur's
knights of the Round Table, in the quest of the Holy Grail, and on
other occasions. Originally written about the year 1200". The volume,
following the manuscript now in the library of W.W.E. Wynne, Esq., at
Peniarth, is divided into two parts. The first, fol. 1-109 of the
manuscript, represents the thirteenth to the seventeenth book of Sir
Thomas Malory's "Morte d'Arthur". Of the second, which represents the
Romance here translated, Mr Williams writes: "The second portion of the
Welsh Greal, folios 110-280, contains the adventures of Gwalchmei
Peredur and Lancelot, and of the knights of the Round Table; but these
are not found in the "Morte d'Arthur". The Peniarth MS. is beautifully
written on vellum, and in perfect preservation, and its date is that of
Henry VI., the early part of the fifteenth century. The orthography
and style of writing agrees literally with that of the "Mabinogion of
the Llyvr Coch Hergest", which is of that date. This, of course, is a
transcript of an earlier copy; but there is no certainty when it was
first translated into Welsh, though Aneurin Owen in his "Catalogue of
the Hengwrt MSS." assigns it to the sixth year of Henry I. It is
mentioned by Davydd ab Gwilym, who died in 1368."
Whatever may be the date of the Welsh version, the translator had no
great mastery of French, and is often at fault as to the meaning both
of words and sentences, and when in a difficulty is only too apt to cut
the knot by omitting the passage bodily. The book itself, moreover, is
not entire. On page 275, all between Branch IX. Title 16 and Branch
XI. Title 2, twenty-two chapters in all, is missing. Again, on page
355, Titles 10-16 in Branch XXI. are left out, while the whole of the
last Branch, containing 28 Titles, is crumpled up into one little
chapter, from which it would seem that the Welshman had read the
French, but thought it waste of pains to translate it. In all, not to
speak of other defects, there are fifty-six whole chapters in the
present book, of which there is not a word in the Welsh.
In one matter, however, Mr Williams' English translation has stood me
in good stead. In Branch XXI., as I have said, the French manuscript
makes default of two Titles, but almost the whole of their substance is
supplied by the Welsh version. By an unlucky accident, before the
hiatus in the French is fully filled up, the Welsh version itself
becomes defective, though the gap thus left open can hardly extend
beyond a very few words. Without this supplement, incomplete as it is,
it would have been impossible to give the full drift of one of the
Romancer's best stories, which is equally unintelligible in both the
French and Welsh texts in their present state.
As the Welsh version gives a number of names both of persons and places
widely differing from those in the French, it may be useful here to
note the principal changes made. Perceval in the Welsh is called
Peredur, which is said to mean "steel suit". The Welshman, however,
adds that the name in French is "Peneffresvo Galief", which, unless it
be a misreading or miswriting for Perceval le Galois, is to me wholly
unintelligible. Perceval's father, Alain li Gros, is in the Welsh Earl
Evrawg, and his sister Dindrane, Danbrann. King Arthur is Emperor
Arthur, his Queen Guenievre, Gwenhwyvar, and their son Lohot, Lohawt or
Llacheu. Messire Gawain is Gwalchmei; Chaus, son of Ywain li Aoutres,
Gawns, son of Owein Vrych; Messire Kay or Kex is Kei the Long; Ahuret
the Bastard, Anores; Ygerne, wife of Uther Pendragon, Eigyr; Queen
Jandree, Landyr; and King Fisherman for the most part King Peleur. Of
places, Cardoil is Caerlleon on Usk, Pannenoisance, Penvoisins;
Tintagel, Tindagoyl; and Avalon, Avallach.
By a double stroke of ill-luck, the complete and wholly independent
Romance here translated has thus been printed by its two former editors
as if it were only a part of some other story. M. Potvin describes it
as the "First Part, the Romance in Prose," of his "Perceval le
Gallois", and Mr Williams accepts it as the "Second Portion" of his "Y
Seint Greal". This unhappy collocation has led not a few of M.
Potvin's readers to neglect his First Part, under the impression that
the story is retold in the other volumes containing the Romance in
verse; while not a few of Mr Williams' readers have neglected his
Second Portion under the impression that there could be nothing of any
special importance in an adjunct referred to by the Editor in so
perfunctory a manner. In very truth, however, the Story of the Holy
Graal here told is not only the most coherent and poetic of all the
many versions of the Legend, but is also the first and most authentic.
This seems to be proved beyond doubt by a passage in the History of
Fulke Fitz-Warine, originally written apparently between the years 1256
and 1264. The passage occurs at the end of the History, and is printed
in verse of which I give a literal prose translation:
"Merlin saith that in Britain the Great a Wolf shall come
from the White Launde. Twelve sharp teeth shall he have,
six below and six above. He shall have so fierce a look
that he shall chase the Leopard forth of the White Launde,
so much force shall he have and great virtue. We now know
that Merlin said this for Fulke the son of Waryn, for each
of you ought to understand of a surety how in the time of
the King Arthur that was called the White Launde which is
now named the White Town. For in this country was the
chapel of S. Austin that was fair, where Kahuz, the son of
Ywein, dreamed that he carried off the candlestick and that
he met a man who hurt him with a knife and wounded him in
the side. And he, on sleep, cried out so loud that King
Arthur hath heard him and awakened from sleep. And when
Kahuz was awake, he put his hand to his side. There hath he
found the knife that had smitten him through. SO TELLETH US
THE GRAAL, THE BOOK OF THE HOLY VESSEL. There the King
Arthur recovered his bounty and his valour when he had lost
all his chivalry and his virtue. From this country issued
forth the Wolf as saith Merlin the Wise, and the twelve
sharp teeth have we known by his shield. He bore a shield
indented as the heralds have devised. In the shield are
twelve teeth of gules and argent. By the Leopard may be
known and well understood King John, for he bore in his
shield the leopards of beaten gold." (7)
The story of Kahuz or Chaus here indicated by the historian is told at
length in the opening chapters of the present work and, so far as is
known, nowhere else. The inference is therefore unavoidable that we
have here "The Graal, the Book of the Holy Vessel" to which the
biographer of Fulke refers. The use, moreover, of the definite article
shows that the writer held this book to be conclusive authority on the
subject. By the time he retold the story of Fulke, a whole library of
Romances about Perceval and the Holy Graal had been written, with some
of which it is hard to believe that any historian of the time was
unacquainted. He nevertheless distinguishes this particular story as
"The Graal", a way of speaking he would scarce have adopted had he
known of any other "Graals" of equal or nearly equal authority.
Several years later, about 1280, the trouveur Sarrazin also cites "The
Graal" ("li Graaus") in the same manner, in superfluous verification of
the then-accepted truism that King Arthur was at one time Lord of Great
Britain. This appeal to "The Graal" as the authority for a general
belief shows that it was at that time recognised as a well-spring of
authentic knowledge; while the fact that the trouveur was not
confounding "The Graal" with the later version of the story is further
shown by his going on presently to speak of "the Romance that Chrestien
telleth so fairly of Perceval the adventures of the Graal." (8)
Perhaps, however, the most striking testimony to the fact that this
work is none other than the original "Book of the Graal" is to be found
in the "Chronicle of Helinand", well known at the time the Romance was
written not only as a historian but as a troubadour at one time in high
favour at the court of Philip Augustus, and in later years as one of
the most ardent preachers of the Albigensian Crusade. The passage, a
part of which has been often quoted, is inserted in the Chronicle under
the year 720, and runs in English thus:
"At this time a certain marvellous vision was revealed by an
angel to a certain hermit in Britain concerning S. Joseph,
the decurion who deposed from the cross the Body of Our
Lord, as well as concerning the paten or dish in the which
Our Lord supped with His disciples, whereof the history was
written out by the said hermit and is called "Of the Graal"
(de Gradali). Now, a platter, broad and somewhat deep, is
called in French "gradalis" or "gradale", wherein costly
meats with their sauce are wont to be set before rich folk
by degrees ("gradatim") one morsel after another in divers
orders, and in the vulgar speech it is called "graalz", for
that it is grateful and acceptable to him that eateth
therein, as well for that which containeth the victual, for
that haply it is of silver or other precious material, as
for the contents thereof, to wit, the manifold courses of
costly meats. I have not been able to find this history
written in Latin, but it is in the possession of certain
noblemen written in French only, nor, as they say, can it
easily be found complete. This, however, I have not
hitherto been able to obtain from any person so as to read
it with attention. As soon as I can do so, I will translate
into Latin such passages as are more useful and more likely
to be true." (9)
A comparison of this passage with the Introduction to the present work
(10) leaves no doubt that Helinand here refers to this "Book of the
Graal", which cannot therefore be of a later date than that at which he
made this entry in his "Chronicle". At the same time, the difficulty
he experienced in obtaining even the loan of the volume shows that the
work had at that time been only lately written, as in the course of a
few years, copies of a book so widely popular must have been
comparatively common. The date, therefore, at which Helinand's
"Chronicle" was written determines approximately that of the "Book of
the Graal".
In its present state, the "Chronicle" comes to an end with a notice of
the capture of Constantinople by the French in 1204, and it has been
hastily assumed that Helinand's labours as a chronicler must have
closed in that year. As a matter of fact they had not then even begun.
At that time Helinand was still a courtly troubadour, and had not yet
entered on the monastic career during which his "Chronicle" was
compiled. He was certainly living as late as 1229, and preached a
sermon, which assuredly shows no signs of mental decrepitude, in that
year at a synod in Toulouse. (11)
Fortunately a passage in the "Speculum Historiale" of Vincent of
Beauvais, himself a younger contemporary and probably a personal
acquaintance of Helinand, throws considerable light on the real date of
Helinand's "Chronicle". After recounting certain matters connected
with the early years of the thirteenth century, the last date mentioned
being 1209, Vincent proceeds:--
"In those times, in the diocese of Beauvais, was Helinand
monk of Froid-mont, a man religious and distinguished for
his eloquence, who also composed those verses on Death in
our vulgar tongue which are publicly read, so elegantly and
so usefully that the subject is laid open clearer than the
light. He also diligently digested into a certain huge
volume a Chronicle from the beginning of the world down to
his own time. But in truth this work was dissipated and
dispersed in such sort that it is nowhere to be found
entire. For it is reported that the said Helinand lent
certain sheets of the said work to one of his familiars, to
wit, Guarin, Lord Bishop of Senlis of good memory, and thus,
whether through forgetfulness or negligence or some other
cause, lost them altogether. From this work, however, as
far as I have been able to find it, I have inserted many
passages in this work of mine own also."
It will thus be seen that about 1209, Helinand became a monk at
Froid-mont, and it is exceedingly improbable that any portion of his
"Chronicle" was written before that date. On the other hand, his
'familiar' Guarin only became Bishop of Senlis in 1214, and died in
1227, (12) so that it is certain Helinand wrote the last part of his
"Chronicle" not later than the last-mentioned year. The limits of time,
therefore, between which the "Chronicle" was written are clearly
circumscribed; and if it is impossible to define the exact year in
which this particular entry was made, it is not, I fancy, beyond the
legitimate bounds of critical conjecture.
On the first page of the Romance, Helinand read that an Angel had
appeared to a certain hermit in Britain and revealed to him the history
of the Holy Graal. In transferring the record of this event to his
"Chronicle", he was compelled by the exigencies of his system, which
required the insertion of every event recorded under some particular
year, to assign a date to the occurrence. A vague "five hundred years
ago" would be likely to suggest itself as an appropriate time at which
the occurrence might be supposed to have taken place; and if he were
writing in 1220, the revelation to the hermit would thus naturally be
relegated to the year 720, the year under which the entry actually
appears. This, of course, is pure guesswork, but the fact remains that
the "Chronicle" was written in or about 1220, and the "Book of the
Graal" not long before it.
The name of the author is nowhere recorded. He may possibly be
referred to in the "Elucidation" prefixed to the rhymed version of
"Percival le Gallois" under the name of "Master Blihis", but this vague
and tantalising pseudonym affords no hint of his real identity. (13)
Whoever he may have been; I hope that I am not misled by a translator's
natural partiality for the author he translates in assigning him a
foremost rank among the masters of medieval prose romance.
With these testimonies to its age and genuineness, I commend the "Book
of the Graal" to all who love to read of King Arthur and his knights of
the Table Round. They will find here printed in English for the first
time what I take to be in all good faith the original story of Sir
Perceval and the Holy Graal, whole and incorrupt as it left the hands
of its first author.
--Sebastian Evans,
Coombe Lea, Bickley, Kent
ENDNOTES:
(1) 6 vols. 8vo. Mons, 1866-1871.
(2) Marchal "Cat.", 2 vols. Brussels, 1842. Vol i.p. 223.
(3) Lausanne, 1759.
(4) 3 vols. 8vo. Berne, 1770, etc. Vol. ii., Introduc. viii.
and p. 389 et seq.
(5) Rigord. "Chron." 196, p. 288. Wm. le Breton, "Phil." xi.
547. See also Birch-Hirschfeld, "Die Gralsage", p. 143.
(6) 2 vols. 8vo. London, Richards, 1876-1892.
(7) "L'histoire de Foulkes Fitz-Warin". Ed. F. Michel, Paris,
1840; p. 110. Ed. T. Wright (Warton Club), London, 1855; p.
179. Ed. J. Stevenson ("Roll, Pub. Chron." of R.
Coggeshall), London, 1875; p. 412. The MS. containing the
history (MS. Reg. 12. c. XII.) was first privately printed
for the late Sir T. Duffus Hardy from a transcript by A.
Berbrugger.
(8) "Le Roman de Ham", in the Appendix to F. Michel's "Histoire
des Ducs de Normandie". Soc. de l'Hist. de France, 1840,
pp. 225, 230.
(9) Helinandi Op. Ed. Migne. "Patrol." Vol. ccxii. col. 814.
The former part of the passage is quoted with due
acknowledgment by Vincent of Beauvais, "Spec. Hist." B.
xxiii. c. 147. Vincent, however, spells the French word
"grail", and, by turning Helinand's "nec" into "nune", makes
him say that the French work can now easily be found
complete. Vincent finished his "Speculum Historialz in 1244"
B. xxi. c. 105.
(10) Vol. i. p. 1, etc.
(11) Sermon xxvi., printed in Minge, u.s. col. 692. It has been
doubted whether this sermon, preached in the church of S.
Jacques, was addressed to the Council held at Toulouse in
1219, or to the one held in 1229, but a perusal of the
sermon itself decides the question. It is wholly irrelevant
to the topics discussed at the former gathering, while it is
one continued commentary on the business transacted at the
latter. See also Dom Brial, "Hist. Litt. de la France",
xviii. 92.
(12) "De Mas Latrie. Tres. de Chron.", col. 1488.
(13) Cf. Potvin, "P. le G." ii. 1 and 7, with vol. i. p. 131 and
vol. ii. p. 112 of the present work (See also the
Proceedings of the "Hon. Soc. of Cymmrodorion", 1908-9. Ed.)
THE HIGH HISTORY OF THE HOLY GRAAL
BRANCH I.
INCIPIT.
Hear ye the history of the most holy vessel that is called Graal,
wherein the precious blood of the Saviour was received on the day that
He was put on rood and crucified in order that He might redeem His
people from the pains of hell. Josephus set it in remembrance by
annunciation of the voice of an angel, for that the truth might be
known by his writing of good knights, and good worshipful men how they
were willing to suffer pain and to travail for the setting forward of
the Law of Jesus Christ, that He willed to make new by His death and by
His crucifixion.
TITLE I.
The High Book of the Graal beginneth in the name of the Father and of
the Son and of the Holy Ghost. These three Persons are one substance,
which is God, and of God moveth the High Story of the Graal. And all
they that hear it ought to understand it, and to forget all the
wickednesses that they have in their hearts. For right profitable shall
it be to all them that shall hear it of the heart. For the sake of the
worshipful men and good knights of whose deeds shall remembrance be
made, doth Josephus recount this holy history, for the sake of the
lineage of the Good Knight that was after the crucifixion of Our Lord.
Good Knight was he without fail, for he was chaste and virgin of his
body and hardy of heart and puissant, and so were his conditions
without wickedness. Not boastful was he of speech, and it seemed not
by his cheer that he had so great courage; Natheless, of one little
word that he delayed to speak came to pass so sore mischances in
Greater Britain, that all the islands and all the lands fell thereby
into much sorrow, albeit thereafter he put them back into gladness by
the authority of his good knighthood. Good knight was he of right, for
he was of the lineage of Joseph of Abarimacie. And this Joseph was his
mother's uncle, that had been a soldier of Pilate's seven years, nor
asked he of him none other guerdon of his service but only to take down
the body of Our Saviour from hanging on the cross. The boon him seemed
full great when it was granted him, and full little to Pilate seemed
the guerdon; for right well had Joseph served him, and had he asked to
have gold or land thereof, willingly would he have given it to him.
And for this did Pilate make him a gift of the Saviour's body, for he
supposed that Joseph should have dragged the same shamefully through
the city of Jerusalem when it had been taken down from the cross, and
should have left it without the city in some mean place. But the Good
Soldier had no mind thereto, but rather honoured the body the most he
might, rather laid it along in the Holy Sepulchre and kept safe the
lance whereof He was smitten in the side and the most Holy Vessel
wherein they that believed on Him received with awe the blood that ran
down from His wounds when He was set upon the rood. Of this lineage
was the Good Knight for whose sake is this High History treated.
Yglais was his mother's name: King Fisherman was his uncle, and the
King of the Lower Folk that was named Pelles, and the King that was
named of the Castle Mortal, in whom was there as much bad as there was
good in the other twain, and much good was there in them; and these
three were his uncles on the side of his mother Yglais, that was a
right good Lady and a loyal; and the Good Knight had one sister, that
hight Dindrane. He that was head of the lineage on his father's side
was named Nichodemus. Gais li Gros of the Hermit's Cross was father of
Alain li Gros. This Alain had eleven brethren, right good knights,
like as he was himself. And none of them all lived in his knighthood
but twelve years, and they all died in arms for their great hardiment
in setting forward of the Law that was made new. There were twelve
brethren. Alain li Gros was the eldest; Gorgalians was next; Bruns
Brandnils was the third; Bertholez li Chauz the fourth; Brandalus of
Wales was the fifth; Elinant of Escavalon was the sixth; Calobrutus was
the seventh; Meralis of the Palace Meadow was the eighth; Fortunes of
the Red Launde was ninth; Melaarmaus of Abanie was the tenth; Galians
of the White Tower the eleventh; Alibans of the Waste City was the
twelfth. All these died in arms in the service of the Holy Prophet that
had renewed the Law by His death, and smote His enemies to the
uttermost of their power. Of these two manner of folk, whose names and
records you have heard, Josephus the good clerk telleth us was come the
Good Knight of whom you shall well hear the name and the manner
presently.
II.
The authority of the scripture telleth us that after the crucifixion of
Our Lord, no earthly King set forward the Law of Jesus Christ so much
as did King Arthur of Britain, both by himself and by the good knights
that made repair to his court. Good King Arthur after the crucifixion
of Our Lord, was such as I tell you, and was a puissant King, and one
that well believed in God, and many were the good adventures that befel
at his court. And he had in his court the Table Round that was
garnished of the best knights in the world. King Arthur after the
death of his father led the highest life and most gracious that ever
king led, in such sort that all the princes and all the barons took
ensample of him in well-doing. For ten years was King Arthur in such
estate as I have told you, nor never was earthly king so praised as he,
until that a slothful will came upon him and he began to lose the
pleasure in doing largesse that he wont to have, nor was he minded to
hold court neither at Christmas-tide nor at Easter nor at Pentecost.
The knights of the Table Round when they saw his well-doing wax slack
departed thence and began to hold aloof from his court, insomuch as
that of three hundred and three-score knights and six that he wont to
have of his household, there were now not more than a five-and-twenty
at most, nor did no adventure befal any more at his court. All the
other princes had slackened of their well-doing for that they saw King
Arthur maintain so feebly. Queen Guenievre was so sorrowful thereof
that she knew not what counsel to take with herself, nor how she might
so deal as to amend matters so God amended them not. From this time
beginneth the history.
III.
It was one Ascension Day that the King was at Cardoil. He was risen
from meat and went through the hall from one end to the other, and
looked and saw the Queen that was seated at a window. The King went to
sit beside her, and looked at her in the face and saw that the tears
were falling from her eyes.
"Lady," saith the King, "What aileth you, and wherefore do you weep?"
"Sir," saith she, "And I weep, good right have I; and you yourself have
little right to make joy."
"Certes, Lady, I do not."
"Sir," saith she, "You are right. I have seen on this high day, or on
other days that were not less high than this, when you have had such
throng of knights at your court that right uneath might any number
them. Now every day are so few therein that much shame have I thereof,
nor no more do no adventures befal therein. Wherefore great fear have I
lest God hath put you into forgetfulness."
"Certes, Lady," saith the King, "No will have I to do largesse nor
aught that turneth to honour. Rather is my desire changed into
feebleness of heart. And by this know I well that I lose my knights
and the love of my friends."
"Sir," saith the Queen, "And were you to go to the chapel of S.
Augustine, that is in the White Forest, that may not be found save by
adventure only, methinketh that on your back-repair you would again
have your desire of well-doing, for never yet did none discounselled
ask counsel of God but he would give it for love of him so he asked it
of a good heart."
"Lady," saith the King, "And willingly will I go, forasmuch as that you
say have I heard well witnessed in many places where I have been."
"Sir," saith she, "The place is right perilous and the chapel right
adventurous. But the most worshipful hermit that is in the Kingdom of
Wales hath his dwelling beside the chapel, nor liveth he now any longer
for nought save only the glory of God."
"Lady," saith the King, "It will behove me go thither all armed and
without knights."
"Sir," saith she, "You may well take with you one knight and a squire."
"Lady," saith the King, "That durst not I, for the place is perilous,
and the more folk one should take thither, the fewer adventures there
should he find."
"Sir," saith she, "One squire shall you take by my good will nor shall
nought betide you thereof save good only, please God!"
"Lady," saith the King, "At your pleasure be it, but much dread I that
nought shall come of it save evil only."
Thereupon the King riseth up from beside the Queen, and looketh before
him and seeth a youth tall and strong and comely and young, that was
hight Chaus, and he was the son of Ywain li Aoutres.
"Lady," saith he to the Queen, "This one will I take with me and you
think well."
"Sir," saith she, "It pleaseth me well, for I have heard much witness
to his valour."
The King calleth the squire, and he cometh and kneeleth down before
him. The King maketh him rise and saith unto him, "Chaus," saith he,
"You shall lie within to-night, in this hall, and take heed that my
horse be saddled at break of day and mine arms ready. For I would be
moving at the time I tell you, and yourself with me without more
company."
"Sir," saith the squire, "At your pleasure."
And the evening drew on, and the King and Queen go to bed. When they
had eaten in hall, the knights went to their hostels. The squire
remained in the hall, but he would not do off his clothes nor his
shoon, for the night seemed him to be too short, and for that he would
fain be ready in the morning at the King's commandment. The squire was
lying down in such sort as I have told you, and in the first sleep that
he slept, seemed him the King had gone without him. The squire was
sore scared thereat, and came to his hackney and set the saddle and
bridle upon him, and did on his spurs and girt on his sword, as it
seemed him in his sleep, and issued forth of the castle a great pace
after the King. And when he had ridden a long space he entered into a
great forest and looked in the way before him and saw the slot of the
King's horse and followed the track a long space, until that he came to
a launde of the forest whereat he thought that the King had alighted.
The squire thought that the hoof-marks on the way had come to an end
and so thought that the King had alighted there or hard by there. He
looketh to the right hand and seeth a chapel in the midst of the
launde, and he seeth about it a great graveyard wherein were many
coffins, as it seemed him. He thought in his heart that he would go
towards the chapel, for he supposed that the King would have entered to
pray there. He went thitherward and alighted. When the squire was
alighted, he tied up his hackney and entered into the chapel. None did
he see there in one part nor another, save a knight that lay dead in
the midst of the chapel upon a bier, and he was covered of a rich cloth
of silk, and had around him waxen tapers burning that were fixed in
four candlesticks of gold. This squire marvelled much how this body
was left there so lonely, insomuch that none were about him save only
the images, and yet more marvelled he of the King that he found him
not, for he knew not in what part to seek him. He taketh out one of
the tall tapers, and layeth hand on the golden candlestick, and setteth
it betwixt his hose and his thigh and issueth forth of the chapel, and
remounteth on his hackney and goeth his way back and passeth beyond the
grave-yard and issueth forth of the launde and entereth into the forest
and thinketh that he will not cease until he hath found the King.
IV.
So, as he entereth into a grassy lane in the wood, he seeth come before
him a man black and foul-favoured, and he was somewhat taller afoot
than was himself a-horseback. And he held a great sharp knife in his
hand with two edges as it seemed him. The squire cometh over against
him a great pace and saith unto him, "You, that come there, have you
met King Arthur in this forest?"
"In no wise," saith the messenger, "But you have I met, whereof am I
right glad at heart, for you have departed from the chapel as a thief
and a traitor. For you are carrying off thence the candlestick of gold
that was in honour of the knight that lieth in the chapel dead.
Wherefore I will that you yield it up to me and so will I carry it
back, otherwise, and you do not this, you do I defy!"
"By my faith," saith the squire, "Never will I yield it you! rather
will I carry it off and make a present thereof to King Arthur."
"By my faith," saith the other, "Right dearly shall you pay for it, and
you yield it not up forthwith."
Howbeit, the squire smiteth with his spurs and thinketh to pass him by,
but the other hasteth him, and smiteth the squire in the left side with
the knife and thrusteth it into his body up to the haft. The squire,
that lay in the hall at Cardoil, and had dreamed this, awoke and cried
in a loud voice: "Holy Mary! The priest! Help! Help, for I am a dead
man!"
The King and the Queen heard the cry, and the chamberlain leapt up and
said to the King: "sir, you may well be moving, for it is day!"
The King made him be clad and shod. And the squire crieth with such
strength as he hath: "Fetch me the priest, for I die!"
The King goeth thither as fast as he may, and the Queen and the
chamberlain carry great torches and candles. The King asketh him what
aileth him, and he telleth him all in such wise as he had dreamed it.
"Ha," saith the King, "Is it then a dream?"
"Yea, sir," saith he, "But a right foul dream it is for me, for right
foully hath it come true!" He lifted his left arm. "Sir," saith he,
"Look you there! Lo, here is the knife that was run into my side up to
the haft!" After that, he setteth his hand to his hose where the
candlestick was. He draweth it forth and showeth it to the King.
"Sir," saith he, "For this candlestick that I present to you, am I
wounded to the death!"
The King taketh the candlestick, and looketh thereat in wonderment for
none so rich had he never seen tofore. The King showeth it to the
Queen. "Sir," saith the squire, "Draw not forth the knife of my body
until that I be shriven."
The King sent for one of his own chaplains that made the squire confess
and do his houselling right well. The King himself draweth forth the
knife of the body, and the soul departed forthwith. The King made do
his service right richly and his shrouding and burial. Ywain li
Aoutres that was father to the squire was right sorrowful of the death
of his son. King Arthur, with the good will of Ywain his father, gave
the candlestick to S. Paul in London, for the church was newly founded,
and the King wished that this marvellous adventure should everywhere be
known, and that prayer should be made in the church for the soul of the
squire that was slain on account of the candlestick.
V.
King Arthur armed himself in the morning, as I told you and began to
tell, to go to the chapel of S. Augustine. Said the Queen to him.
"Whom will you take with you?"
"Lady," saith he, "No company will I have thither, save God only, for
well may you understand by this adventure that hath befallen, that God
will not allow I should have none with me."
"Sir," saith she, "God be guard of your body, and grant you return
safely so as that you may have the will to do well, whereby shall your
praise be lifted up that is now sore cast down."
"Lady," saith he, "May God remember it."
His destrier was brought to the mounting-stage, and the King mounted
thereon all armed. Messire Ywain li Aoutres lent him his shield and
spear. When the King had hung the shield at his neck and held the
spear in his hand, sword-girt, on the tall destrier armed, well seemed
he in the make of his body and in his bearing to be a knight of great
pith and hardiment. He planteth himself so stiffly in the stirrups
that he maketh the saddlebows creak again and the destrier stagger
under him that was right stout and swift, and he smiteth him of his
spurs, and the horse maketh answer with a great leap. The Queen was at
the windows of the hall, and as many as five-and-twenty knights were
all come to the mounting-stage. When the King departed, "Lords," saith
the Queen, "How seemeth you of the King? Seemeth he not a goodly man?"
"Yea, certes, Lady, and sore loss is it to the world that he followeth
not out his good beginning, for no king nor prince is known better
learned of all courtesy nor of all largesse than he, so he would do
like as he was wont." With that the knights hold their peace, and King
Arthur goeth away a great pace. And he entereth into a great forest
adventurous, and rideth the day long until he cometh about evensong
into the thick of the forest. And he espied a little house beside a
little chapel, and it well seemed him to be a hermitage. King Arthur
rode thitherward and alighteth before this little house, and entereth
thereinto and draweth his horse after him, that had much pains to enter
in at the door, and laid his spear down on the ground and leant his
shield against the wall, and hath ungirded his sword and unlaced his
ventail. He looked before him and saw barley and provender, and so led
his horse thither and smote off his bridle, and afterwards hath shut
the door of the little house and locked it. And it seemed him that
there was a strife in the chapel. The ones were weeping so tenderly
and sweetly as it were angels, and the other spake so harshly as it
were fiends. The King heard such voices in the chapel and marvelled
much what it might be. He findeth a door in the little house that
openeth on a little cloister whereby one goeth to the chapel. The King
is gone thither and entereth into the little minster, and looketh
everywhere but seeth nought there, save the images and the crucifixes.
And he supposeth not that the strife of these voices cometh of them.
The voices ceased as soon as he was within. He marvelleth how it came
that this house and hermitage were solitary, and what had become of the
hermit that dwelt therein. He drew nigh the altar of the chapel and
beheld in front thereof a coffin all discovered, and he saw the hermit
lying therein all clad in his vestments, and seeth the long beard down
to his girdle, and his hands crossed upon his breast. There was a
cross above him, whereof the image came as far as his mouth, and he had
life in him yet, but he was nigh his end, being at the point of death.
The King was before the coffin a long space, and looked right fainly on
the hermit, for well it seemed him that he had been of a good life.
The night was fully come, but within was a brightness of light as if a
score of candles were lighted. He had a mind to abide there until that
the good man should have passed away. He would fain have sate him down
before the coffin, when a voice warned him right horribly to begone
thence, for that it was desired to make a judgment within there, that
might not be made so long as he were there. The King departed, that
would willingly have remained there, and so returned back into the
little house, and sate him down on a seat whereon the hermit wont to
sir. And he heareth the strife and the noise begin again within the
chapel, and the ones he heareth speaking high and the others low, and
he knoweth well by the voices, that the ones are angels and the others
devils. And he heareth that the devils are distraining on the hermit's
soul, and that judgment will presently be given in their favour,
whereof make they great joy. King Arthur is grieved in his heart when
he heareth that the angels' voices are stilled. The King is so heavy,
that no desire hath he neither to eat nor to drink. And while he
sitteth thus, stooping his head toward the ground, full of vexation and
discontent, he heareth in the chapel the voice of a Lady that spake so
sweet and clear, that no man in this earthly world, were his grief and
heaviness never so sore, but and he had heard the sweet voice of her
pleading would again have been in joy. She saith to the devils:
"Begone from hence, for no right have ye over the soul of this good
man, whatsoever he may have done aforetime, for in my Son's service and
mine own is he taken, and his penance hath he done in this hermitage of
the sins that he hath done."
"True, Lady," say the devils, "But longer had he served us than he hath
served you and your Son. For forty years or more hath he been a
murderer and robber in this forest, whereas in this hermitage but five
years hath he been. And now you Wish to thieve him from us."
"I do not. No wish have I to take him from you by theft, for had he
been taken in your service in suchwise as he hath been taken in mine,
yours would he have been, all quit."
The devils go their way all discomfit and aggrieved; and the sweet
Mother of our Lord God taketh the soul of the hermit, that was departed
of his body, and so commendeth it to the angels and archangels that
they make present thereof to Her dear Son in Paradise. And the angels
take it and begin to sing for joy "Te Deum laudamus". And the Holy
Lady leadeth them and goeth her way along with them. Josephus maketh
remembrance of this history and telleth us that this worthy man was
named Calixtus.
VI.
King Arthur was in the little house beside the chapel, and had heard
the voice of the sweet Mother of God and the angels. Great joy had he,
and was right glad of the good man's soul that was borne thence into
Paradise. The King had slept right little the night and was all armed.
He saw the day break clear and fair, and goeth his way toward the
chapel to cry God mercy, thinking to find the coffin discovered there
where the hermit lay; but so did he not! Rather, was it covered of the
richest tomb-stone that any might ever see, and had on the top a red
cross, and seemed it that the chapel was all incensed. When the King
had made his orison therein, he cometh back again and setteth on his
bridle and saddle and mounteth, and taketh his shield and spear and
departeth from the little house and entereth into the forest and rideth
a great pace, until he cometh at right hour of tierce to one of the
fairest laundes that ever a man might see. And he seeth at the
entrance a spear set bar-wise, and looketh to the right or ever he
should enter therein, and seeth a damsel sitting under a great leafy
tree, and she held the reins of her mule in her hand. The damsel was
of great beauty and full seemly clad. The King turneth thitherward and
so saluteth her and saith: "Damsel," saith he, "God give you joy and
good adventure."
"Sir," saith she, "So may He do to you!"
"Damsel," saith the King, "Is there no hold in this launde?"
"Sir," saith the damsel, "No hold is there save a most holy chapel and
a hermit that is beside S. Augustine's chapel."
"Is this then S. Augustine's chapel?" saith the King.
"Yea, Sir, I tell it you for true, but the launde and the forest about
is so perilous that no knight returneth thence but he be dead or
wounded; but the place of the chapel is of so great worthiness that
none goeth thither, be he never so discounselled, but he cometh back
counselled, so he may thence return on live. And Lord God be guard of
your body, for never yet saw I none aforetime that seemed more like to
be good knight, and sore pity would it be and you were not, and never
more shall I depart me hence and I shall have seen your end."
"Damsel," saith the King, "Please God, you shall see me repair back
thence."
"Certes," saith the damsel, "Thereof should I be! right fain, for then
should I ask you tidings at leisure of him that I am seeking."
The King goeth to the bar whereby one entereth into the launde, and
looketh to the right into a combe of the forest and seeth the chapel of
S. Augustine and the right fair hermitage. Thitherward goeth he and
alighteth, and it seemeth him that the hermit is apparelled to sing the
mass. He reineth up his horse to the bough of a tree by the side of
the chapel and thinketh to enter thereinto, but, had it been to conquer
all the kingdoms of the world, thereinto might he not enter, albeit
there was none made him denial thereof, for the door was open and none
saw he that might forbid him. Sore ashamed is the King thereof.
Howbeit, he beholdeth an image of Our Lord that was there within and
crieth Him of mercy right sweetly, and looketh toward the altar. And
he looketh at the holy hermit that was robed to sing mass and said his
"Confiteor", and seeth at his right hand the fairest Child that ever he
had seen, and He was clad in an alb and had a golden crown on his head
loaded with precious stones that gave out a full great brightness of
light. On the left hand side, was a Lady so fair that all the beauties
of the world might not compare them with her beauty. When the holy
hermit had said his "Confiteor" and went to the altar, the Lady also
took her Son and went to sit on the right hand side towards the altar
upon a right rich chair and set her Son upon her knees and began to
kiss Him full sweetly and saith: "Sir," saith she, "You are my Father
and my Son and my Lord, and guardian of me and of all the world."
King Arthur heareth the words and seeth the beauty of the Lady and of
the Child, and marvelleth much of this that She should call Him her
Father and her Son. He looketh at a window behind the altar and seeth
a flame come through at the very instant that mass was begun, clearer
than any ray of sun nor moon nor star, and evermore it threw forth a
brightness of light such that and all the lights in the world had been
together it would not have been the like. And it is come down upon the
altar. King Arthur seeth it who marvelleth him much thereof. But sore
it irketh him of this that he may not enter therewithin, and he
heareth, there where the holy hermit was singing the mass, right fair
responses, and they seem him to be the responses of angels. And when
the Holy Gospel was read, King Arthur looked toward the altar and saw
that the Lady took her Child and offered Him into the hands of the holy
hermit, but of this King Arthur made much marvel, that the holy hermit
washed not his hands when he had received the offering. Right sore did
King Arthur marvel him thereof, but little right would he have had to
marvel had he known the reason. And when the Child was offered him, he
set Him upon the altar and thereafter began his sacrament. And King
Arthur set him on his knees before the chapel and began to pray to God
and to beat his breast. And he looked toward the altar after the
preface, and it seemed him that the holy hermit held between his hands
a man bleeding from His side and in His palms and in His feet, and
crowned with thorns, and he seeth Him in His own figure. And when he
had looked on Him so long and knoweth not what is become of Him, the
King hath pity of Him in his heart of this that he had seen, and the
tears of his heart come into his eyes. And he looketh toward the altar
and thinketh to see the figure of the man, and seeth that it is changed
into the shape of the Child that he had seen tofore.
VII.
When the mass was sung, the voice of a holy angel said "Ite, missa
est". The Son took the Mother by the hand, and they evanished forth of
the chapel with the greatest company and the fairest that might ever be
seen. The flame that was come down through the window went away with
this company. When the hermit had done his service and was divested of
the arms of God, he went to King Arthur that was still without the
chapel. "Sir," saith he to the King, "Now may you well enter herein
and well might you have been joyous in your heart had you deserved so
much as that you might have come in at the beginning of the mass."
King Arthur entered into the chapel without any hindrance. "Sir," saith
the hermit to the King, "I know you well, as did I also King Uther
Pendragon your father. On account of your sins and your deserts might
you not enter here while mass was being sung. Nor will you to-morrow,
save you shall first have made amends of that you have misdone towards
God and towards the saint that is worshipped herewithin. For you are
the richest King of the world and the most adventurous, wherefore ought
all the world to take ensample of you in well-doing and in largesse and
in honour; whereas you are now an ensample of evil-doing to all rich
worshipful men that be now in the world. Wherefore shall right sore
mishap betide you and you set nor back your doing to the point whereat
you began. For your court was the sovran of all courts and the most
adventurous, whereas now is it least of worth. Well may he be sorry
that goeth from honour to shame, but never may he have reproach that
shall do him ill, that cometh from shame to honour, for the honour
wherein he is found rescueth him to God, but blame may never rescue the
man that hath renounced honour for shame, for the shame and wickedness
wherein he is found declare him guilty."
VIII.
"Sir," saith King Arthur, "To amend me have I come hither, and to be
better counselled than I have been. Well do I see that the place is
most holy, and I beseech you that you pray God that He counsel me and I
will do my endeavour herein to amend me."
"God grant you may amend your life," saith the holy hermit, "in such
sort that you may help to do away the evil Law and to exalt the Law
that is made new by the crucifixion of the Holy Prophet. But a great
sorrow is befallen in the land of late through a young knight that was
harboured in the hostel of the rich King Fisherman, for that the most
Holy Graal appeared to him and the Lance whereof the point runneth of
blood, yet never asked he to whom was served thereof nor whence it
came, and for that he asked it not are all the lands commoved to war,
nor no knight meeteth other in the forest but he runneth upon him and
slayeth him and he may, and you yourself shall well perceive thereof or
ever you shall depart of this launde."
"Sir," saith King Arthur, "God defend me from the anguish of an evil
death and from wickedness, for hither have I come for none other thing
but to amend my life, and this will I do, so God bring me back in
safety."
"Truly," saith the hermit, "He that hath been bad for three years out
of forty, he hath not been wholly good."
"Sir," saith the King, "You speak truth."
The hermit departeth and so commendeth him to God. The King cometh to
his horse and mounteth the speediest that ever he may, and setteth his
shield on his neck, and taketh his spear in his hand and turneth him
back a great pace. Howbeit, he had not gone a bowshot's length when he
saw a knight coming disorderly against him, and he sate upon a great
black horse and he had a shield of the same and a spear. And the spear
was somewhat thick near the point and burned with a great flame, foul
and hideous, and the flame came down as far as over the knight's fist.
He setteth his spear in rest and thinketh to smite the King, but the
King swerveth aside and the other passeth beyond. "Sir knight,
wherefor hate you me?"
"Of right ought I not to love you," saith the knight.
"Wherefore?" saith the King.
"For this, that you have had my brother's candlestick that was foully
stolen from him!"
"Know you then who I am?" saith the King.
"Yea," saith the knight; "You are the King Arthur that aforetime were
good and now are evil. Wherefore I defy you as my mortal enemy."
He draweth him back so that his onset may be the weightier. The King
seeth that he may not depart without a stour. He setteth his spear in
rest when he seeth the other come towards him with his own spear all
burning. The King smiteth his horse with his spurs as hard as he may,
and meeteth the knight with his spear and the knight him. And they
melled together so stoutly that the spears bent without breaking, and
both twain are shifted in their saddles and lose their stirrups. They
hurtle so strongly either against other of their bodies and their
horses that their eyes sparkle as of stars in their heads and the blood
rayeth out of King Arthur by mouth and nose. Either draweth away from
other and they take their breath. The King looketh at the Black
Knight's spear that burneth, and marvelleth him right sore that it is
not snapped in flinders of the great buffet he had received thereof,
and him thinketh rather that it is a devil and a fiend. The Black
Knight is not minded to let King Arthur go so soon, but rather cometh
toward him a great career. The King seeth him come toward him and so
covereth him of his shield for fear of the flame. The King receiveth
him on the point of his spear and smiteth him with so sore a shock that
he maketh him bend backward over his horse croup. The other, that was
of great might, leapeth back into the saddle-bows and smiteth the King
upon the boss of his shield so that the burning point pierceth the
shield and the sleeve of his habergeon and runneth the sharp iron into
his arm. The King feeleth the wound and the heat, whereof is he filled
with great wrath, and the knight draweth back his spear to him, and
hath great joy at heart when he feeleth the King wounded. The King was
rejoiced not a whit, and looked at the spear that was quenched thereof
and burned no longer.
"Sir," saith the knight, "I cry you mercy. Never would my spear have
been quenched of its burning, save it were bathed in your blood."
"Now may never God help me," saith King Arthur, "whenever I shall have
mercy on you, and I may achieve!"
He pricketh towards him a great run, and smiteth him in the broad of
the breast and thrusted his spear half an ell into his body, and
beareth him to the ground, both him and his horse all in a heap, and
draweth his spear back to him and looketh at the knight that lay as
dead and leaveth him in the launde, and draweth him towards the issue
incontinent. And so as the King went, he heard a great clashing of
knights coming right amidst the forest, so as it seemed there were a
good score or more of them, and he seeth them enter the launde from the
forest, armed and well horsed. And they come with great ado toward the
knight that lay dead in the midst of the launde. King Arthur was about
to issue forth, when the damsel that he had left under the tree cometh
forward to meet him.
"Sir," saith she, "For God's sake, return back and fetch me the head of
the knight that lieth there dead."
The King looketh back, and seeth the great peril and the multitude of
knights that are there all armed. "Ha, damsel," saith he, "You are
minded to slay me."
"Certes, Sir, that I am not, but sore need will there be that I should
have it, nor never did knight refuse to do the thing I asked nor deny
me any boon I demanded of him. Now God grant you be not the most
churlish."
"Ha, damsel, I am right sore wounded in the arm whereon I hold my
shield."
"Sir," saith she, "I know it well, nor never may you be heal thereof
save you bring me the head of the knight."
"Damsel," he saith, "I will essay it whatsoever may befal me thereof."
IX.
King Arthur looketh amidst the launde and seeth that they that have
come thither have cut the knight to pieces limb by limb, and that each
is carrying off a foot or a thigh or an arm or a hand and are
dispersing them through the forest. And he seeth that the last knight
beareth on the point of his spear the head. The King goeth after him a
great gallop and crieth out to him: "Ha, Sir knight, abide and speak to
me!"
"What is your pleasure?" saith the knight.
"Fair Sir," saith the King, "I beseech you of all loves that you deign
to give me the head of this knight that you are carrying on the point
of your lance."
"I will give it you," saith the knight, "on condition."
"What condition?" saith the King.
"That you tell me who slew the knight whose head I carry that you ask
of me."
"May I not otherwise have it?" saith the King.
"In no wise," saith he.
"Then will I tell you," saith the King. "Know of a very truth that
King Arthur slew him."
"And where is he?" saith the knight.
"Seek him until you shall have found him," saith King Arthur, "For I
have told you the truth thereof. Give me the head."
"Willingly," saith the knight. He lowereth his spear and the King
taketh the head. The knight had a horn at his neck. He setteth it to
his mouth and soundeth a blast right loud. The knights that were set
within the forest hear the horn and return back a great gallop, and
King Arthur goeth his way toward the oak-tree at the issue of the
launde where the damsel is awaiting him. And the knights come
presently to him that had given the head to the King and ask him
wherefore he hath sounded the horn.
"For this," saith he, "That this knight that is going away yonder hath
told me that King Arthur slew the Black Knight, and I was minded you
should know it that we may follow him."
"We will not follow him," say the knights, "For it is King Arthur
himself that is carrying off the head, and no power have we to do evil
to him nor other sith that he hath passed the bar. But you shall aby
it that let him go when he was so nigh you!"
They rush in upon him and slay him and cut him up, and each one
carrieth off his piece the same as they had done with the other. King
Arthur is issued forth of the bar, and cometh to the maiden that is
waiting for him and presenteth her the head.
"Sir," saith the damsel, "Gramercy."
"Damsel," saith he, "With a good will!"
"Sir," saith the damsel, "You may well alight, for nought have you to
fear on this side the bar." With that, the King alighteth.
"Sir," saith she, "Do off your habergeon heedfully and I will bind up
the wound in your arm, for of none may you be made whole save of me
only."
The King doeth off his habergeon, and the damsel taketh of the blood of
the knight's head that still ran all warm, and therewith washeth King
Arthur his wound, and thereafter maketh him do on his habergeon again.
"Sir," saith she, "Never would you have been whole save by the blood of
this Black Knight. And for this carried they off the body piecemeal
and the head, for that they well knew you were wounded; and of the head
shall I have right sore need, for thereby shall a castle be yielded up
to me that was reft from me by treason, so I may find the knight that I
go seek, through whom it ought to be yielded up to me."
"Damsel," saith the King, "And who is the knight?"
"Sir," saith she, "He was the son of Alain li Gros of the Valleys of
Camelot, and is named Perlesvax."
"Wherefore Perlesvax?" saith the King.
"Sir," saith she, "When he was born, his father was asked how he should
be named in right baptism, and he said that he would he should have the
name Perlesvax, for the Lord of the Moors had reft him of the greater
part of the Valleys of Camelot, and therefore he would that his son
should by this name be reminded thereof, and God should so multiply him
as that he should be knight. The lad was right comely and right gentle
and began to go by the forests and launch his javelins, Welsh-fashion,
at hart and hind. His father and his mother loved him much, and one
day they were come forth of their hold, whereunto the forest was close
anigh, to enjoy them. Now, there was between the hold and the forest,
an exceeding small chapel that stood upon four columns of marble; and
it was roofed of timber and had a little altar within, and before the
altar a right fair coffin, and thereupon was the figure of a man
graven. Sir," saith the damsel to the King, "The lad asked his father
and mother what man lay within the coffin. The father answered: 'Fair
son,' saith he, 'Certes, I know not to tell you, for the tomb hath been
here or ever that my father's father was born, and never have I heard
tell of none that might know who it is therein, save only that the
letters that are on the coffin say that when the Best Knight in the
world shall come hither the coffin will open and the joinings all fall
asunder, and then will it be seen who it is that lieth therein.'"
X.
"Damsel," saith the King, "Have many knights passed thereby sithence
that the coffin was set there?"
"Yea, sir, so many that neither I nor none other may tell the number.
Yet natheless hath not the coffin removed itself for none. When the
lad heareth his father and mother talking thus, he asketh what a knight
may be? 'Fair son,' saith his mother, 'Of right ought you well to know
by your lineage.' She telleth the lad that he had eleven uncles on his
father's side that had all been slain in arms, and not one of them
lived knight but twelve years. Sir," saith she to the King, "The lad
made answer that this was nor that he had asked, but how knights were
made? And the father answered that they were such as had more valour
than any other in the world. After that he said, 'Fair son, they are
clad in habergeons of iron to protect their bodies, and helms laced
upon their heads, and shields and spears and swords girded wherewithal
to defend their bodies.'"
XI.
"Sir," saith the damsel to the King, "When that the father had thus
spoken to the lad, they returned together to the castle. When the
morrow morning came, the lad arose and heard the birds sing and
bethought him that he would go for disport into the forest for the day
sith that it was fair. So he mounted on one of his father's horses of
the chase and carried his javelins Welshman-fashion and went into the
forest and found a stag and followed him a good four leagues Welsh,
until that he came into a launde and found two knights all armed that
were there doing battle, and the one had a red shield and the other a
white. He left of tracking the stag to look on at the melly and saw
that the Red Knight was conquering the White. He launched one of his
javelins at the Red Knight so hard that he pierced his habergeon and
made it pass through the heart. The knight fell dead.
"Sir," saith the damsel, "The knight of the white shield made great joy
thereof, and the lad asked him, 'were knights so easy to slay?
Methought,' saith the lad, 'that none might never pierce nor damage a
knight's armour, otherwise would I not have run him through with my
javelin,' saith the lad. Sir, the lad brought the destrier home to his
father and mother, and right grieved were they when they heard the
tidings of the knight he had slain. And right were they, for thereof
did sore trouble come to them thereafter. Sir, the squire departed
from the house of his father and mother and came to the court of King
Arthur. Right gladly did the King make him knight when he knew his
will, and afterward he departed from the land and went to seek
adventure in every kingdom. Now is he the Best Knight that is in the
world. So go I to seek him, and full great joy shall I have at heart
and I may find him. Sir, and you should meet him by any adventure in
any of these forests, he beareth a red shield with a white hart. And
so tell him that his father is dead, and that his mother will lose all
her land so he come not to succour her; and that the brother of the
knight of the Red shield that he slew in the forest with his javelin
warreth upon her with the Lord of the Moors."
"Damsel," saith the King, "And God grant me to meet him, right fain
shall I be thereof, and right well will I set forth your message."
"Sir," saith she, "Now that I have told you him that I seek, it is your
turn to tell me your name."
"Damsel," saith the King, "Willingly. They that know me call me
Arthur."
"Arthur? Have you indeed such name?"
"Yea, damsel," saith he.
"So help me God," saith she, "Now am I sorrier for you than tofore, for
you have the name of the worst King in the world, and I would that he
were here in such sort as you are now. But never again will he move
from Cardoil, do what he may, such dread hath the Queen lest any should
take him from her, according as I have heard witness, for never saw I
neither the one nor the other. I was moved to go to his court, but I
have met full a score knights one after other, of whom I asked
concerning him, and one told me the same tale as another, for each told
me that the court of King Arthur is the vilest in the world, and that
all the knights of the Table Round have renounced it for the badness
thereof."
"Damsel," saith the King, "Hereof may he well be sorry, but at the
beginning I have heard say he did right well."
"And who careth," saith the damsel, "for his good beginning when the
end is bad? And much it misliketh me that so seemly knight and so
worshipful man as are you should have the name of so evil a king."
"Damsel," saith the King, "A man is not good by his name, but by his
heart."
"You say true," saith the damsel, "But for the King's name have I
despite of yours. And whitherward are you going?"
"I shall go to Cardoil, where I shall find King Arthur when I shall
come thither."
"Go to, then, and bestir!" saith she.
"One bad man with another! No better hope have I of you, sith that you
go thither!"
"Damsel, you may say your pleasure, for thither I go! God be with you!"
"And may never God guide you," saith she, "and you go the court of King
Arthur!"
XII.
With that the King mounted again and departed, and left the damsel
under the tree and entered into the deep forest and rode with much ado
as fast as he might to come to Cardoil. And he had ridden a good ten
leagues Welsh when he heard a Voice in the thick of the forest that
began to cry aloud: "King Arthur of Great Britain, right glad at heart
mayst thou be of this that God hath sent me hither unto thee. And so
He biddeth thee that thou hold court at the earliest thou mayst, for
the world, that is now made worse of thee and of thy slackness in
well-doing, shall thereof be greatly amended!"
With that the Voice is silent, and the King was right joyous in his
heart of that he had heard. The story speaketh no more here of other
adventure that befel King Arthur in his returning nor on his arriving.
Anyway, he hath ridden so long that he is come back to Cardoil. The
Queen and the knights made great feast of him and great joy. The King
was alighted on the mounting-stage and went up into the hall and made
him be disarmed. And he showed the Queen the wound that he had on his
arm, that had been right great and painful, but it was healing full
fairly. The King goeth into the chamber and the Queen with him, and
doeth the King be apparelled in a robe of cloth of silk all furred of
ermine, with coat, surcoat and mantle.
"Sir," saith the Queen, "Sore pain and travail have you had."
"Lady, in such wise behoveth worshipful man to suffer in order that he
may have honour, for hardly shall none without travail come to honour."
He recounteth to the Queen all the adventures that have befallen him
sithence that he was departed, and in what manner he was wounded in the
arm, and of the damsel that had so blamed him of his name.
"Sir," saith the queen, "Now may you well know how meet it is that a
man high and rich and puissant should have great shame of himself when
he becometh evil."
"Lady," saith the King, "So much did the damsel do me well to wot, but
greatly did a Voice recomfort me that I heard in the forest, for it
told me that God bade me hold court presently, and that I shall see
there the fairest adventure befal that ever I may see."
"Sir," saith she, "Right joyous ought you to be that your Saviour hath
had you in remembrance. Now, therefore, fulfil His commandment."
"Certes, Lady, so will I do. For never had none better desire of
well-doing than have I as at this time, nor of honour nor of largesse."
"Sir," saith she, "God be praised thereof."
BRANCH II.
Now beginneth here the second branch of the Holy Graal the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
TITLE I
King Arthur was at Cardoil with the Queen and right few knights. By
God's pleasure, the wish and the will had come back to him to win
honour and to do largesse as most he might. He made seal his letters
and sent them throughout all his lands and all the islands, and gave
notice to the barons and knights that he would hold court at
Pannenoisance, that is situate the sea of Wales, at the feast of S.
John after Whitsuntide. And he was minded to put it off until that
day, for that suntide was already too nigh, and they that should be
thereat might not all come by the earlier day. The tidings went
through all lands, so that knights come in great plenty thereunto, for
well-doing had so waxed feeble in all the kingdoms, that every one had
avoided King Arthur as one that should do nought more for ever.
Wherefore all began now to marvel whence his new desire had come. The
knights of the Table Round that were scattered through the lands and
the forests, by God's will learnt the tidings and right great joy had
they thereof, and came back to the court with great ado. But neither
Messire Gawain nor Lancelot came thither on that day. But all the
other came that were then on live. S. John's day came, and the knights
were come from all parts, marvelling much that the King had not held
the court at Whitsuntide, but they knew not the occasion thereof. The
day was fair and clear and the air fresh, and the hall was wide and
high and garnished of good knights in great plenty. The cloths were
spread on the tables whereof were great plenty in the hall. The King
and the Queen had washen and went to sit at the head of one table and
the other knights sate them down, whereof were full five score and five
as the story telleth. Kay the Seneschal and Messire Ywain the son of
King Urien served that day at the tables at meat, and five-and-twenty
knights beside. And Lucan the Butler served the golden cup before the
King. The sun shone through the windows everywhere amidst the hall
that was strown of flowers and rushes and sweet herbs and gave out a
smell like as had it been sprinkled of balm. And straightway after the
first meat had been served, and while they were yet awaiting the
second, behold you three damsels where they enter into the hall! She
that came first sate upon a mule white as driven snow and had a golden
bridle and a saddle with a bow of ivory banded with precious stones and
a saddle-cloth of a red samite dropped of gold. The damsel that was
seated on the mule was right seemly of body but scarce so fair of face,
and she was robed in a rich cloth of silk and gold and had a right rich
hat that covered all her head. And it was all loaded of costly stones
that flamed like fire. And great need had she that her head were
covered, for she was all bald without hair, and carried on her neck her
right arm slung in a stole of cloth of gold. And her arm lay on a
pillow, the richest that ever might be seen, and it was all charged of
little golden bells, and in this hand held she the head of a King
sealed in silver and crowned with gold. The other damsel that came
behind rode after the fashion of a squire, and carried a pack trussed
behind her with a brachet thereupon, and at her neck she bore a shield
banded argent and azure with a red cross, and the boss was of gold all
set with precious stones. The third damsel came afoot with her kirtle
tucked up like a running footman; and she had in her hand a whip
wherewith she drove the two steeds. Each of these twain was fairer
than the first, but the one afoot surpassed both the others in beauty.
The first cometh before the King, there where he sitteth at meat with
the Queen.
"Sir," saith she, "The Saviour of the world grant you honour and joy
and good adventure and my Lady the Queen and all them of this hall for
love of you! Hold it not churlishness and I alight not, for there
where knights be may I not alight, nor ought I until such time as the
Graal be achieved."
"Damsel," saith the King, "Gladly would I have it so."
"Sir," saith she, "That know I well, and may it not mislike you to hear
the errand whereon I am come."
"It shall not mislike me," saith the King, "say your pleasure!"
"Sir," saith she, "The shield that this damsel beareth belonged to
Joseph, the good soldier knight that took down Our Lord of hanging on
the rood. I make you a present thereof in such wise as I shall tell
you, to wit, that you keep the shield for a knight that shall come
hither for the same, and you shall make hang it on this column in the
midst of your hall, and guard it in such wise as that none may take it
and hang at his neck save he only. And of this shield shall he achieve
the Graal, and another shield shall he leave here in the hall, red,
with a white hart; and the brachet that the damsel carrieth shall here
remain, and little joy will the brachet make until the knight shall
come."
"Damsel," saith the King, "The shield and the brachet will we keep full
safely, and right heartily we thank you that you have deigned to bring
them hither."
"Sir," saith the damsel, "I have not yet told you all that I have in
charge to deliver. The best King that liveth on earth and the most
loyal and the most righteous, sendeth you greeting; of whom is sore
sorrow for that he hath fallen into a grievous languishment."
"Damsel," saith the King, "Sore pity is it and it be so as you say; and
I pray you tell me who is the King?"
"Sir," saith she, "It is rich King Fisherman, of whom is great grief."
"Damsel," saith the King, "You say true; and God grant him his heart's
desire!"
"Sir," saith she, "Know you wherefore he hath fallen into languishment?"
"Nay, I know not at all, but gladly would I learn."
"And I will tell you," saith she. "This languishment is come upon him
through one that harboured in his hostel, to whom the most Holy Graal
appeared. And, for that he would not ask unto whom one served thereof,
were all the lands commoved to war thereby, nor never thereafter might
knight meet other but he should fight with him in arms without none
other occasion. You yourself may well perceive the same, for your
well-doing hath greatly slackened, whereof have you had much blame, and
all the other barons that by you have taken ensample, for you are the
mirror of the world alike in well-doing and in evil-doing. Sir, I
myself have good right to plain me of the knight, and I will show you
wherefore."
She lifteth the rich hat from her head and showeth the King and Queen
and the knights in the hall her head all bald without hair.
"Sir," saith she, "My head was right seemly garnished of hair plaited
in rich tresses of gold at such time as the knight came to the hostel
of the rich King Fisherman, but I became bald for that he made not the
demand, nor never again shall I have my hair until such time as a
knight shall go thither that shall ask the question better than did he,
or the knight that shall achieve the Graal. Sir, even yet have you not
seen the sore mischief that hath befallen thereof. There is without
this hall a car that three white harts have drawn hither, and lightly
may you send to see how rich it is. I tell you that the traces are of
silk and the axletrees of gold, and the timber of the car is ebony.
The car is covered above with a black samite, and below is a cross of
gold the whole length, and under the coverlid of the car are the heads
of an hundred and fifty knights whereof some be sealed in gold, other
some in silver and the third in lead. King Fisherman sendeth you word
that this loss I hath befallen of him that demanded not unto whom one
serveth of the Graal. Sir, the damsel that beareth the shield holdeth
in her hand the head of a Queen that is sealed in lead and crowned with
copper, and I tell you that by the Queen whose head you here behold was
the King betrayed whose head I bear, and the three manner of knights
whose heads are within the car. Sir, send without to see the
costliness and fashion of the car."
The King sent Kay the Seneschal to see. He looked straitly thereat
within and without and thereafter returned to the King. "Sir," saith
he, "Never beheld I car so rich, and there be three harts withal that
draw the car, the tallest and fattest one might ever see. But and you
will be guided by me, you will take the foremost, for he is scarce so
far, and so might you bid make right good collops thereof."
"Avoid there, Kay!" saith the King. "Foul churlishness have you
spoken! I would not such a deed were done for another such kingdom as
is this of Logres!"
"Sir," saith the damsel, "He that hath been wont to do churlishness
doth right grudgingly withdraw himself therefrom. Messire Kay may say
whatsoever him pleaseth, but well know I that you will pay no heed to
his talk. Sir," saith the damsel, "Command that the shield be hung on
this column and that the brachet be put in the Queen's chamber with the
maidens. We will go on our way, for here have we been long enough."
Messire Ywain laid hold on the shield and took it off the damsel's neck
by leave of the King, and hung it on the column in the midst of the
hall, and one of the Queen's maidens taketh the brachet and carrieth
him to the Queen's chamber. And the damsel taketh her leave and
turneth again, and the King commendeth her to God. When the King eaten
in hall, the Queen with the King and the knights go to lean at the
windows to look at the three damsels and the three white harts that
draw the car, and the more part said that the damsel afoot that went
after the two that were mounted should have the most misease. The bald
damsel went before, and set not her hat on her head until such time as
behoved her enter into the forest; and the knights that were at the
windows might see them no longer. Then set she her hat again upon her
head. The King, the Queen, and the knights when they might see them no
more, came down from the windows, and certain of them said that never
until this time had they seen bald-headed damsel save this one only.
II.
Hereupon the story is silent of King Arthur, and turneth again to speak
of the three damsels and the car that was drawn by the three white
harts. They are entered into the forest and ride on right busily.
When they had left the castle some seven leagues Welsh behind them,
they saw a knight coming toward them on the way they had to go. The
knight sat on a tall horse, lean and bony. His habergeon was all rusty
and his shield pierced in more than a dozen places, and the colour
thereon was so fretted away that none might make out the cognizance
thereof. And a right thick spear bore he in his hand. When he came
anigh the damsel, he saluted her right nobly.
"Fair welcome, damsel, to you and your company."
"Sir," saith she, "God grant you joy and good adventure!"
"Damsel," saith the knight, "Whence come you?"
"Sir, from a court high-plenary that King Arthur holdeth at
Pannenoisance. Go you thither, sir knight," saith the damsel, "to see
the King and the Queen and the knights that are there?"
"Nay, not so!" saith he. "Many a time have I seen them, but right glad
am I of King Arthur that he hath again taken up his well-doing, for
many a time hath he been accustomed thereof."
"Whitherward have you now emprised your way?" saith the damsel.
"To the land of King Fisherman, and God allow me."
"Sir," saith she, "Tell me your name and bide awhile beside me."
The knight draweth bridle and the damsels and the car come to a stay.
"Damsel," saith he, "Well behoveth me tell you my name. Messire Gawain
am I called, King Arthur's nephew."
"What? are you Messire Gawain? my heart well told me as much."
"Yea, damsel," saith he, "Gawain am I."
"God be praised thereof, for so good knight as are you may well go see
the rich King Fisherman. Now am I fain to pray you of the valour that
is in you and the courtesy, that you return with me and convoy me
beyond a certain castle that is in this forest whereof is some small
peril."
"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Willingly, at your pleasure."
He returneth with the damsel through the midst of the forest that was
tall and leafy and little haunted of folk. The damsel relateth to him
the adventure of the heads that she carried and that were in the car,
like as she did at the court of King Arthur, and of the shield and the
brachet she had left there, but much it misliked Messire Gawain of the
damsel that was afoot behind them. "Damsel," saith Messire Gawain,
"Wherefore doth not this damsel that goeth afoot mount upon the car?"
"Sir," saith she, "This shall she not, for behoveth her go not
otherwise than afoot. But and you be so good knight as men say,
betimes will she have done her penance."
"How so?" saith Gawain.
"I will tell you," saith she. "And it shall so be that God bring you
to the hostel of rich King Fisherman, and the most Holy Graal appear
before you and you demand unto whom is served thereof, then will she
have done her penance, and I, that am bald, shall receive again my
hair. And so you also make not demand thereof, then will it behove us
suffer sore annoy until such time as the Good knight shall come and
shall have achieved the Graal. For on account of him that first was
there and made not the demand, are all the lands in sorrow and warfare,
and the good King Fisherman is yet in languishment."
"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "God grant me courage and will herein
that I may come to do this thing according to your wish, whereof may I
win worship both of God and of the world."
III.
Messire Gawain and the damsels go on their way a great pace through the
high forest, green and leafy, where the birds are singing, and enter
into the most hideous forest and most horrible that any might ever see,
and seemed it that no greenery never there had been, so bare and dry
were all the branches and all the trees black and burnt as it had been
by fire, and the ground all parched and black atop with no green, and
full of great cracks.
"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Right loathly is this forest and right
hideous. Goeth it on far like this?"
"Sir." saith she, "For nine leagues Welsh goeth it on the same, but we
shall pass not through the whole thereof."
Messire Gawain looketh from time to time on the damsel that cometh
arbor, and sore it irketh him that he may not amend her estate. They
ride on until that they come to a great valley and Messire Gawain
looketh along the bottom and seeth appear a black castle that was
enclosed within a girdle of wall, foul and evilseeming. The nigher he
draweth to the castle the more hideous it seemeth him, and he seeth
great halls appear that were right foully mis-shapen, and the forest
about it he seeth to be like as he had found it behind. He seeth a
water come down from the head of a mountain, foul and horrible and
black, that went amidst the castle roaring so loud that it seemed to be
thunder. Messire Gawain seeth the entrance of the gateway foul and
horrible like as it had been hell, and within the castle heard he great
outcries and lamentations, and the most part heard he saying: "Ha, God!
What hath become of the Good Knight, and when will he come?"
"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "What is this castle here that is so
foul and hideous, wherein is such dolour suffered and such weary
longing for the coming of the Good Knight?"
"Sir, this is the castle of the Black Hermit. Wherefore am I fain to
pray you that you meddle not herein for nought that they within may do
to me, for otherwise it may well be that your death is at hand, for
against them will you have no might nor power."
They come anigh the castle as it were a couple of bow-shots, and
behold, through the gateway come knights armed on black horses and
their arms all black and their shields and spears, and there were a
hundred and fifty and two, right parlous to behold. And they come a
great gallop toward the damsel, and toward the car, and take the
hundred and fifty-two heads, each one his own, and set them upon their
spears and so enter into the castle again with great joy. Messire
Gawain seeth the insolence that the knights have wrought, and right
great shame hath he of himself that he hath not moved withal.
"Messire Gawain," saith the damsel, "Now may you know how little would
your force have availed you herein."
"Damsel, an evil castle is this where folk are robbed on such wise."
"Sir, never may this mischief be amended, nor this outrage be done
away, nor the evil-doer therein be stricken down, nor they that cry and
lament within the prison there be set free until such time as the Good
Knight shall come for whom are they yearning as you have heard but now."
"Damsel, right glad may the knight be that by his valour and his
hardiment shall destroy so many evil folk!"
"Sir, therefore is he the Best Knight in the world, and he is yet young
enough of age, but right sorrowful am I at heart that I know not true
tidings of him; for better will have I to see him than any man on live."
"Damsel, so also have I," saith Messire Gawain, "For then by your leave
would I turn me again."
"Not so, sir, but and you shall come beyond the castle, then will I
teach you the way whereby you ought to go."
IV.
With that they go toward the castle all together. Just as they were
about to pass beyond the castle wall, behold you where a knight cometh
forth of a privy postern of the castle, and he was sitting upon a tall
horse, his spear in his fist, and at his neck had he a red shield
whereon was figured a golden eagle. "Sir knight," saith he to Messire
Gawain, "I pray you bide."
"What is your pleasure?"
"You must needs joust with me," saith he "and conquer this shield, or
otherwise I shall conquer you. And full precious is the shield,
insomuch as that great pains ought you to take to have it and conquer
it, for it belonged to the best knight of his faith that was ever, and
the most puissant and the wisest."
"Who, then, was he?" saith Messire Gawain.
"Judas Machabee was he, and he it was that first wrought how by one
bird to take another."
"You say true," saith Messire Gawain; "A good knight was he."
"Therefore right joyful may you be," saith he, "and you may conquer the
same, for your own is the poorest and most battered that ever saw I
borne by knight. For hardly may a man know the colour thereof."
"Thereby may you well see," saith the damsel to the knight, "that his
own shield hath not been idle, nor hath the horse whereon he sitteth
been stabled so well as yours."
"Damsel," saith the knight, "No need is here of long pleading. Needs
must he joust with me, for him do I defy."
Saith Messire Gawain, "I hear well that you say."
He draweth him back and taketh his career and the knight likewise, and
they come together as fast as their horses may carry them, spear in
rest. The knight smiteth Messire Gawain on the shield whereof he had
no great defence, and passeth beyond, and in the by-pass the knight
to-brake his spear; and Messire Gawain smiteth him with his spear in
the midst of his breast and beareth him to the ground over the croup of
his horse, all pinned upon his spear, whereof he had a good full hand's
breadth in his breast. He draweth his spear back to him, and when the
knight felt himself unpinned, he leaped to his feet and came straight
to his horse and would fain set his foot in the stirrup when the damsel
of the car crieth out: "Messire Gawain, hinder the knight! for and he
were mounted again, too sore travail would it be to conquer him!"
When the knight heard name Messire Gawain, he draweth him back: "How?"
saith he; "Is this then the good Gawain, King Arthur's nephew?"
"Yea," saith the damsel, "He it is without fail!"
"Sir," saith the knight to Messire Gawain, "Are you he?"
"Yea," saith he, "Gawain I am!"
"Sir, so please you," saith he, "I hold me conquered, and right sorry
am I that I knew you not or ever I had ado with you."
He taketh the shield from his neck and holdeth it to him. "Sir," saith
he, "Take the shield that belonged to the best knight that was in his
time of his faith, for none know I of whom it shall be better employed
than of you. And of this shield were vanquished all they that be in
prison in this castle." Messire Gawain taketh the shield that was
right fair and rich.
"Sir," saith the knight, "Now give me yours, for you will not bear two
shields."
"You say true," saith Messire Gawain.
He taketh the guige from his neck and would have given him the shield,
when the damsel afoot: "Hold, sir knight, you that are named Messire
Gawain! What would you do? And he bear your shield into the castle
there, they of the castle will hold you recreant and conquered, and
will come forth thence and carry you into the castle by force, and
there will you be cast into his grievous prison; for no shield is borne
thereinto save of a vanquished knight only."
"Sir knight," saith Messire Gawain, "No good you wish me, according to
that this damsel saith."
"Sir," saith the knight, "I cry you mercy, and a second time I hold me
conquered, and right glad should I have been might I have borne your
shield within yonder, and right great worship should I have had
thereof, for never yet hath entered there the shield of knight so good.
And now ought I to be right well pleased of your coming, sith that you
have set me free of the sorest trouble that ever knight had."
"What is the trouble?" saith Messire Gawain.
"Sir," saith he, "I will tell you. Heretofore many a time hath there
been a passing by of knights both of hardy and of coward, and it was my
business to contend and joust with them and do battle, and I made them
present of the shield as did I you. The more part found I hardy and
well able to defend themselves, that wounded me in many places, but
never was knight so felled me to the ground nor dealt me so sore a
buffet as have you. And sith that you are carrying away the shield and
I am conquered, never here-after shall knight that passeth before this
castle have no dread of me nor of no knight that is herein."
"By my head," saith Messire Gawain, "Now am I gladder of my conquest
than I was before."
"Sir," saith the knight, "By your leave will I go my way, for, and I
may hide not my shame in the castle, needs must I show it openly
abroad."
"God grant you do well!" saith Messire Gawain.
"Messire Gawain," saith the Damsel of the Car, "give me your shield
that the knight would fain have carried off."
"Willingly, damsel," saith he. The damsel that went afoot taketh the
shield and setteth it in the car. Howbeit, the knight that was
conquered mounted again upon his horse, and entered again into the
castle, and when he was come thereinto, arose a noise and great outcry
so loud that all the forest and all the valley began to resound
thereof. "Messire Gawain," saith the Damsel of the Car, "the knight is
shamed and there cast in prison another time. Now haste, Messire
Gawain! for now may you go!"
With that they all set forward again upon their way together, and leave
the castle an English league behind. "Damsel," saith Messire Gawain,
"When it shall please you, I shall have your leave to go."
"Sir," saith she, "God be guard of your body, and right great thanks of
your convoy."
"Lady," saith he, "My service is always ready at your command."
"Sir," saith the damsel, "Gramercy, and your own way see you there by
yonder great cross at the entrance of yonder forest. And beyond that,
will you find the fairest forest and most delightsome when you shall
have passed through this that sore is wearisome."
Messire Gawain turneth him to go, and the damsel afoot crieth out to
him: "Sir, not so heedful are you as I supposed."
Messire Gawain turneth his horse's head as he that was startled:
"Wherefore say you so, damsel?" saith he.
"For this," saith she, "That you have never asked of my Damsel
wherefore she carrieth her arm slung at her neck in this golden stole,
nor what may be the rich pillow whereon the arm lieth. And no greater
heed will you take at the court of the rich King Fisherman."
"Sweet, my friend," saith the Damsel of the Car, "blame not Messire
Gawain only, but King Arthur before him and all the knights that were
in the court. For not one of them all that were there was so heedful
as to ask me. Go your ways, Messire Gawain, for in vain would you now
demand it, for I will tell you not, nor shall you never know it save
only by the most coward knight in the world, that is mine own knight
and goeth to seek me and knoweth not where to find me."
"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "I durst not press you further."
With that the Damsel departeth, and Messire Gawain setteth him forward
again on the way that she had taught him.
BRANCH III.
INCIPIT.
Here beginneth another branch of the Graal in the name of the Father,
and in the name of the Son, and in the name of the Holy Ghost.
TITLE I
Here is the story silent of the three damsels and the Car and saith
that Messire Gawain hath passed throughout the evil forest and is
entered into the forest passing fair, the broad, the high, the
plenteous of venison. And he rideth a great pace, but sore abashed is
he of that the damsel had said to him, and misdoubteth him but he shall
have blame thereof in many places. He rode hard the day long till that
it was evensong and the sun was about to set. And he looketh before
him and seeth the house of a hermit and the chapel in the thick of the
forest; and a spring flowed forth in front of the chapel right clear
and fresh, and above it was a tree full broad and tall that threw a
shadow over the spring. A damsel sate under the tree and held a mule
by the reins and at the saddle-bow had she the head of a knight
hanging. And Messire Gawain cometh thitherward and alighteth.
"Damsel," saith he, "God give you good adventure!"
"Sir," saith she, "And you always."
When she was risen up over against him, "Damsel," saith he, "For whom
are you a-waiting here?"
"Sir," saith she, "I am waiting for the hermit of this holy chapel,
that is gone into the forest, and I would fain ask him tidings of a
knight."
"Think you he will tell you them and he knoweth any?"
"Yea, sir, I think so, according to that I have been told."
Therewithal behold you the hermit that was coming, and saluteth the
damsel and Messire Gawain and openeth the door of the house and setteth
the two steeds within and striketh off the bridles and giveth them
green-meat first and barley after, and fain would he have taken off the
saddles when Messire Gawain leapeth before: "Sir," saith he, "Do not
so! This business is not for you!"
"Hermit though I be," saith he, "yet well know I how to deal withal,
for at the court of King Uther Pendragon have I been squire and knight
two-score years, and a score or mort have I been in this hermitage."
And Messire Gawain looketh at him in wonderment. "Sir," saith he,
"Meseemeth you are not of more than forty years."
"That know I well of a truth," saith the hermit, and Messire Gawain
taketh off the saddles and bethinketh him more of the damsel's mule
than of his own horse. And the hermit taketh Messire Gawain by the
hand and the damsel and leadeth them into the chapel. And the place
was right fair.
"Sir," saith the hermit to Messire Gawain, "You will disarm you not,"
saith he, "for this forest is passing adventurous, and no worshipful
man behoveth be disgarnished."
He goeth for his spear and for his shield and setteth them within the
chapel. He setteth before them such meat as he hath, and when they
have eaten giveth them to drink of the spring.
"Sir," saith the damsel, "Of a knight that I go seek am I come to ask
you tidings."
"Who is the knight?" saith the hermit.
"Sir, he is the Chaste Knight of most holy lineage. He hath a heart of
gold, the look of a lion, the navel of a virgin maid, a heart of steel,
the body of an elephant, and without wickedness are all his conditions."
"Damsel," saith the hermit, "Nought will I tell you concerning him, for
I know not of a certainty where he is, save this, that he hath lain in
this chapel twice, not once only, within this twelvemonth."
"Sir," saith she, "Will you tell me no more of him, nor none other
witting?"
"In no wise," saith the hermit.
"And you, Messire Gawain?" saith she.
"Damsel," saith he, "As fainly would I see him as you, but none find I
that may tell me tidings of him."
"And the damsel of the Car, Sir, have you seen her?"
"Yea, lady," saith he, "It is but just now sithence that I left her."
"Carried she still her arm slung at her neck?"
"Yea," saith Messire Gawain, "in such wise she carried it."
"Of a long while," saith the damsel, "hath she borne it thus."
"Sir," saith the hermit, "how are you named?"
"Sir," saith he, "Gawain am I called, King Arthur's nephew."
"Thereof I love you the better," saith the hermit.
"Sir," saith the damsel, "You are of kindred to the worst King that is."
"Of what King speak you?" saith Messire Gawain.
"I speak," saith she, "of King Arthur, through whom is all the world
made worser, for he began doing well and now hath become evil. For
hatred of him hate I a knight that found me nigh S. Augustine's Chapel,
and yet was he the comeliest knight that saw I ever. He slew a knight
within the bar right hardily. I asked him for the head of the knight
and he went back for the same and set himself in sore peril. He
brought it me, and I made him great joy, but when he told me his name
was Arthur I had no fainness of the bounty he had done me, for that he
had the name of that evil King."
II.
"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "You may say your pleasure. I tell you
that King Arthur hath held the richest court that he hath held ever,
and these evil conditions whereof you blame him is he minded to put
away for evermore, and more will he do of good and more of largesse
than was ever known aforetime so long as he shall live; nor know I none
other knight that beareth his name."
"You are right," saith the damsel, "to come to his rescue, for that he
is your uncle, but your rescue will scarce avail him and he deliver not
himself."
"Sir," saith the hermit to Messire Gawain, "The damsel will say her
pleasure. May God defend King Arthur, for his father made me knight.
Now am I priest, and in this hermitage ever sithence that I came hither
have I served King Fisherman by the will of Our Lord and His
commandment, and all they that serve him do well partake of his reward,
for the place of his most holy service is a refuge so sweet that unto
him that hath been there a year, it seemeth to have been but a month
for the holiness of the place and of himself, and for the sweetness of
his castle wherein have I oftentimes done service in the chapel where
the Holy Graal appeareth. Therefore is it that I and all that serve
him are so youthful of seeming."
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "By what way may a man go to his castle?"
"Sir," saith the hermit, "None may teach you the way, save the will of
God lead you therein. And would you fain go thither?"
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "It is the most wish that I have."
"Sir," saith the hermit, "Now God give you grace and courage to ask the
question that the others to whom the Graal hath appeared would ask not,
whereof have many mischances sithence befallen much people."
III.
With that, they left of talking, and the hermit led Messire Gawain into
his house to rest, and the damsel abode still in the chapel. On the
morrow when dawn appeared, Messire Gawain that had lain all armed,
arose and found his saddle ready and the damsel, and the bridles set
on, and cometh to the chapel and findeth the hermit that was apparelled
to sing mass, and seeth the damsel kneeling before an image of Our
Lady, and she prayed God and the sweet Lady that they would counsel her
that whereof she had need, and wept right tenderly so that the tears
ran down her face. And when she had prayed of a long space she
ariseth, and Messire Gawain biddeth her God give her good day, and she
returneth his salute.
"Damsel," saith he, "Meseemeth you are not over joyous."
"Sir," saith she, "I have right, for now am I nigh unto my desolation,
sith that I may not find the Good Knight. Now must I needs go to the
castle of the Black Hermit, and bear thither the head that hangeth at
my saddle-bow, for otherwise shall I not be able to pass through the
forest but my body should there be cast in prison or shamed, and this
shall be the quittance for my passing. Then will I seek the Damsel of
the Car and so shall I go in safer through the forest."
With that the hermit had begun the mass and Messire Gawain and the
damsel heard it. When mass was sung, Messire Gawain took leave of the
hermit and the damsel also. And Messire Gawain goeth one way and the
damsel the other, and either biddeth other to God.
IV.
Hereupon the story is now silent of the damsel, and saith that Messire
Gawain goeth through the high forest and rideth a great pace, and
prayeth God right sweetly that He will set him in such way as that
thereby he may go to the land of the rich King Fisherman. And he
rideth until the hour of noon, and cometh into the fulness of the
forest and seeth under a tree a squire alighted of a horse of the
chase. Messire Gawain saluteth him, and the squire saith: "Sir, right
welcome may you be!"
"Fair sweet friend," saith Messire Gawain, "Whither go you?"
"Sir, I go to seek the lord of this forest."
"Whose is the forest?" saith Messire Gawain. "Sir, it belongeth to the
best knight in the world."
"Can you tell me tidings of him?"
"He ought to bear a shield banded azure and argent with a red cross
thereon and a boss of gold. I say that he is good knight, but little
call have I to praise him, for he slew my father in this forest with a
javelin. The Good Knight was squire what time he slew him, and fain
would I avenge my father upon him and I may find him, for he reft me of
the best knight that was in the realm of Logres when he slew my father.
Well did he bereave me of him what time he slew him with his javelin
without defiance, nor shall I never be at ease nor at rest until I
shall have avenged him."
"Fair sweet friend," saith Messire Gawain, "Sith that he is knight so
good take heed you increase not your wrong of your own act, and I would
fain that you had found him, so as that no evil had befallen him
thereof."
V.
"So would not I," saith the squire, "for never shall I see him in this
place but I shall run upon him as my mortal enemy!"
"Fair sweet friend," saith Messire Gawain, "you may say your pleasure,
but tell me is there no hold in this forest wherein I may harbour me
the night?"
"Sir," saith the squire, "No hold know I within twenty league of your
way in any quarter. Wherefore no leisure have you to tarry, for it is
high noon already."
So Messire Gawain saluteth the squire and goeth a great pace as he that
knoweth neither highway nor byway save only as adventure may lead him.
And the forest pleaseth him well for that it is so fair and that he
seeth the deer pass by before him in great herds. He rode on until it
drew toward evensong at a corner of the forest. The evening was fair
and calm and the sun was about to set. And a score league Welsh had he
ridden sithence that he parted from the squire, and sore he misdoubted
him that he should find no hold. He found the fairest meadow-land in
the world, and looked before him when he had ridden a couple of
bow-shot lengths and saw a castle appear nigh the forest on a mountain.
And it was enclosed of high walls with battlements, and within were
fair halls whereof the windows showed in the outer walls, and in the
midst was an ancient tower that was compassed round of great waters and
broad meadow-lands. Thitherward Messire Gawain draweth him and looketh
toward the gateway of the castle and seeth a squire issue forth a great
pace upon a hackney, and he came the way that Messire Gawain was
coming. And when the squire seeth him, and hath drawn somewhat anigh,
he saluteth him right nobly.
VI.
"Sir, right welcome may you be!"
"Good adventure may you have!" saith Messire Gawain. "Fair sweet
friend, what is this castle here, sir?"
"Sir, it is the castle of the Widow Lady."
"What is the name thereof;"
"Camelot; and it belonged to Alain li Gros, that was a right loyal
knight and worshipful man. He is dead this long time, and my Lady hath
remained without succour and without counsel. Wherefore is the castle
warred upon of them that would fain reave her thereof by force. The
Lord of the Moors and another knight are they that war upon her and
would fain reave her of this castle as they have reft her of seven
other already. Greatly desireth she the return of her son, for no
counsel hath she save only of her one daughter and of five old knights
that help her to guard the castle. Sir," saith he, "The door is made
fast and the bridge drawn up, for they guard the castle closely, but,
so please you, you will tell me your name and I will go before and make
the bridge be lowered and the gate unfastened, and will say that you
will lodge within to-night."
"Gramercy," saith Messire Gawain, "right well shall my name be known or
ever I depart from the castle."
The squire goeth his way a great pace, and Messire Gawain tided softly
at a walk for he had yet a long way to go. And he found a chapel that
stood between the forest and the castle, and it was builded upon four
columns of marble and within was a right fair sepulchre. The chapel
had no fence of any kind about it so that he seeth the coffin within
full clearly, and Messire Gawain bideth awhile to look thereon. And
the squire entered into the castle and hath made the bridge be lowered
and the door opened. He alighteth and is come into the hall when was
the Widow Lady and her daughter. Saith the Lady to the squire:
"Wherefore have you returned from doing my message? Lady, for the
comeliest knight that I have seen ever, and fain would he harbour
within to-night, and he is garnished of all arms and rideth without
company."
"And what name hath he?" saith the Lady.
"Lady, he told me you should know it well or ever he depart from this
castle."
Therewithal the Lady gan weep for joy and her daughter also, and,
lifting her hands towards heaven, "Fair Lord God!" saith the Widow
Lady, "And this be indeed my son, never before have I had joy that
might be likened to this! Now shall I not be disherited of mine
honour, neither shall I lose my castle whereof they would fain reave me
by wrong, for that no Lord nor champion have I!"
VII.
Thereupon the Widow Lady ariseth up and her daughter likewise, and they
go over the bridge of the castle and see Messire Gawain that was yet
looking on the coffin within the chapel.
"Now haste!" saith the Lady; "At the tomb shall we be well able to see
whether it be he!"
They go to the chapel right speedily, and Messire Gawain seeth them
coming and alighteth. "Lady," saith he, "Welcome may you be, you and
your company."
The Lady answereth never a word until that they are come to the tomb.
When she findeth it not open she falleth down in a swoon. And Messire
Gawain is sore afraid when he seeth it. The Lady cometh back out of
her swoon and breaketh out into great lamentation.
"Sir," saith the damsel to Messire Gawain, "Welcome may you be! But now
sithence my mother supposed that you had been her son and made great
joy thereof, and now seeth she plainly that you are not he, whereof is
she sore sorrowful, for so soon as he shall return, this coffin
behoveth open, nor until that hour shall none know who it is that lieth
therein."
The Lady riseth up and taketh Messire Gawain by the hand. "Sir," saith
she, "What is your name?"
"Lady," saith he, "I am called Gawain, King Arthur's nephew."
"Sir," saith she, "You shall be he that is welcome both for the sake of
my son and for your own sake."
The Lady biddeth a squire lead his horse into the castle and carry his
shield and spear. Then they enter into the castle and lead Messire
Gawain into the hall, and make disarm him. After that, they fetch him
water to wash his hands and his face, for he was distained of the rust
of his habergeon. The Lady maketh apparel him in a rich robe of silk
and gold, and furred of ermine. The Widow Lady cometh forth of her
chamber and maketh Messire Gawain sit beside her. "Sir," saith she,
"Can you tell me any tidings of my son that I have not seen of this
long time past, and of whom at this present am I sore in need?"
VIII.
"Lady," saith he, "No tidings of him know I to tell you, and right
heavy am I thereof, for he is the knight of the world that fainest I
would see and he be your son as I am told. What name hath he?"
"Sir," saith she, "His name in right baptism is Perceval, and a right
comely squire was he when he departed hence. Now as at this time is it
said that he is the comeliest knight on live and the most hardy and the
cleanest of all wickedness. And sore need have I of his hardiment, for
what time that he departed hence he left me in the midst of a great
warfare on behalf of the Knight of the Red Shield that he slew. Within
the se'nnight thereafter he went away, nor never once have I seen him
sithence, albeit a full seven year hath passed already. And now the
brother of the knight that he slew and the Lord of the Moors are
warring upon me and are fain to reave me of my castle and God counsel
me not. For my brothers are too far away from me, and King Pelles of
the Lower Folk hath renounced his land for God's sake and entered into
a hermitage. But the King of Castle Mortal hath in him as much of
wickedness and felony as these twain have in them of good, and enough
thereof have they. But neither succour nor help may they give me, for
the King of Castle Mortal challengeth my Lord King Fisherman both of
the most Holy Graal and of the Lance whereof the point bleedeth every
day, albeit God forbid he should ever have them."
IX.
"Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "There was at the hostel of King
Fisherman a knight before whom the Holy Graal appeared three times, yet
never once would he ask whereof it served nor whom it honoured."
"Sir," saith the Widow Lady's daughter, "You say true, and the Best
Knight is he of the world. This say I for love of my brother, and I
love all knights for the love of him, but by the foolish wit of the
knight hath mine uncle King Fisherman fallen into languishment."
"Sir," saith the Lady, "Behoveth all good knights go see the rich King
Fisherman. Will you not therefore go?"
"Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "Yea, that will I, so speedily as I may,
for not elsewhither have I emprised my way."
"Sir," saith she, "Then are you going to see my son, wherefore tell my
son, and you see him, of mine evil plight and my misease, and King
Fisherman my brother. But take heed, Messire Gawain, that you be
better mindful than was the knight."
"Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "I shall do as God shall teach me."
In the meanwhile as they were speaking thus together, behold you
therewithal the Widow Lady's five knights that were come in from the
forest and make bring harts and hinds and wild swine. So they alighted
and made great joy of Messire Gawain when they knew who he was.
X.
When the meat was ready they sate to eat, and full plenteously were
they provided and right well were they served. Thereupon, behold,
cometh the squire that had opened the door for Messire Gawain, and
kneeleth before the Widow Lady.
"And what tidings?" saith she.
"Lady, there is to be a right great assembly of tourney in the valleys
that aforetime were ours. Already have they spread the Welsh booths,
and thither are come these two that are warring upon you and great
store other knights. And they have ordained that he which shall do
best at the assembly shall undertake the garrison of this castle in
such sort as that he shall hold it for his own alone against all other."
The Widow Lady beginneth to weep: "Sir," saith she to Messire Gawain,
"Now may you understand that the castle is not mine own, sith that
these knights say it is theirs as you hear."
"Certes, Lady," saith he, "Herein do they great dishonour and a sin."
XI.
When the table was removed the damsel fell at Messire Gawain's feet,
weeping. He raiseth her forthwith and saith to her, "Damsel, herein do
you ill."
"For God's sake, Sir, take pity on my Lady mother and me!"
"Certes, damsel, great pity have I of you."
"Sir, now shall it be seen in this strait whether you be good knight,
for good is the knighthood that doeth well for God's sake."
The Widow Lady and her daughter go into the chamber, and Messire
Gawain's bed was made in the midst of the hall. So he went and lay
down as did also the five knights. All the night was Messire Gawain in
much thought. The morrow, when he was risen, he went to hear mass in a
chapel that was within and ate thereafter three sops in wine and then
armed him, and at the same time asked the five knights that were there
in the hall whether they would go see the assembly.
"Yea, Sir," say they, "and you be going thither."
"In faith, thither verily will I go!" saith Messire Gawain.
The knights are armed forthwith, and their horses brought and Messire
Gawain's, and he goeth to take leave of the Widow Lady and her
daughter. But great joy make they of this that they have heard say
that he will go with their knights to the assembly.
XII.
Messire Gawain and the five knights mounted and issued forth of the
castle and rode a great gallop before a forest. Messire Gawain looketh
before him about the foreclose of the forest, and seeth the fairest
purlieus that he had seen ever, and so broad they be that he may not
see nor know the fourth part thereof. They are garnished of tall
forests on one hand and on the other, and there are high rocks in the
midst with wild deer among.
"Sir," say the knights, "Lo, these be the Valleys of Camelot whereof my
Lady and her daughter have been bereft, and bereft also hath she been
of the richest castles that be in Wales to the number of seven."
"A wrong is it and a sin!" saith Messire Gawain.
So far have they ridden that they see the ensigns and the shields there
where the assembly is to be held, and they see already mounted the more
part of the knights all armed and running their horses down the
meadow-land. And they see the tents stretched on the one hand and on
another. And Messire Gawain bideth, and the five knights under a tree,
and see the knights assembling on one hand and on another. One of the
five knights that were with him gave him witting of the Lord of the
Moors and the brother of the knight of the Red Shield that had to name
Chaos the Red. So soon as the tournament was assembled, Messire Gawain
and the knights come to the assembly, and Messire Gawain goeth to a
Welsh knight and beareth him to the ground, both him and his horse, all
in a heap. And the five come after at a great gallop and each
overthroweth his own, and greatly pride they themselves of Messire
Gawain. Chaos the Red seeth Messire Gawain but knoweth him not. He
goeth toward him a full career, and Messire Gawain receiveth him on the
point of his spear and hurtleth against him so sore that he all
to-brast his collarbone and maketh the spear fly from his fist. And
Messire Gawain searcheth the fellowships of one part and the other, and
findeth not nor encountereth no knight before him in his way but he
putteth him off his horse or woundeth him, either by himself or by one
of the five knights, that make right great joy of that they see him do.
They show him the Lord of the Moors that was coming with a full great
fellowship of folk. He goeth thitherward a great gallop. They mell
together either upon other of their spears that they bent and all
to-brast in flinders, and hurtle together so stoutly both of their
horses and their bodies that the Lord of the Moors loseth his stirrups
and hath the hinder saddlebow to-frushed, and falleth down to the
ground over his horse croup in such sort that the peak of his helm
dinteth a full palm's breadth into the turf. And Messire Gawain taketh
the horse that was right rich and good, maugre all of his fellowship,
and giveth it to one of the five knights that maketh it be led to
Camelot of a squire. Messire Gawain searcheth the ranks on the one
hand and on the other, and doeth such feats of arms as never no knight
might do the same again. The five knights also showed great hardiment,
and did more of arms that day than ever had they done tofore, for not
one of them but had overthrown at least a single knight and won his
horse. The Lord of the Moors was mounted again on another rich horse
and had great shame for that Messire Gawain had overthrown him. He
espieth Messire Gawain and goeth toward him a great gallop and thinketh
to avenge his shame. They come together either on other with a great
shock, and Messire Gawain smiteth him with the truncheon of his spear
that he had still left, in the midst of his breast, so that it was all
to-splintered. The Lord of the Moors likewise again to-brast his spear
upon him. Messire Gawain draweth his sword and flingeth the truncheon
to the ground. The Lord of the Moors doth likewise and commandeth his
folk not to mell betwixt them twain, for never yet had he found no
knight that he had not conquered. They deal them great buffets on the
helms, either upon other, in such sort that the sparks fly thereout and
their swords are blunted. The buffets of Messire Gawain are heavier
than the other's, for he dealeth them so mighty and horrible that the
blood rayeth out from the Lord of the Moors by the mouth and the nose
so that his habergeon is all bloody thereof and he may no more endure.
Thereupon he yieldeth him prisoner to Messire Gawain, that is right
glad thereof and his five knights likewise. The Lord of the Moors
goeth to his tent to alight, and Messire Gawain with him and alighteth.
And Messire Gawain taketh the horse and saith to one of the knights,
"Keep this for me."
And all the knights are repaired to their tents, and with one accord
say they all that the knight of the Red Shield with the eagle of gold
thereon hath done better than we, and they ask the Lord of the Moors
whether he accordeth with them, and he saith "Aye."
"Sir," saith he to Messire Gawain, "You, then, are the warden of this
castle of Camelot."
"Gramercy, lord!" saith Messire Gawain. He calleth the five knights
and saith unto them: "Lords, my will is that you be there on my behalf
and that you shall safeguard the same by consent of the knights that
are here present."
"Sir, right gladly do we agree thereto."
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain to the Lord of the Moors, "I give you
moreover as my prisoner to the Widow Lady that harboured me last night."
"Sir," saith he, "This have you no right to do. Assembly of tourney is
not war. Hence have you no right to imprison my body in castle, for
well am I able to pay my ransom here. But tell me, what is your name?"
"I am called Gawain."
"Ha, Messire Gawain, many a time have I heard tell of you albeit never
tofore have I seen you. But sith that the castle of Camelot is in your
keeping, I promise you loyally that before a year and a day neither the
castle nor none of the Lady's land need fear nought from me nor from
any other so far forth as I may hinder him, and hereto do I pledge me
in the presence of all these knights that are here. And, so you would
have of me gold or silver, thereof will I give you at your will."
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Gramercy! I consent freely to as much as
you have said."
Messire Gawain taketh leave and turneth him again toward the castle of
Camelot, and sendeth by a squire the horse of the Lord of the Moors to
the daughter of the Widow Lady, that made great joy thereof. And the
five knights drive before them the horses they have taken booty.
Whereof great also was the joy. No need to wonder whether Messire
Gawain were well harboured that night at the castle. He recounted to
the Lady how the castle was in the keeping of these knights. When it
came to morning-tide, Messire Gawain took leave and departed from the
castle, but not before he had heard mass, for such was his custom. The
Widow Lady and her daughter commend him to God, and the castle
remaineth in better keeping than he had found it.
BRANCH IV.
INCIPIT.
Here beginneth another branch of the Graal in the name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
TITLE I.
And the story is silent here of the mother of the Good Knight, and
saith that Messire Gawain goeth so as God and adventure lead him toward
the land of the rich King Fisherman. And he entereth into a great
forest, all armed, his shield at his neck and his spear in his hand.
And he prayeth Our Lord that He counsel him of this holy errand he hath
emprised so as that he may honourably achieve it. He rode until that
he came at evensong to a hold that was in the midst of the forest. And
it was compassed about of a great water, and had about it great clumps
of trees so as that scarce with much pains might he espy the hall, that
was right large. The river that compassed it about was water royal,
for it lost not its right name nor its body as far as the sea. And
Messire Gawain bethought him that it was the hold of a worshipful man,
and draweth him thitherward to lodge. And as he drew anigh the bridge
of the hold, he looketh and seeth a dwarf sitting on a high bench. He
leapeth up: "Messire Gawain," saith he, "Welcome may you be!"
"Fair, sweet friend," saith Messire Gawain, "God give you good
adventure! You know me, then?" saith he.
"Well do I know you," saith the dwarf, "For I saw you at the
tournament. At a better moment could you not have come hither, for my
lord is not here. But you will find my lady, the fairest and most
gentle and most courteous in the realm of Logres, and as yet is she not
of twenty years."
"Fair friend," saith Messire Gawain, "What name hath the lord of the
hold?"
"Sir, he is called of Little Gomeret. I will go tell my lady that
Messire Gawain is come, the good knight, and bid her make great joy."
Howbeit, Messire Gawain marvelleth much that the dwarf should make him
such cheer, for many knaveries hath he found in many places within the
bodies of many dwarfs. The dwarf is come into the chamber where the
lady was.
"Now, haste, Lady!" saith he, "Make great joy, for Messire Gawain is
come to harbour with you."
"Certes," saith she, "Of this am I right glad and right sorry; glad,
for that the good knight will lie here to-night, sorry, for that he is
the knight that my lord most hateth in the world. Wherefore he warneth
me against him for love of him, for oftentimes hath he told me that
never did Messire Gawain keep faith with dame nor damsel but he would
have his will of them."
"Lady," saith the dwarf, "It is not true albeit it is so said."
II.
Thereupon Messire Gawain entereth into the courtyard and alighteth, and
the lady cometh to meet him and saith to him: "May you be come to joy
and good adventure."
"Lady," saith he, "May you also have honour and good adventure."
The lady taketh him by the hand and leadeth him into the hall and
maketh him be seated on a cushion of straw. And a squire leadeth his
horse to stable. And the dwarf summoneth two other squires and doeth
Messire Gawain be disarmed, and helpeth them right busily, and maketh
fetch water to wash his hands and his face.
"Sir," saith the dwarf, "Your fists are still all swollen of the
buffets you gave and received at the tournament."
Messire Gawain answered him nought. And the dwarf entereth into the
chamber and bringeth a scarlet robe furred of ermine and maketh it be
done on Messire Gawain. And meat was made ready and the table set, and
the lady sate to eat. Many a time looked he upon the lady by reason of
her great beauty, and, had he been minded to trust to his heart and his
eyes, he would have all to-changed his purpose; but so straitly was his
heart bound up, and so quenched the desires thereof, that nought would
he allow himself to think upon that might turn to wickedness, for the
sake of the high pilgrimage he had emprised. Rather 'gan he withdraw
his eyes from looking at the lady, that was held to be of passing great
beauty. After meat Messire Gawain's bed was made, and he apparelled
himself to lie down. The lady bade him God give him good adventure,
and he made answer the like. When the lady was in her chamber, the
dwarf said to Messire Gawain: "Sir, I will lie before you, so as to
keep you company until you be asleep."
"Gramercy," saith he, "And God allow me at some time to reward you of
the service."
The dwarf laid himself down on a mattress before Messire Gawain, and
when he saw that he slept, he ariseth as quickly as he may, and cometh
to a boat that was on the river that ran behind the hall, and entereth
thereinto and roweth up-stream of the river. And he cometh to a
fishery, where was a right fair hall on a little eyot enclosed by a
marshy arm of the river. The jealous knight was come thither for
disport, and lay in the midst of the hall upon a couch. The dwarf
cometh forth of his boat thereinto, and lighteth a great candle in his
fist and cometh before the couch. "What ho, there!" saith the dwarf,
"Are you sleeping?"
And the other waketh up sore startled, and asketh what is the matter
and wherefore is he come?
"In God's name," saith he, "You sleep not so much at your ease as doth
Messire Gawain!"
"How know you that?" saith he.
"Well know I," saith the dwarf, "For I left him but now in your hall,
and methinketh he and your lady are abed together arm to arm."
"How?" saith he, "I forbade her she should ever harbour Messire Gawain."
"In faith," said the dwarf, "She hath made him greater cheer than ever
saw I her make to none other! But haste you and come, for great fear
have I lest he carry her away!"
"By my head!" saith the knight; "I will go not, howsoever it be! But
she shall pay for it, even though she go!"
"Then of wrong will it be!" saith the dwarf, "as methinketh!"
III.
Messire Gawain lay in the hall that was ware of nought of this. He
seeth that day hath broken fair and clear, and ariseth up. The lady
cometh to the door of the hall and seeth not the dwarf, whereby well
she understandeth his treachery. She saith to Messire Gawain, "Sir,
for God's sake have pity upon me, for the dwarf hath betrayed me! And
you withdraw yourself forth of our forest and help not to rescue me
from the smart that my lord will make me suffer, great sin will you
have thereof. For well know you, that of right ought I not to be held
guilty toward my lord nor toward any other, for aught that you have
done toward me or I toward you."
"You say true," saith Messire Gawain. Thereupon is he armed, and
taketh leave of the lady and issueth forth of the fair hold and setteth
him in an ambush in the forest nigh thereby. Straightway behold the
jealous knight where he cometh, he and his dwarf. He entereth into the
hall. The lady cometh to meet him.
"Sir," saith she, "Welcome may you be!"
"And you," saith he, "Shame and evil adventure may you have, as the
most disloyal dame on live, for that this night have you harboured in
my hostel and in my bed him that most have I warned you against!"
"Sir," saith she, "In your hostel did I harbour him, but never hath
your bed been shamed by me, nor never shall be!"
"You lie!" saith he, "like a false woman!"
He armeth himself all incontinent and maketh his horse be armed, then
maketh the lady go down and despoil her to her shirt, that crieth him
mercy right sweetly and weepeth. He mounteth his horse and taketh his
shield and his spear, and maketh the lady be taken of the dwarf by her
tresses and maketh her be led before him into the forest. And he
bideth above a pool where was a spring, and maketh her enter into the
water that flowed forth full cold, and gathereth saplings in the forest
for rods and beginneth to smite and beat her across upon her back and
her breast in such sort that the stream from the spring was all bloody
therewithal. And she began to cry out right loud, until at last
Messire Gawain heareth her and draweth forth of the ambush wherein he
was, and cometh thitherward a great gallop.
"By my faith," saith the dwarf, "Look you here where Messire Gawain
cometh!"
"By my faith," saith the knight, "Now know I well that nought is there
here but treachery, and that the matter is well proven!"
By this time, Messire Gawain is come, and saith: "Avoid, Sir knight!
Wherefore slay you the best lady and most loyal that ever have I seen?
Never tofore have I found lady that hath done me so much honour, and
this ought you to be well pleased to know, for neither in her bearing,
nor in her speech, nor in herself found I nought save all goodness
only. Wherefore I pray you of franchise and of love that you forbear
your wrath and that you set her forth of the water. And so will I
swear on all the sacred hallows in this chapel that never did I beseech
her of evil nor wantonness nor never had I no desire thereof."
The knight was full of great wrath when he saw that Messire Gawain had
not gone his way thence, and an anguish of jealousy burneth him heart
and body and overburdeneth him of folly and outrage, and Messire Gawain
that is still before him moveth him to yet further transgression.
Natheless, for the fear that he hath of him he speaketh to him:
"Messire Gawain," saith he, "I will set her forth thence on one
condition, that you joust at me and I at you, and, so you conquer me,
quit shall she be of misdoing and of blame, but and if I shall conquer
you, she shall be held guilty herein. Such shall be the judgment in
this matter."
"I ask no better," saith Messire Gawain.
IV.
Thereupon, the knight biddeth the dwarf make set the lady forth of the
pool of the spring and make her sit in a launde whereas they were to
joust. The knight draweth him back the better to take his career, and
Messire Gawain cometh as fast as his horse may carry him toward Marin
the Jealous. And when Marin seeth him coming, he avoideth his buffet
and lowereth his spear and cometh to his wife that was right sore
distraught, and wept as she that suffered blameless, and smote her
through, out the body and slew her, and then turneth him again so fast
as his horse might carry him toward his hold. Messire Gawain seeth the
damsel dead and the dwarf that fleeth full speed after his lord. He
overtaketh him and trampleth him under his horses feet so that he
bursteth his belly in the midst. Then goeth he toward the hold, for he
thinketh to enter therein. But he found the bridge shut up and the
gate barred. And Marin crieth out upon him.
"This shame and misadventure hath befallen me along of you, but you
shall pay for it yet and I may live."
Messire Gawain hath no mind to argue with him, but rather draweth him
back and cometh again to where the lady lay dead, and setteth her on
the neck of his horse all bleeding, and then beareth her to a chapel
that was without the entrance of the hold. Then he alighted and laid
her within the chapel as fairly as most he might, as he that was sore
grieved and wrathful thereof. After that, he shut the door of the
chapel again as he that was afeared of the body for the wild beasts,
and bethought him that one should come thither to set her in her shroud
and bury her after that he was departed.
V.
Thereupon Messire Gawain departeth, sore an-angered, for it seemed him
that never had no thing tofore befallen him that weighed so heavy on
his heart. And he rideth thoughtful and down-cast through the forest,
and seeth a knight coming along the way he came. And in strange
fashion came he. He bestrode his horse backwards in right outlandish
guise, face to tail, and he had his horse's reins right across his
breast and the base of his shield bore he topmost and the chief
bottommost, and his spear upside down and his habergeon and chausses of
iron trussed about his neck. He seeth Messire Gawain coming beside the
forest, that hath great wonderment of him when he seeth him.
Natheless, when they draw nigh, he turneth him not to look at Messire
Gawain, but crieth to him aloud: "Gentle knight, you that come there,
for God's sake do me no hurt, for I am the Knight Coward."
"By God," saith Messire Gawain, "You look not like a man to whom any
ought to do hurt!" And, but for the heaviness of his heart and the
sore wrath that he had, he would have laughed at his bearing with a
right good will.
"Sir Knight," saith Messire Gawain, "nought have you to be afeard of
from me!"
With that he draweth anigh and looketh on him in the face and the
Knight Coward on him. "Sir," saith he, "Welcome may you be!"
"And you likewise!" saith Messire Gawain. "And whose man are you, Sir
knight?"
"The Damsel's man of the Car."
"Thereof I love you the better," saith Messire Gawain.
"God be praised thereof," saith the Knight Coward, "For now shall I
have no fear of you."
"Nay, truly," saith Messire Gawain, "Thereof be well assured!"
The Knight Coward seeth Messire Gawain's shield and knoweth it. "Ha,
Sir," saith he, "Now know I well who you are. Now will I alight and
ride the right way and set my arms to rights. For you are Messire
Gawain, nor hath none the right to claim this shield but only you."
The knight alighteth and setteth his armour to rights, and prayeth
Messire Gawain abide until he be armed. So he abideth right willingly,
and helpeth him withal. Thereupon behold you a knight where he cometh
a great gallop athwart the forest like a tempest, and he had a shield
party black and white. "Abide, Messire Gawain!" saith he, "For on
behalf of Marin the Jealous do I defy you, that hath slain his wife on
your account."
"Sir knight," saith Messire Gawain, "Thereof am I right heavy of heart,
for death had she not deserved."
"That availeth nor," saith the Party Knight, "For I hold you to answer
for the death. So I conquer you, the wrong is yours; but, and you
conquer me, my lord holdeth his blame and shame for known and will hold
you to forfeit and you allow me to escape hence on live."
"To this will I not agree," saith Messire Gawain, "For God well knoweth
that no blame have I herein."
"Ha, Messire Gawain," saith the Knight Coward, "Fight him not as having
affiance in me, for of me will you have neither succour nor help!"
"Heretofore," saith Messire Gawain, "have I achieved adventures without
you, and this also, and God help me, will I yet achieve."
They come together a full career and break their lances on their
shields, and Messire Gawain hurtleth against the horse and passeth
beyond and overthroweth him and his horse together. Then draweth he
his sword and runneth upon him. And the knight crieth out: "Hold,
Messire Gawain! Are you minded to slay me? I yield me conquered, for
no mind have I to die for another's folly, and so I cry you mercy
hereof."
Messire Gawain thinketh that he will do him no further harm, for that
of right behoveth him do his lord's bidding. Messire Gawain holdeth
his hands, and he doth him homage on behalf of his lord for his hold
and all of his land and becometh his man.
VI.
Thereupon the knight departeth and Messire Gawain remaineth there.
"Sir," saith the Knight Coward to Messire Gawain, "I have no mind to be
so hardy as are you; for, so God help me, had he defied me in such-wise
as he defied you, should have fled away forthwith, or elsewise I should
hay fallen at his feet and cried him of mercy."
"You wish for nought but peace," saith Messire Gawain.
"By S. James," saith the Coward, "Therein are you quite right, for of
war cometh nought but evil; nor never have I had no hurt nor wound saw
some branch of a tree or the like gave it me, and I see your face all
seamed and scarred in many places. So God help me, of such hardiesse
make I but small account, and every day I pray God that He defend me.
And so to God I commend you, for I am going after my Damsel of the Car."
"Not thus shall you go," saith Messire Gawain, "save you tell me first
wherefore your Damsel of the Car beareth her arm slung to her neck in
such-wise."
"Sir, this may I well tell you. With this hand serve she of the most
Holy-Graal the knight that was in the hostel of King Fisherman that
would not ask whereof the Graal served; for that she held therein the
precious vessel whereinto the glorious blood fell drop by drop from the
point of the lance, so that none other thing is she minded to hold
therein until such time as she shall come back to the holy place where
it is. Sir," saith the Knight Coward, "Now, so please you, may I well
go hence, and see, here is my spear that I give you, for nought is
there that I have to do therewithal."
Messire Gawain taketh it, for his own was broken short, and departeth
from the knight and commendeth him to God. And he goeth his way a
great pace, and Messire Gawain also goeth amidst the forest, and full
weary is he and forspent with travail. And he rode until the sun was
due to set. And he meeteth a knight that was coming athwart the forest
and came toward Messire Gawain a great gallop like as he were smitten
through the body, and crieth over all the forest: "What is your name,
Sir knight?"
"My name is Gawain."
"Ha, Messire Gawain," saith the other, "In your service am I wounded
thus!"
"How in my service?" saith Messire Gawain.
"Sir, I was minded to bury the damsel that you bare into the chapel,
and Marin the Jealous ran upon me and wounded me in many places in such
manner as you see. And I had already dug a grave with my sword to bury
the body when he seized it from me and abandoned it to the wild beasts.
Now go I hence yonder to the chapel of a hermit that is in this forest
to confess me, for well know I that I have not long to live for that
the wound lieth me so nigh my heart. But I shall die the more easily
now that I have found you and shown you the hurt that hath been done me
for your sake."
"Certes," saith Messire Gawain, "this grieveth me."
VII.
Therewithal the knights depart asunder, and Messire Gawain rode on
until he found in the forest a castle right fair and rich, and met an
ancient knight that was issued forth of the castle for disport, and
held a bird on his fist. He saluteth Messire Gawain and he him again,
and he asked him what castle is this that he seeth show so fair? And
he telleth him it is the castle of the Proud Maiden that never deigned
ask a knight his name.
"And we, that are her men, durst not do it on her behalf. But right
well will you be lodged in the castle, for right courteous is she
otherwise and the fairest that ever any may know. Nor never hath she
had any lord, nor deigned to love no knight save she heard tell that he
was the best knight in the world. And I will go to her with you of
courtesy."
"Gramercy, Sir," saith Messire Gawain. They enter into the castle both
twain together, and alight at the mounting-stage before the hall. The
knight taketh Messire Gawain by the hand and leadeth him up, and maketh
disarm him, and bringeth him a surcoat of scarlet purfled of vair and
maketh him do it on. Then leadeth he the lady of the castle to Messire
Gawain, and he riseth up to meet her.
"Lady," saith he "Welcome may you be!"
"And you, Sir, be welcome!" saith she, "Will you see my chapel?"
"Damsel," saith he, "At your pleasure."
And she leadeth him and taketh Messire Gawain by the hand, and he
looketh at the chapel and it well seemeth him that never before had he
come into none so fair nor so rich, and he seeth four tombs within, the
fairest that he had seen ever. And on the right hand side of the
chapel were three narrow openings in the wall that were wrought all
about with gold and precious stones, and beyond the three openings he
seeth great circlets of lighted candles that were before three coffers
of hallows that were there, and the smell thereof was sweeter than balm.
"Sir knight," saith the damsel, "See you these tombs?"
"Yea, damsel," saith Messire Gawain.
"These three are made for the three best knights in the world and the
fourth for me. The one hath for name Messire Gawain and the second
Lancelot of the Lake. Each of them do I love for love's sake, by my
faith! And the third hath for name Perceval. Him love I better than
the other two. And within these three openings are the hallows set for
love of them. And behold what I would do to them and their three heads
were therein; and so I might not do it to the three together, yet would
I do it to two, or even to one only."
She setteth her hand toward the openings and draweth forth a pin that
was fastened into the wall, and a cutting blade of steel droppeth down,
of steel sharper than any razor, and closeth up the three openings.
"Even thus will I cut off their heads when they shall set them into
those three openings thinking to adore the hallows that are beyond.
Afterward will I make take the bodies and set them in the three
coffins, and do them be honoured and enshrouded right richly, for joy
of them in their life may I never have. And when the end of my life
shall be come as God will, even so will I make set me in the fourth
coffin, and so shall I have company of the three good knights."
Messire Gawain heard the word, whereof he marvelled right sore, and
would right fain that the night were overpassed. They issue forth of
the chapel. The damsel maketh Messire Gawain be greatly honoured that
night, and there was great company of knights within that served him
and helped guard the castle. They show Messire Gawain much worship,
but they knew not that it was he, nor did none ask him, for such was
the custom of the castle. But well she knew that he oftentimes passed
to and fro amidst the forest, and four of the knights that watched the
forest and the passers-by had she commanded that and if any of these
three knights should pass they should bring him to her without gainsay,
and she would increase the land of each for so doing.
VIII.
Messire Gawain was in the castle that night until the morrow, and went
to hear mass in the chapel or ever he removed thence. Afterward, when
he had heard mass and was armed, he took leave of the damsel and issued
forth of the castle as he that had no desire to abide there longer.
And he entereth into the forest and rideth a long league Welsh and
findeth two knights sitting by a narrow path in the forest. And when
they see him coming they leap up on their horses all armed and come
against Messire Gawain, shields on sides and spears in fists.
"Bide, Sir knight!" say they, "And tell us your name without leasing!"
"Lords," saith he, "Right willingly! never hath my name been
withholden when it hath been asked for. I am called Gawain, King
Arthur's nephew."
"Nay, then, Sir, welcome may you be! One other demand have we to make
of you. Will you come with us to the lady in the world who most
desireth you, and will make much joy of you at Castle Orguelleux where
she is?"
"Lord," saith Messire Gawain, "No leisure have I at this time, for I
have emprised my way else-whither."
"Sir," say they, "Needs must you come thither without fail, for in such
wise hath she commanded us that we shall take you thither by force an
you come not of your own good-will."
"I have told you plainly that thither will I not go," saith Messire
Gawain. With that, they leap forward and take him by the bridle,
thinking to lead him away by force. And Messire Gawain hath shame
thereof, and draweth his sword and smiteth one of them in such wrath
that he cutteth off his arm. And the other letteth the bridle go and
turneth him full speed; and his fellow with him that was maimed. And
away go they toward Castle Orguelleux and the Proud Maiden of the
castle and show her the mischief that hath befallen them.
"Who hath mis-handled you thus?" saith she.
"Certes, lady, Messire Gawain."
"Where found you him?"
"Lady," say they, "In the forest, where he came toward us a full
gallop, and was minded to pass by the narrows of the way, when we bade
him abide and come to you. But come he would not. We offered him
force, and he smote my fellow's arm off."
She biddeth a horn be sounded incontinent, and the knights of the
castle arm, and she commandeth them follow Messire Gawain, and saith
that she will increase the land and the charge of him that shall bring
him to her. They were a good fifteen knights armed. Just as they were
about to issue out of the castle, behold you forthwith two keepers of
the forest where they come, both twain of them smitten through the
body. The damsel and the knights ask who hath done this to them, and
they say it was Messire Gawain that did it, for that they would have
brought him to the castle.
"Is he far away?" saith the damsel.
"Yea," say they, "Four great leagues Welsh."
"Wherefore the greater folly would it be to follow him," saith one of
the sixteen knights, "For nought should we increase thereby save only
our own shame and hurt, and my Lady hath lost him through her own
default, for well know we that he it was that lay within, for that he
beareth a shield sinople with a golden eagle."
"Yea," saith the wounded knight, "Without fail."
"Is this then he?" saith the damsel. "I know him well now that I have
lost him by my pride and by my outrage; nor never more will knight lie
in my hostel sith that he will be estranged for that I ask not his
name. But it is too late! Herein have I failed of this one for ever
and ever save God bring him back to me, and through this one shall I
lose the other two!"
IX.
Herewithal cometh to a stay the pursuit of Messire Gawain, that goeth
his way and prayeth God that He send him true counsel of that he hath
emprised, and that He allow him to come into some place where he may
hear true witting of the hostel of King Fisherman. And while he was
thus thinking, he heareth a brachet questing, and he cometh toward him
a great pace. When he is come anigh Messire Gawain he setteth his nose
to the ground and findeth a track of blood through a grassy way in the
forest, and when Messire Gawain was minded to leave the way where the
track of blood was, the brachet came over against him and quested.
Messire Gawain is minded not to abandon the track, wherefore he
followeth the brachet a great pace until he cometh to a marish in the
midst of the forest, and seeth there in the marish a house, ancient and
decayed. He passeth with the brachet over the bridge, that was right
feeble, and there was a great water under it, and cometh to the hall,
that was wasted and old. And the brachet leaveth of his questing.
Messire Gawain seeth in the midst of house a knight that was stricken
right through the breast unto the heart and there lay dead. A damsel
was issuing forth of the chamber and bare the winding-sheet wherein to
enshroud him.
"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Good adventure may you have!"
The damsel that was weeping right tenderly, saith to him: "Sir, I will
answer you not."
She cometh toward the dead knight, thinking that his wounds should have
begun to bleed afresh, but they did not.
"Sir," saith she to Messire Gawain, "Welcome may you be!"
"Damsel," saith he. "God grant you greater joy than you have!"
And the damsel saith to the brachet: "It was not this one I sent you
back to fetch, but him that slew this knight."
"Know you then, damsel, who hath slain him?" saith Messire Gawain.
"Yea," saith she, "well! Lancelot of the Lake slew him in this forest,
on whom God grant me vengeance, and on all them of King Arthur's court,
for sore mischief and great hurt have they wrought us! But, please
God, right well shall this knight yet be avenged, for a right fair son
hath he whose sister am I, and so hath he many good friends withal."
"Damsel, to God I commend you!" saith Messire Gawain. With that, he
issueth forth of the Waste Manor and betaketh him back to the way he
had abandoned, and prayeth God grant he may find Lancelot of the Lake.
BRANCH V.
INCIPIT.
Here beginneth again another branch of the Graal in the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
TITLE I.
Messire Gawain goeth his way and evening draweth on; and on his right
hand was there a narrow pathway that seemed him to be haunted of folk.
Thitherward goeth he, for that he seeth the sun waxeth low, and findeth
in the thick of the forest a great chapel, and without was a right fair
manor. Before the chapel was an orchard enclosed of a wooden fence
that was scarce so high as a tall man. A hermit that seemed him a
right worshipful man was leaning against the fence, and looked into the
orchard and made great cheer from time to time. He seeth Messire
Gawain, and cometh to meet him, and Messire Gawain alighteth.
"Sir," saith the hermit, "Welcome may you be."
"God grant you the joy of Paradise," saith Messire Gawain. The hermit
maketh his horse be stabled of a squire, and then taketh him by the
hand and maketh him sit beside him to look on the orchard.
"Sir," saith the hermit, "Now may you see that whereof I was making
cheer."
Messire Gawain looketh therewithin and seeth two damsels and a squire
and a child that were guarding a lion.
"Sir," saith the hermit, "Here see my joy, which is this child. Saw you
ever so fair a child his age?"
"Never," saith Messire Gawain. They go into the orchard to sit, for
the evening was fair and calm. He maketh disarm him, and thereupon the
damsel bringeth him a surcoat of right rich silk furred of ermine. And
Messire Gawain looketh at the child that rode upon the lion right
fainly.
"Sir," saith the hermit, "None durst guard him or be master over him
save this child only, and yet the lad is not more than six years of
age. Sir, he is of right noble lineage, albeit he is the son of the
most cruel man and most felon that is. Marin the Jealous is his
father, that slew his wife on account of Messire Gawain. Never
sithence that his mother was dead would not the lad be with his father,
for well knoweth he that he slew her of wrong. And I am his uncle, so
I make him be tended here of these damsels and these two squires, but
no one thing is there that he so much desireth to see as Messire
Gawain. For after his father's death ought he of right to be Messire
Gawain's man. Sir, if any tidings you know of him, tell us them."
"By my faith, Sir," saith he, "Tidings true can I give you. Lo, there
is his shield and his spear, and himself shall you have this night for
guest."
"Fair sir, are you he?" saith the hermit.
"So men call me," saith Messire Gawain, "And the lady saw I slain in
the forest, whereof was I sore an-angered."
II.
"Fair nephew," saith the hermit, "See here your desire. Come to him
and make him cheer."
The lad alighteth of the lion and smiteth him with a whip and leadeth
him to the den and maketh the door so that he may not issue forth, and
cometh to Messire Gawain, and Messire Gawain receiveth him between his
arms. "Sir," saith the child, "Welcome may you be!"
"God give you growth of honour!" saith Messire Gawain. He kisseth him
and maketh cheer with him right sweetly.
"Sir," saith the hermit, "He will be of right your man, wherefore ought
you to counsel him and help him, for through you came his mother by her
death, and right sore need will he have of your succour." The child
kneeleth before him and holdeth up his joined hands.
"Look, Sir," saith the hermit, "Is he not right pitiful? He offereth
you his homage."
And Messire Gawain setteth his hands within his own: "Certes," saith
Messire Gawain, "Both your honour and your homage receive I gladly, and
my succour and my counsel shall you have so often as you shall have
need thereof. But fain would I know your name?"
"Sir, I am called Meliot of Logres."
"Sir," saith the hermit, "He saith true, for his mother was daughter of
a rich earl of the kingdom of Logres."
III.
Messire Gawain was well harboured the night and lay in a right fair
house and right rich. In the morning, when Messire Gawain had heard
mass, the hermit asked him, "Whitherward go you?" and he said, "Toward
the land of King Fisherman, and God allow me."
"Messire Gawain," saith the hermit, "Now God grant you speed your
business better than did the other knight that was there before you,
through whom are all the lands fallen into sorrow, and the good King
Fisherman languisheth thereof."
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "God grant me herein to do His pleasure."
Thereupon he taketh his leave and goeth his way, and the hermit
commendeth him to God. And Messire Gawain rideth on his journeys until
he hath left far behind the forest of the hermitage, and findeth the
fairest land in the world and the fairest meadowlands that ever had he
seen, and it lasted a good couple of great leagues Welsh. And he seeth
a high forest before him, and meeteth a squire that came from that
quarter, and seeth that he is sore downcast and right simple.
"Fair friend," saith Messire Gawain, "Whence come you?"
"Sir," saith he, "I come from yonder forest down below."
"Whose man are you?" saith Messire Gawain.
"I belong to the worshipful man that owneth the forest."
"You seem not over joyful," saith Messire Gawain.
"Sir, I have right to be otherwise," saith the squire, "For he that
loseth his good lord ought not to be joyful."
"And who is your lord?"
"The best in the world."
"Is he dead?" saith Messire Gawain.
"Nay, of a truth, for that would be right sore grief to the world, but
in joy hath he not been this long time past."
"And what name hath he?"
"They call him Parlui there where he is."
"And where then, is he, may I know?"
"In no wise, Sir, of me; but so much may I well tell you that he is in
this forest, but I ought not to learn you of the place more at large,
nor ought I to do any one thing that may be against my master's will."
Messire Gawain seeth that the squire is of passing comeliness and seeth
him forthwith bow his head toward the ground and the tears fall from
his eyes. Thereupon he asketh what aileth him.
"Sir," saith he, "Never may I have joy until such time as I be entered
into a hermitage to save my soul. For the greatest sin that any man
may do have I wrought; for I have slain my mother that was a Queen, for
this only that she told me I should not be King after my father's
death, for that she would make me monk or clerk, and that my other
brother, who is younger-born than I, should have the kingdom. When my
father knew that I had slain my mother, he withdrew himself into this
forest, and made a hermitage and renounced his kingdom. I have no will
to hold the land for the great disloyalty that I have wrought, and
therefore am I resolved that it is meeter I should set my body in
banishment than my father."
"And what is your name?" saith Messire Gawain.
"Sir, my name is Joseus, and I am of the lineage of Joseph of
Abarimacie. King Pelles is my father, that is in this forest, and King
Fisherman mine uncle, and the King of Castle Mortal, and the Widow Lady
of Camelot my aunt, and the Good Knight Par-lui-fet is of this lineage
as near akin as I."
IV.
With that, the squire departeth and taketh leave of Messire Gawain, and
he commendeth him to God and hath great pity of him, and entereth into
the forest and goeth great pace, and findeth the stream of a spring
that ran with a great rushing, and nigh thereunto was a way that was
much haunted. He abandoneth his high-way, and goeth all along the
stream from the spring that lasteth a long league plenary, until that
he espieth a right fair house and right fair chapel well enclosed
within a hedge of wood. He looketh from without the entrance under a
little tree and seeth there sitting one of the seemliest men that he
had ever seen of his age. And he was clad as a hermit, his head white
and no hair on his face, and he held his hand to his chin, and made a
squire hold a destrier right fair and strong and tail, and a shield
with a sun thereon; and he was looking at a habergeon and chausses of
iron that he had made bring before him. And when he seeth Messire
Gawain he dresseth him over against him and saith: "Fair sir," saith
he, "Ride gently and make no noise, for no need have we of worse than
that we have."
And Messire Gawain draweth rein, and the worshipful man saith to him:
"Sir, for God's sake take it not of discourtesy; for right fainly would
I have besought you to harbour had I not good cause to excuse me, but a
knight lieth within yonder sick, that is held for the best knight in
the world. Wherefore fain would I he should have no knight come within
this close, for and if he should rise, as sick as he is, none might
prevent him nor hold him back, but presently he should arm him and
mount on his horse and joust at you or any other; and so he were here,
well might we be the worse thereof. And therefore do I keep him so
close and quiet within yonder, for that I would not have him see you
nor none other, for and he were so soon to die, sore loss would it be
to the world."
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "What name hath he?"
"Sir," saith he, "He hath made him of himself, and therefore do I call
him Par-lui-fer, of dearness and love."
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "May it not be in any wise that I may see
him?"
"Sir," saith the hermit, "I have told you plainly that nowise may it
not be. No strange man shall not see him within yonder until such time
as he be whole and of good cheer."
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Will you in nowise do nought for me
whatsoever I may say?"
"Certes, sir, no one thing is there in the world that I would tell him,
save he spake first to me."
Hereof is Messire Gawain right sorrowful that he may not speak to the
knight. "Sir," saith he to the hermit, "Of what age is the knight, and
of what lineage?"
"Of the lineage of Joseph of Abarimacie the Good Soldier."
V.
Thereupon behold you a damsel that cometh to the door of the chapel and
calleth very low to the hermit, and the hermit riseth up and taketh
leave of Messire Gawain, and shutteth the door of the chapel; and the
squire leadeth away the destrier and beareth the arms within door and
shutteth the postern door of the house. And Messire abideth without and
knoweth not of a truth whether it be the son of the Widow Lady, for
many good men there be of one lineage. He departeth all abashed and
entereth again into the forest. The history telleth not all the
journeys that he made. Rather, I tell you in brief words that he
wandered so far by lands and kingdoms that he found a right fair land
and a rich, and a castle seated in the midst thereof. Thitherward
goeth he and draweth nigh the castle and seeth it compassed about of
high walls, and he seeth the entrance of the castle far without. He
looketh and seeth a lion chained that lay in the midst of the entrance
to the gate, and the chain was fixed in the wall. And on either side
of the gate he seeth two serjeants of beaten copper that were fixed to
the wall, and by engine shot forth quarrels from their cross-bows with
great force and great wrath. Messire Gawain durst not come anigh the
gate for that he seeth the lion and these folk. He looketh above on
the top of the wall and seeth a sort of folk that seemed him to be of
holy life, and saw there priests clad in albs and knights bald and
ancient that were clad in ancient seeming garments. And in each crenel
of the wall was a cross and a chapel. Above the wall, hard by an issue
from a great hall that was in the castle, was another chapel, and above
the chapel was a tall cross, and on either side of this cross another
that was somewhat lower, and on the top of each cross was a golden
eagle. The priests and the knights were upon the walls and knelt
toward this chapel, and looked up to heaven and made great joy, and
well it seemed him that they beheld God in Heaven with His Mother.
Messire Gawain looketh at them from afar, for he durst not come anigh
the castle for these that shoot their arrows so strongly that none
armour might defend him. Way seeth he none to right nor left save he
go back again. He knoweth not what to do. He looketh before him and
seeth a priest issue forth of the gateway. "Fair sir," saith Messire
Gawain, "Welcome may you be!"
"Good adventure to you also," saith the good man, "What is your
pleasure?"
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "So please you, I would fain ask you to
tell me what castle is this?"
"It is," saith he, "the entrance to the land of the rich King
Fisherman, and within yonder are they beginning the service of the Most
Holy Graal."
"Allow me then," saith Messire Gawain, "that I may pass on further, for
toward the land of King Fisherman have I emprised my way."
"Sir," saith the priest, "I tell you of a truth that you may not enter
the castle nor come nigher unto the Holy Graal, save you bring the
sword wherewith S. John was beheaded."
"What?" saith Messire Gawain, "Shall I be evilly entreated and I bring
it not?"
"So much may you well believe me herein," saith the priest, "And I tell
you moreover that he who hath it is the fellest misbelieving King that
lives. But so you bring the Sword, this entrance will be free to you,
and great joy will be made of you in all places wherein King Fisherman
hath power."
"Then must I needs go back again," saith Messire Gawain, "Whereof I
have right to be sore sorrowful."
"So ought you not to be," saith the priest, "For, so you bring the
sword and conquer it for us, then will it be well known that you are
worthy to behold the Holy Graal. But take heed you remember him who
would not ask whereof it served."
Thereupon Messire Gawain departeth so sorrowful and full of thought
that he remembereth not to ask in what land he may find the sword nor
the name of the King that hath it. But he will know tidings thereof
when God pleaseth.
VI.
The history telleth us and witnesseth that he rode so far that he came
to the side of a little hill, and the day was right fair and clear. He
looketh in front of him before a chapel and seeth a tall burgess
sitting on a great destrier that was right rich and fair. The burgess
espieth Messire Gawain and cometh over against him, and saluteth him
right courteously and Messire Gawain him.
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "God give you joy."
"Sir," saith the goodman, "Right sorrowful am I of this that you have a
horse so lean and spare of flesh. Better would it become so worshipful
man as you seem to be that he were better horsed."
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "I may not now amend it, whereof am I
sorry; another shall I have when it shall please God."
"Fair sir," saith the burgess, "Whither are you bound to go?"
"I go seek the sword wherewith the head of S. John Baptist was cut off."
"Ha, sir," saith the burgess, "You are running too sore a peril. A King
hath it that believeth not in God, and is sore fell and cruel. He is
named Gurgalain, and many knights have passed hereby that went thither
for the sword, but never thence have they returned. But, and you are
willing to pledge me your word that so God grant you to conquer the
sword, you will return hither and show it me on your return, I will
give you this destrier, which is right rich, for your own."
"Will you?" saith Messire Gawain, "Then are you right courteous, for
you know me not."
"Certes, sir," saith he, "So worshipful man seem you to be, that you
will hold well to this that you have covenanted with me."
"And to this do I pledge you my word," saith Messire Gawain, "that, so
God allow me to conquer it, I will show it to you on my return."
VII.
Thereupon the burgess alighteth and mounteth upon Messire Gawain's
horse, and Messire Gawain upon his, and taketh leave of the burgess and
goeth his way and entereth into a right great forest beyond the city,
and rideth until sundown and findeth neither castle nor city. And he
findeth a meadow in the midst of the forest, right broad, and it ran on
beyond, like as there were the stream of a spring in the midst. He
looketh toward the foot of the meadow close by the forest, and seeth a
right large tent, whereof the cords were of silk and the pegs of ivory
fixed in the ground, and the tops of the poles of gold and upon each
was a golden eagle. The tent was white round about, and the hanging
above was of the richest silk, the same as red samite. Thitherward
goeth Messire Gawain and alighteth before the door of the tent, and
smiteth off the bridle of his horse, and letteth him feed on the grass,
and leaneth his spear and his shield without the tent, and looketh
narrowly within and seeth a right rich couch of silk and gold, and
below was a cloth unfolded as it were a feather-bed, and above a
coverlid of ermine and vair without any gold, and at the head of the
couch two pillows so rich that fairer none ever saw, and such sweet
smell gave they forth that it seemed the tent was sprinkled of balm.
And round about the couch were rich silken cloths spread on the ground.
And at the head of the couch on the one side and the other were two
seats of ivory, and upon them were two cushions stuffed with straw,
right rich, and at the foot of the couch, above the bed, two
candlesticks of gold wherein were two tall waxen tapers. A table was
set in the midst of the tent, that was all of ivory banded of gold,
with rich precious stones, and upon the table was the napkin spread and
the basin of silver and the knife with an ivory handle and the rich set
of golden vessels. Messire Gawain seeth the rich couch and setteth him
down thereon all armed in the midst, and marvelleth him wherefore the
tent is so richly apparelled and yet more that therein he seeth not a
soul. Howbeit, he was minded to disarm him.
VIII.
Thereupon, behold you, saluteth a dwarf that entereth the tent and
saluteth Messire Gawain. Then he kneeleth before him and would fain
disarm him. Then Messire Gawain remembereth him of the dwarf through
whom the lady was slain.
"Fair sweet friend, withdraw yourself further from me, for as at this
time I have no mind to disarm."
"Sir," saith the dwarf, "Without misgiving may you do so, for until
to-morrow have you no occasion to be on your guard, and never were you
more richly lodged than to-night you shall be, nor more honourably."
With that Messire Gawain began to disarm him, and the dwarf helpeth
him. And when he was disarmed, he setteth his arms nigh the couch and
his spear and sword and shield lying within the tent, and the dwarf
taketh a basin of silver and a white napkin, and maketh Messire Gawain
wash his hands and his face. Afterward, he unfasteneth a right fair
coffer, and draweth forth a robe of cloth of gold furred of ermine and
maketh Messire Gawain be clad therewithal.
"Sir," saith the dwarf, "Be not troubled as touching your destrier, for
you will have him again when you rise in the morning. I will lead him
close hereby to be better at ease, and then will I return to you."
And Messire Gawain giveth him leave. Thereupon, behold you, two
squires that bear in the wine and set the meats upon the table and make
Messire Gawain sit to eat, and they have great torches lighted on a
tall cresset of gold and depart swiftly. Whilst Messire Gawain was
eating, behold you, thereupon, two damsels that come into the tent and
salute him right courteously. And he maketh answer, the fairest he may.
"Sir," say the damsels, "God grant you force and power tomorrow to
destroy the evil custom of this tent."
"Is there then any evil custom herein, damsel?" saith he.
"Yea, sir, a right foul custom, whereof much it grieveth me, but well
meseemeth that you are the knight to amend it by the help of God."
IX.
Therewith he riseth from the table, and one of the squires was
apparelled to take away the cloths. And the two damsels take him by
the hand and lead him without the tent, and they set them down in the
midst of the meadow. "Sir," saith the elder damsel, "What is your
name?"
"Damsel," saith he, "Gawain is my name."
"Thereof do we love you the better, for well we know that the evil
custom of the tent shall be done away on condition that you choose
to-night the one of us two that most shall please you."
"Damsel, gramercy," saith he. Thereupon he riseth up, for he was
weary, and draweth him toward the couch, and the damsels help him and
wait upon his going to bed. And when he was lien down, they seated
themselves before him and lighted the taper and leant over the couch
and prospered him much service. Messire Gawain answered them naught
save "Gramercy," for he was minded to sleep and take his rest.
"By God," saith the one to the other, "And this were Messire Gawain,
King Arthur's nephew, he would speak to us after another sort, and more
of disport should we find in him than in this one. But this is a
counterfeit Gawain, and the honour we have done him hath been ill
bestowed. Who careth? To-morrow shall he pay his reckoning."
X.
Thereupon, lo you, the dwarf where he cometh. "Fair friend," say they,
"Keep good watch over this knight that he flee not away, for he goeth
a-cadging from, hostel to hostel and maketh him be called Messire
Gawain, but Messire Gawain meseemeth is he not. For, and it were he,
and we had been minded to watch with him two nights, he would have
wished it to be three or four."
"Damsel," saith the dwarf, "He may not flee away save he go afoot, for
his horse is in my keeping."
And Messire Gawain heareth well enough that which the damsels say, but
he answereth them never a word. Thereupon they depart, and say: God
give him an ill night, for an evil knight and a vanquished and
recreant, and command the dwarf that he move not on any occasion.
Messire Gawain slept right little the night, and so soon as he saw the
day, arose and found his arms ready and his horse that had been led all
ready saddled before the tent. He armed himself as swiftly as he might,
and the dwarf helpeth him and saith to him: "Sir, you have not done
service to our damsels as they would fain you should, wherefore they
make sore complaint of you."
"That grieveth me," saith Messire Gawain, "if that I have deserved it."
"It is great pity," saith the dwarf, "when knight so comely as be you
is so churlish as they say."
"They may say their pleasure," saith he, "for it is their right. I know
not to whom to render thanks for the good lodging that I have had save
to God, and if I shall see the lord of the tent or the lady I shall con
them much thanks thereof."
XI.
Thereupon, lo you, where two knights come in front of the tent on their
horses, all armed, and see Messire Gawain that was mounted and had his
shield on his neck and his spear in his fist, as he that thinketh to go
without doing aught further. And the knights come before him: "Sir,"
say they, "Pay for your lodging! Last night did we put ourselves to
misease on your account and left you the tent and all that is therein
at your pleasure, and now you are fain to go in this fashion."
"What pleaseth it you that I should do?" saith Messire Gawain.
"It is meet I should requite you of my victual and the honour of the
tent."
Thereupon, lo you, where the two damsels come that were of right great
beauty. "Sir Knight," say they, "Now shall we see whether you be King
Arthur's nephew!"
"By my faith," saith the dwarf, "Methinketh this is not he that shall
do away the evil custom whereby we lose the coming hither of knights!
Albeit if he may do it, I will forego mine ill will toward him."
Messire Gawain thus heard himself mocked by day as well as by night and
had great shame thereof. He seeth that he may not depart without a
fight. One of the knights drew to backward and was alighted; the other
was upon his horse all armed, his shield on his neck and grasping his
spear in his fist. And he cometh toward Messire Gawain full career and
Messire Gawain toward him, and smiteth him so wrathfully that he
pierceth his shield and pinneth his shield to his arm and his arm to
his rib and thrusteth his spear into his body, and hurtleth against him
so sore that he beareth him to the ground, him and his horse together
at the first blow.
"By my head! Look at Messire Gawain the counterfeit! Better doth he
to-day than he did last night!"
He draweth back his spear, and pulleth forth his sword and runneth upon
him, when the knight crieth him mercy and saith that he holdeth himself
vanquished. Messire Gawain bethinketh him what he shall do and whether
the damsels are looking at him.
"Sir knight," saith the elder, "Need you not fear the other knight
until such time as this one be slain, nor will the evil custom be done
away so long as this one is on live. For he is the lord of the other
and because of the shameful custom hath no knight come hither this
right long space."
"Hearken now," saith the knight, "the great disloyalty of her! Nought
in the world is there she loved so well in seeming as did she me, and
now hath she adjudged me my death!"
"Again I tell you plainly," saith she, "that never will it be done away
unless he slay you."
Thereupon Messire Gawain lifteth the skirt of his habergeon and
thrusteth his sword into his body. Thereupon, lo you, the other
knight, right angry and sorrowful and full of wrath for his fellow that
he seeth dead, and cometh in great rage to Messire Gawain and Messire
Gawain to him, and so stoutly they mell together that they pierce the
shields and pierce the habergeons and break the flesh of the ribs with
the points of their spears, and the bodies of the knights and their
horses hurtle together so stiffly that saddle-bows are to-frushed and
stirrups loosened and girths to-brast and fewtres splintered and spears
snapped short, and the knights drop to the ground with such a shock
that the blood rayeth forth at mouth and nose. In the fall that the
knight made, Messire Gawain brake his collar-bone in the hurtle.
Thereupon the dwarf crieth out: "Damsel, your counterfeit Gawain doth
it well!"
"Our Gawain shall he be," say they, "so none take him from us!"
Messire Gawain draweth from over the knight and cometh toward his
horse, and right fain would he have let the knight live had it not been
for the damsels. For the knight crieth him mercy and Messire Gawain
had right great pity of him. Howbeit the damsels cry to him; "And you
slay him not, the evil custom will not be overthrown."
"Sir," saith the younger damsel, "And you would slay him, smite him in
the sole of his foot with your sword, otherwise will he not die yet."
"Damsel," saith the knight, "Your love of me is turned to shame! Never
more ought knight to set affiance nor love on damsel. But God keep the
other that they be not such as you!"
Messire Gawain marvelleth at this that the damsel saith to him, and
draweth him back, and hath great pity of the knight, and cometh to the
other side whither the horses were gone, and taketh the saddle of the
knight that was dead and setteth it on his own horse and draweth him
away. And the wounded knight was remounted, for the dwarf had helped
him, and fleeth toward the forest a great gallop. And the damsels cry
out, "Messire Gawain, your pity will be our death this day! For the
Knight without Pity is gone for succour, and if he escape, we shall be
dead and you also!"
XII.
Thereupon Messire Gawain leapeth on his horse and taketh a spear that
was leaning against the tent and followeth the knight in such sort that
he smiteth him to the ground. Afterward he saith to him: "No further
may you go!"
"That grieveth me," saith the knight, "For before night should I have
been avenged of you and of the damsels."
And Messire Gawain draweth his sword and thrusteth it into the sole of
his foot a full palm's breadth, and the knight stretcheth himself forth
and dieth. And Messire Gawain returneth back, and the damsels make
great joy of him and tell him that never otherwise could the evil
custom have been done away. For, and he had gone his way, all would
have been to begin over again, for he is of such kind seeing that he
was of the kindred of Achilles, and that all his ancestors might never
otherwise die. And Messire Gawain alighteth, and the damsels would
have searched the wound in his side, and he telleth them that he taketh
no heed thereof.
"Sir," say they, "Again do we proffer you our service, for well we know
that you are a good knight. Take for your lady-love which of us you
will."
"Gramercy, damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Your love do I refuse not
and to God do I commend you."
"How?" say the damsels, "Will you go your way thus? Certes, meeter
were it to-day for you to sojourn in this tent and be at ease."
"It may not be," saith he, "for leisure have I none to abide here."
"Let him go!" saith the younger, "for the falsest knight is he of the
world."
"By my head," saith the elder, "it grieveth me that he goeth, for stay
would have pleased me well."
Therewithal Messire Gawain departeth and is remounted on his horse.
Then he entereth into the forest.
BRANCH VI.
INCIPIT.
Another branch that Josephus telleth us recounteth and witnesseth of
the Holy Graal, and here beginneth for us in the name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
TITLE I.
Messire Gawain rode until he came to a forest, and seeth a land right
fair and rich in a great enclosure of wall, and round the land and
country-side within, the wall stretched right far away. Thitherward he
cometh and seeth but one entrance thereinto, and he seeth the fairest
land that ever he beheld and the best garnished and the fairest
orchards. The country was not more than four leagues Welsh in length,
and in the midst thereof was a tower on a high rock. And on the top
was a crane that kept watch over it and cried when any strange man came
into the country. Messire Gawain rode amidst the land and the crane
cried out so loud that the King of Wales heard it, that was lord of the
land. Thereupon, behold you, two knights that come after Messire Gawain
and say to him: "Hold, Sir knight, and come speak with the king of this
country, for no strange knight passeth through his land but he seeth
him."
"Lords," saith Messire Gawain, "I knew not of the custom. Willingly
will I go."
They led him thither to the hall where the King was, and Messire Gawain
alighteth and setteth his shield and his spear leaning against a
mounting stage and goeth up into the hall. The King maketh great joy
of him and asketh him whither he would go?
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Into a country where I was never."
"Well I know," saith the king, "where it is, for that you are passing
through my land. You are going to the country of King Gurgalain to
conquer the sword wherewith S. John was beheaded."
II.
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "You say true. God grant me that I may
have it!"
"That may not be so hastily," saith the King, "For you shall not go
forth of my land before a year."
"Ha, Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "For God's sake, mercy!"
"None other mercy is here," saith the King. Straightway he maketh
Messire Gawain be disarmed and afterward maketh bring a robe wherewith
to apparel him, and showeth him much honour. But ill is he at ease,
wherefore he saith to him: "Sir, wherefore are you fain to hold me here
within so long?"
"For this, that I know well you will have the sword and will not return
by me."
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "I pledge you my word that, so God give me
to conquer it, I will return by you."
"And I will allow you to depart from me at your will. For nought is
there that I so much desire to see."
He lay the night therewithin, and on the morrow departed thence and
issued forth of the land right glad and joyful. And he goeth toward
the land of King Gurgalain. And he entereth into a noisome forest at
the lower part and findeth at the right hour of noon a fountain that
was enclosed of marble, and it was overshadowed of the forest like as
it were with leaves down below, and it had rich pillars of marble all
round about with fillets of gold and set with precious stones. Against
the master-pillar hung a vessel of gold by a silver chain, and in the
midst of the fountain was an image so deftly wrought as if it had been
alive. When Messire appeared at the fountain, the image set itself in
the water and was hidden therewith. Messire Gawain goeth down, and
would fain have taken hold on the vessel of gold when a voice crieth
out to him: "You are not the Good Knight unto whom is served thereof
and who thereby is made whole."
Messire Gawain draweth him back and seeth a clerk come to the fountain
that was young of age and clad in white garments, and he had a stole on
his arm and held a little square vessel of gold, and cometh to the
little vessel that was hanging on the marble pillar and looketh
therein, and then rinseth out the other little golden vessel that he
held, and then setteth the one that he held in the place of the other.
Therewithal, behold, three damsels that come of right great beauty, and
they had white garments and their heads were covered with white cloths,
and they carried, one, bread in a little golden vessel, and the other
wine in a little ivory vessel, and the third flesh in one of silver.
And they come to the vessel of gold that hung against the pillar and
set therein that which they have brought, and afterward they make the
sign of the cross over the pillar and come back again. But on their
going back, it seemed to Messire Gawain that only one was there.
Messire Gawain much marvelled him of this miracle. He goeth after the
clerk that carried the other vessel of gold, and saith unto him: "Fair
Sir, speak to me."
"What is your pleasure?" saith the clerk.
"Whither carry you this golden vessel and that which is therein?"
"To the hermits," saith he, "that are in this forest, and to the Good
knight that lieth sick in the house of his uncle King Hermit."
"Is it far from hence?" saith Messire Gawain.
"Yea, Sir," saith the clerk, "to yourself. But I shall be there sooner
than will you."
"By God," saith Messire Gawain, "I would fain I were there now, so that
I might see him and speak to him."
"That believe I well," saith the clerk, "But now is the place not here."
Messire Gawain taketh leave and goeth his way and rideth until he
findeth a hermitage and seeth the hermit therewithout. He was old and
bald and of good life.
"Sir," saith he to Messire Gawain, "Whither go you?"
"To the land of King Gurgalain, Sir; is this the way?"
"Yea," saith the hermit, "But many knights have passed hereby that
hither have never returned."
"Is it far?" saith he.
"He and his land are hard by, but far away is the castle wherein is the
sword."
Messire Gawain lay the night therewithin. On the morrow when he had
heard mass, he departed and rode until he cometh to the land of King
Gurgalain, and heareth the folk of the land making dole right sore.
And he meeteth a knight that cometh a great pace to a castle.
IV.
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Wherefore make the folk of this castle
such dole, and they of all this land and all this country? For I hear
them weep and beat their palms together on every side."
"Sir," saith he, "I will tell you. King Gurgalain had one only son of
whom he hath been bereft by a Giant that hath done him many mischiefs
and wasted much of his land. Now hath the King let everywhere be cried
that to him that shall bring back his son and slay the Giant he will
give the fairest sword of the world, the which sword he hath, and of
all his treasure so much as he may be fain to take. As at this time,
he findeth no knight so hardy that he durst go; and much more blameth
he his own law than the law of the Christians, and he saith that if any
Christian should come into his land, he would receive him."
Right joyous is Messire Gawain of these tidings, and departeth from the
castle and rideth on until he cometh to the castle of King Gurgalain.
The tidings come to the King that there is a Christian come into his
castle. The King maketh great joy thereof, and maketh him come before
him and asketh him of his name and of what land he is.
"Sir," saith he, "My name is Gawain and I am of the land of King
Arthur."
"You are," saith he, "of the land of the Good Knight. But of mine own
land may I find none that durst give counsel in a matter I have on
hand. But if you be of such valour that you be willing to undertake to
counsel me herein, right well will I reward you. A Giant hath carried
off my son whom I loved greatly, and so you be willing to set your body
in jeopardy for my son, I will give you the richest sword that was ever
forged, whereby the head of S. John was cut off. Every day at right
noon is it bloody, for that at that hour the good man had his head cut
off."
The King made fetch him the sword, and in the first place showeth him
the scabbard that was loaded of precious stones and the mountings were
of silk with buttons of gold, and the hilt in likewise, and the pommel
of a most holy sacred stone that Enax, a high emperor of Rome, made be
set thereon. Then the King draweth it forth of the scabbard, and the
sword came forth thereof all bloody, for it was the hour of noon. And
he made hold it before Messire Gawain until the hour was past, and
thereafter the sword becometh as clear as an emerald and as green. And
Messire looketh at it and coveteth it much more than ever he did
before, and he seeth that it is as long as another sword, albeit, when
it is sheathed in the scabbard, neither scabbard nor sword seemeth of
two spans length.
V.
"Sir Knight," saith the King, "This sword will I give you, and another
thing will I do whereof you shall have joy."
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "And I will do your need, if God please
and His sweet Mother."
Thereupon he teacheth him the way whereby the Giant went, and the place
where he had his repair, and Messire Gawain goeth his way thitherward
and commendeth himself to God. The country folk pray for him according
to their belief that he may back repair with life and health, for that
he goeth in great peril. He hath ridden until that he cometh to a
great high mountain that lay round about a land that the Giant had all
laid waste, and the enclosure of the mountain went round about for a
good three leagues Welsh, and therewithin was the Giant, so great and
cruel and horrible that he feared no man in the world, and for a long
time had he not been sought out by any knight, for none durst won in
that quarter. And the pass of the mountain whereby he went to his hold
was so strait that no horse might get through; wherefore behoveth
Messire Gawain leave his horse and his shield and spear and to pass
beyond the mountain by sheer force, for the way was like a cut between
sharp rocks. He is come to level ground and looketh before him and
seeth a hold that the Giant had on the top of a rock, and espieth the
Giant and the lad where they were sitting on the level ground under a
tree. Messire Gawain was armed and had his sword girt on, and goeth
his way thitherward. And the Giant seeth him coming and leapeth up and
taketh in hand a great axe that was at his side, and cometh toward
Messire Gawain all girded for the fight and thinketh to smite him a
two-handed stroke right amidst the head. But Messire Gawain swerveth
aside and bestirreth him with his sword and dealeth him a blow such
that he cut off his arm, axe and all. And the Giant returneth backward
when he feeleth himself wounded, and taketh the King's son by the neck
with his other hand and grippeth him so straitly that he strangleth and
slayeth him. Then he cometh back to Messire Gawain and falleth upon
him and grippeth him sore strait by the flanks, and lifteth him three
foot high off the ground and thinketh to carry him to his hold that was
within the rock. And as he goeth thither he falleth, Messire Gawain
and all, and he lieth undermost. Howbeit, he thinketh to rise, but
cannot, for Messire Gawain sendeth him his sword right through his
heart and beyond. Afterward, he cut off the head and cometh there
where the King's child lay dead, whereof is he right sorrowful. And he
beareth him on his neck, and taketh the Giant's head in his hand and
returneth there where he had left his horse and shield and spear, and
mounteth and cometh back and bringeth the King's son before the King
and the head of the Giant hanging.
VI.
The King and all they of the castle come to meet him with right great
joy, but when they see the young man dead, their great joy is turned
into right great dole thereby. And Messire Gawain alighteth before the
castle and presenteth to the King his son and the head of the Giant.
"Certes," said he, "might I have presented him to you on live, much
more joyful should I have been thereof."
"This believe I well," saith the King, "Howbeit, of so much as you have
done am I well pleased, and your guerdon shall you have."
And he looketh at his son and lamenteth him right sweetly, and all they
of the castle after him. Thereafter he maketh light a great show of
torches in the midst of the city, and causeth a great fire to be made,
and his son be set thereon in a brazen vessel all full of water, and
maketh him be cooked and sodden over this fire, and maketh the Giant's
head be hanged at the gate.
VII.
When his son was well cooked, he maketh him be cut up as small as he
may, and biddeth send for all the high men of his land and giveth
thereof to each so long as there was any left. After that he maketh
bring the sword and giveth it to Messire Gawain, and Messire Gawain
thanketh him much thereof.
"More yet will I do for you," saith the King. He biddeth send for all
the men of his land to come to his hall and castle.
"Sir," saith he, "I am fain to baptize me."
"God be praised thereof," saith Messire Gawain. The King biddeth send
for a hermit of the forest, and maketh himself be baptized, and he had
the name of Archis in right baptism; and of all them that were not
willing to believe in God, he commanded Messire Gawain that he should
cut off their heads.
VIII.
In such wise was this King baptized that was the lord of Albanie, by
the miracle of God and the knighthood of Messire Gawain, that departeth
from the castle with right great joy and rideth until he has come into
the land of the King of Wales and bethought him he would go fulfil his
pledge. He alighted before the hall, and the King made right great
cheer when he saw him come. And Messire Gawain hath told him: "I come
to redeem my pledge. Behold, here is the sword."
And the King taketh it in his hand and looketh thereon right fainly,
and afterward maketh great joy thereof and setteth it in his treasury
and saith: "Now have I done my desire."
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Then have you betrayed me."
"By my head," saith the King, "That have I not, for I am of the lineage
of him that beheaded S. John, wherefore have I better right to it than
you."
"Sir," say the knights to the King, "Right loyal and courteous knight
is Messire Gawain, wherefore yield him that which he hath conquered,
for sore blame will you have of evil-treating him."
"I will yield it," saith the King "on such condition that the first
damsel that maketh request of him, what thing soever she may require
and whatsoever it be shall not be denied of him."
And Messire Gawain agreeth thereto, and of this agreement thereafter
did he suffer much shame and anguish and was blamed of many knights.
And the King yielded him the Sword. He lay the night therewithin, and
on the morrow so soon as he might, he departed and rode until he came
without the city where the burgess gave him the horse in exchange for
his own. And he remembered him of his covenant, and abideth a long
space and leaneth him on the hilt of his sword until the burgess
cometh. Therewithal made they great joy the one of the other, and
Messire showeth him the sword, and the burgess taketh it and smiteth
his horse with his spurs and goeth a great gallop toward the city. And
Messire Gawain goeth after a great pace and crieth out that he doth
great treachery.
"Come not after me into the city," saith the burgess, "for the folk
have a commune."
Howbeit, he followeth after into the city for that he might not
overtake him before, and therein he meeteth a great procession of
priests and clerks that bore crosses and censers. And Messire Gawain
alighteth on account of the procession, and seeth the burgess that hath
gone into the church and the procession after.
"Lords," saith Messire Gawain, "Make yield me the sword whereof this
burgess that hath entered your church hath plundered me."
"Sir," say the priests, "Well know we that it is the sword wherewith S.
John was beheaded, wherefore the burgess hath brought it to us to set
with our hallows in yonder, and saith that it was given him."
"Ha, lords!" saith Messire Gawain, "Not so! I have but shown it to him
to fulfil my pledge. And he hath carried it off by treachery."
Afterward he telleth them as it had befallen him, and the priests make
the burgess give it up, and with great joy Messire Gawain departeth and
remounteth his horse and issueth forth of the city. He hath scarce gone
far before he meeteth a knight that came all armed, as fast as his
horse could carry him, spear in rest.
"Sir," saith he to Messire Gawain, "I have come to help you. We were
told that you had been evil-entreated in the city, and I am of the
castle that succoureth all strange knights that pass hereby whensoever
they have need thereof."
"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Blessed be the castle! I plain me not of
the trespass for that right hath been done me. And how is the castle
named?"
"Sir, they call it the Castle of the Ball. Will you return back
thither with me, since you are delivered, and lodge there the night
with Messire, that is a right worshipful man, and of good conditions?"
Therewith they go together to the castle, that was right fair and
well-seeming. They enter in, and when they were within, the Lord, that
sate on a mounting-stage of marble, had two right fair daughters, and
he made them play before him with a ball of gold, and looked at them
right fainly. He seeth Messire Gawain alight and cometh to meet him
and maketh him great cheer. Afterward, he biddeth his two daughters
lead him into the hall.
IX.
When he was disarmed, the one brought him a right rich robe, and after
meat the two maidens sit beside him and make him right great cheer.
Thereupon behold you, a dwarf that issueth forth of a chamber, and he
holdeth a scourge. And he cometh to the damsels and smiteth them over
their faces and their heads.
"Rise up," saith he, "ye fools, ill-taught! Ye make cheer unto him
whom you ought to hate! For this is Messire Gawain, King Arthur's
nephew, by whom was your uncle slain!"
Thereupon they rise, all ashamed, and go into the chamber, and Messire
Gawain remaineth there sore abashed. But their father comforteth him
and saith: "Sir, be not troubled for aught that he saith, for the dwarf
is our master: he chastiseth and teacheth my daughters, and he is wroth
for that you have slain his brother, whom you slew the day that Marin
slew his wife on your account, whereof we are right sorrowful in this
castle."
"So also am I," saith Messire Gawain, "But no blame of her death have I
nor she, as God knoweth of very truth."
X.
Messire Gawain lay the night at the castle, and departed on the morrow,
and rode on his journeys until he cometh to the castle at the entrance
to the land of the rich King Fisherman, where he seeth that the lion is
not at the entrance nor were the serjeants of copper shooting. And he
seeth in great procession the priests and them of the castle coming to
meet him, and he alighteth, and a squire was apparelled ready, that
took his armour and his horse, and he showeth the sword to them that
were come to meet him. It was the hour of noon. He draweth the sword,
and seeth it all bloody, and they bow down and worship it, and sing 'Te
Deum laudamus'. With such joy was Messire Gawain received at the
castle, and he set the sword back in his scabbard, and kept it right
anigh him, and made it not known in all the places where he lodged that
it was such. The priests and knights of the castle make right great
joy, and pray him right instantly that so God should lead him to the
castle of King Fisherman, and the Graal should appear before him, he
would not be so forgetful as the other knights. And he made answer
that he would do that which God should teach him.
XI.
"Messire Gawain," saith the master of the priests, that was right
ancient: "Great need have you to take rest, for meseemeth you have had
much travail."
"Sir, many things have I seen whereof I am sore abashed, nor know I
what castle this may be."
"Sir," saith the priest, "This Castle is the Castle of Inquest, for
nought you shall ask whereof it shall not tell you the meaning, by the
witness of Joseph, the good clerk and good hermit through whom we have
it, and he knoweth it by annunciation of the Holy Ghost."
"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "I am much abashed of the three
damsels that were at the court of King Arthur
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