by W. S. Merwin
Bot snyrt hym on þat on syde, þat seuered þe hyde.
Þe scharp schrank to þe flesche þurз þe schyre grece,
Þat þe schene blod ouer his schulderes schot to þe erþe;
And quen þe burne seз þe blode blenk on þe snawe,
2315
He sprit forth spenne-fote more þen a spere lenþe,
Hent heterly his helme, and on his hed cast,
Schot with his schulderez his fayre schelde vnder,
Braydez out a bryзt sworde, and bremely he spekez—
Neuer syn þat he watz burne borne of his moder 2320
Watz he neuer in þis worlde wyзe half so blyþe—
‘Blynne, burne, of þy bur, bede me no mo!
I haf a stroke in þis sted withoute stryf hent,
And if þow rechez me any mo, I redyly schal quyte,
And зelde зederly aзayn—and þerto зe tryst— and foo 2325
“So now that you have your courage up I must make my stroke.
Uphold the high knighthood that Arthur bestowed on you
And see whether your neck can survive this blow.”
Then Gawain was angry and in a rage he said,
“Well, strike then, you fierce fellow. Your threats take too long.
I begin to believe you are afraid of yourself.”
“Indeed,” that other knight said, “you speak so boldly,
I will not leave your mission unfulfilled any longer.”
Then he plants his feet to strike
With set mouth and frowning brow.
What was there for him to like
With no hope of rescue?
He raised his weapon swiftly and brought it down with skill
Letting the end of the blade graze the bare neck.
Though he swung it hard, the other was hardly hurt,
A cut on the side that barely broke the skin.
The whetted edge sliced through the white fat to the flesh
So the bright blood rushed over his shoulders to the earth.
And when the knight saw the blood gleaming on the snow
He gave a great leap, more than a spear's length,
Caught up his helmet and set it on his head,
Shrugged the splendid shield onto his shoulders,
Unsheaths a bright sword and shouts his challenge,
And never since he was a boy born of his mother
Had he ever been half so happy in this world.
“Enough of your ax, Knight, aim no more blows at me.
I have stood for your stroke here without resisting it.
If you try another I will repay it promptly,
Returning it here and now, you can count upon it, with a vengeance.
Bot on stroke here me fallez—
Þe couenaunt schop ryзt so,
Fermed in Arþurez hallez—
And þerfore, hende, now hoo!' 2330
The haþel heldet hym fro, and on his ax rested,
Sette þe schaft vpon schore, and to þe scharp lened,
And loked to þe leude þat on þe launde зede,
How þat doзty, dredles, deruely þer stondez
Armed, ful aзlez: in hert hit hym lykez. 2335
Þenn he melez muryly wyth a much steuen,
And wyth a rynkande rurde he to þe renk sayde:
‘Bolde burne, on þis bent be not so gryndel.
No mon here vnmanerly þe mysboden habbez,
Ne kyd bot as couenaunde at kyngez kort schaped. 2340
I hyзt þe a strok and þou hit hatz, halde þe wel payed;
I relece þe of þe remnaunt of ryзtes alle oþer.
Iif I deliuer had bene, a boffet paraunter
I couþe wroþeloker haf waret, to þe haf worзt anger.
Fyrst I mansed þe muryly with a mynt one, 2345
And roue þe wyth no rof-sore, with ryзt I þe profered
For þe forwarde þat we fest in þe fyrst nyзt,
And þou trystyly þe trawþe and trwly me haldez,
Al þe gayne þow me gef, as god mon schulde.
Þat oþer munt for þe morne, mon, I þe profered, 2350
Þou kyssedes my clere wyf—þe cossez me raзtez.
For boþe two here I þe bede bot two bare myntes boute scaþe.
Trwe mon trwe restore,
Þenne þar mon drede no waþe. 2355
At þe þrid þou fayled þore,
And þerfor þat tappe ta þe.
Only one stroke I owed here.
That was what we agreed
In Arthur's hall, and therefore,
Knight, hold your blade.”
The other knight turned away from him and rested on his ax,
Set the shaft toward the ground and leaned on the head
And looked at the prince standing there on the field.
How brave, how fearless, how boldly he stood there,
Armed, daring anything, and in his heart he liked him.
Then he spoke pleasantly in his full voice,
The sound of it ringing out as he said to the knight,
“Bold man, do not be so angry on this field.
No one here has misused you or been unmannerly with you
Beyond the agreement made at the King's court.
If I owed you a stroke, you have it. Consider yourself well paid.
I release you of any other debts.
If I had meant to I might have dealt a blow
Far more deadly than that, and done you more harm.
First I made the motion of striking, but it was not serious,
And I left your skin untouched, which was only right,
According to the agreement we made that first night
Which you observed faithfully, keeping your word with me,
Giving me all your gains as a good man should.
The second time I made the motion, man, was for the morning
When you kissed my fair wife. You returned the kisses.
For both of those I offered you only two harmless gestures.
True men pay truly.
Then they have nothing to fear.
You failed at number three
Which you got the cut for.
‘For hit is my wede þat þou werez, þat ilke wouen girdel,
Myn owen wyf hit þe weued, I wot wel for soþe.
Now know I wel þy cosses, and þy costes als, 2360
And þe wowyng of my wyf: I wroзt hit myseluen.
I sende hir to asay þe, and sothly me þynkkez
On þe fautlest freke þat euer on fote зede;
As perle bi þe quite pese is of prys more,
So is Gawayn, in god fayth, bi oþer gay knyзtez. 2365
Bot here yow lakked a lyttel, sir, and lewté yow wonted;
Bot þat watz for no wylyde werke, ne wowyng nauþer,
Bot for зe lufed your lyf; þe lasse I yow blame.’
Þat oþer stif mon in study stod a gret whyle,
So agreued for greme he gryed withinne; 2370
Alle þe blode of his brest blende in his face,
Þat al he schrank for schome þat þe schalk talked.
Þe forme worde vpon folde þat þe freke meled: ‘Corsed worth cowarddyse and couetyse boþe!
In yow is vylany and vyse þat vertue disstryez.' 2375
Þenne he kaзt to þe knot, and þe kest lawsez,
Brayde broþely þe belt to þe burne seluen:
‘Lo! þer þe falssyng, foule mot hit falle!
For care of þy knokke cowardyse me taзt
To acorde me with couetyse, my kynde to forsake, 2380
Þat is larges and lewté þat longez to knyзtez.
Now am I fawty and falce, and ferde haf ben euer
Of trecherye and vntrawþe: boþe bityde sorзe and care!
I biknowe yow, knyзt, here stylle,
Al fawty is my fare; 2386
Letez me ouertake your wylle
And efte I schal be ware.’
For that braided belt you are wearin
g belongs to me.
My own wife gave it to you; I know the story
About your kisses and everything that you did,
And the wooing of my wife. I planned the whole thing.
I sent her to test you, and I am convinced now
That you must be the most perfect knight ever to walk the earth.
As a pearl is more precious than white peas around it,
So, in good faith, is Gawain among other fine knights.
But here you lacked a little, sir, and failed to keep faith,
Though not from treachery, nor my wife's wooing either,
But for love of your life, and I blame you less for that.”
That other brave man stood for a long time in thought,
So mortified that it cried out inside him.
All the blood in his breast pressed into his face
As he shrank back in shame at what the man said.
The first thing that the knight managed to say
Was, “A curse upon cowardice, and coveting too,
For the villainy and vice in them that ruin virtue.”
Then he takes hold of the knot and pulls it loose
And in a fury flings it toward the knight.
“Here, take the treacherous thing, and bad luck to it.
From the fear of your stroke, cowardice taught me
To come to terms with coveting, forsaking my own nature
And the openness and good faith that belong to knighthood.
Now I am guilty and a liar, who was always
In dread of disloyalty and lies. Sorrow and grief take them both!
I confess to you, Knight, here between us,
That what I did was all wrong.
Let me win back your good grace
And then heed what I am doing.”
Thenn loзe þat oþer leude and luflyly sayde:
‘I halde hit hardily hole, þe harme þat I hade. 2390
Þou art confessed so clene, beknowen of þy mysses,
And hatz þe penaunce apert of þe poynt of myn egge,
I halde þe polysed of þat plyзt, and pured as clene
As þou hadez neuer forfeted syþen þou watz fyrst borne;
And I gif þe, sir, þe gurdel þat is golde-hemmed, 2395
For hit is grene as my goune. Sir Gawayn, зe maye
þenk vpon þis ilke þrepe, þer þou forth þryngez
Among prynces of prys, and þis a pure token
Of þe chaunce of þe grene chapel at cheualrous knyзtez.
And зe schal in þis Nwe зer aзayn to my wonez, 2400
And we schyn reuel þe remnaunt of þis ryche fest ful bene.’
þer laþed hym fast þe lorde
And sayde: ‘With my wyf, I wene,
We schal yow wel acorde, 2405
þat watz your enmy kene.’
‘Nay, for soþe,’ quoþ þe segge, and sesed hys helme,
And hatz hit of hendely, and þe haþel þonkkez,
‘I haf soiorned sadly; sele yow bytyde,
And he зelde hit yow зare þat зarkkez al menskes! 2410
And comaundez me to þat cortays, your comlych fere,
Boþe þat on and þat oþer, myn honoured ladyez,
þat þus hor knyзt wyth hor kest han koyntly bigyled.
Bot hit is no ferly þaз a fole madde,
And þurз wyles of wymmen be wonen to sorзe, 2415
For so watz Adam in erde with one bygyled,
And Salamon with fele sere, and Samson eftsonez—
Dalyda dalt hym hys wyrde—and Dauyth þerafter
Then the other lord laughed and said to him pleasantly,
“I am thoroughly healed of any harm I suffered.
You have confessed so completely, acknowledging your failings,
And you have suffered your penance at the edge of my blade,
I hold you as clear of that offense, and purged as clean,
As though you had made no mistake ever since you were born.
And I give you, sir, the belt with the gold hem around it,
For it is as green as my gown. Sir Gawain, it may
Remind you of this meeting, when you go out again
Among the fine princes, for it is a pure token
Of the adventure of the Green Chapel, for those chivalrous knights.
And in this New Year you shall come again to my house
And we shall celebrate the rest of this holiday in joy.”
Then the lord laughed aloud, saying,
“With my wife, certainly
You will get along,
Who once was your enemy.”
“No, truly,” the knight said, and seized his helmet
Lifting it off politely to thank the other.
“I have stayed as long as I should. Good fortune be with you,
And may he who ordains all honors honor you.
And commend me to your courteous, beautiful wife,
Both to her and the other one, my honored ladies,
Who caught their knight neatly with their cunning.
But it is no wonder if a fool's wits are turned
And he is brought to sorrow by a woman's ways,
For so was Adam beguiled by one on earth,
And Solomon by several of them, and Samson also—
Delilah dealt him his fate—and David afterward
Watz blended with Barsabe, þat much bale þoled.
Now þese were wrathed wyth her wyles, hit were a wynne huge 2420
To luf hom wel, and leue hem not, a leude þat couþe.
For þes wer forne þe freest, þat folзed alle þe sele
Exellently of alle þyse oþer, vnder heuenryche þat mused;
And alle þay were biwyled 2425
With wymmen þat þay vsed.
þaз I be now bigyled,
Me þink me burde be excused.
‘Bot your gordel', quoþ Gawayn, ‘God yow forзelde!
þat wyl I welde wyth guod wylle, not for þe wynne golde, 2430
Ne þe saynt, ne þe sylk, ne þe syde pendaundes,
For wele ne for worchyp, ne for þe wlonk werkkez,
Bot in syngne of my surfet I schal se hit ofte,
When I ride in renoun, remorde to myseluen
þe faut and þe fayntyse of þe flesche crabbed, 2435
How tender hit is to entyse teches of fylþe;
And þus, quen pryde schal me pryk for prowes of armes,
þe loke to þis luf-lace schal leþe my hert.
Bot on I wolde yow pray, displeses yow neuer:
Syn зe be lorde of þe зonder londe þer I haf lent inne 2440
Wyth yow wyth worschyp—þe wyзe hit yow зelde
þat vphaldez þe heuen and on hyз sittez—
How norne зe yowre ryзt nome, and þenne no more?'
‘þat schal I telle þe trwly,’ quoþ þat oþer þenne,
‘Bertilak de Hautdesert I hat in þis londe. 2445
þurз myзt of Morgne la Faye, þat in my hous lenges,
And koyntyse of clergye, bi craftes wel lerned,
þe maystrés of Merlyn mony hatz taken—
Was beguiled by Bathsheba and it brought him much grief.
As all these were undone by their wiles, it would be far better
To love women without believing them, if ever a man could.
For these, in the old days, were the noblest, whom fortune favored
Above all others under the realm of heaven, and they were bemused by love,
And they were all led astray
By women they had known.
If that has happened to me
Perhaps I may be forgiven.
But your belt,” Gawain said, “God reward you for it!
I will be glad to wear it, not for the gold on it,
Nor the sash itself, nor the silk, nor the pendants around it,
Nor its value, nor the honor in it, nor the glorious workmanship,
But I shall look at it often to remind me of my wrongdoing.
When I ride in triumph remorse will recall to me
My failing, and the frailty of wayward flesh,
How easily it is splashed with stains that defile it.
And so when pride from prowess at arms stirs me,
The sight of this love token will humble my heart.
But I ask you one favor, if it does not displease you:
Since you are the lord of the country where I have stayed a while
And have been honored by you—may you be rewarded
By him who holds up the heaven and sits on high—
What is your right name, and I will ask nothing more?”
“I will tell you that certainly,” the other said then.
“I am known as Bercilak of the High Desert.
Through the powers of Morgan Le Fay, who lives in my castle,
The subtlety of her lore, the crafts she has made her own,
The many arts of Merlin that she has acquired—
For ho hatz dalt drwry ful dere sumtyme
With þat conable klerk, þat knowes alle your knyзtez 2450 at hame;
Morgne þe goddes
Þerfore hit is hir name:
Weldez non so hyзe hawtesse
Þat ho ne con make ful tame— 2455
‘Ho wayned me vpon þis wyse to your wynne halle
For to assay þe surquidré, зif hit soth were
Þat rennes of þe grete renoun of þe Rounde Table;
Ho wayned me þis wonder your wyttez to reue,
For to haf greued Gaynour and gart hir to dyзe
With glopnyng of þat ilke gome þat gostlych speked 2461
With his hede in his honde bifore þe hyзe table.
Þat is ho þat is at home, þe auncian lady;
Ho is euen þyn aunt, Arþurez half-suster,
Þeduches doзter of Tyntagelle, þat dere Vter after 2465
Hade Arþur vpon, þat aþel is nowþe.
Þerfore I eþe þe, haþel, to com to þyn aunt,
Make myry in my hous; my meny þe louies,
And I wol þe as wel, wyзe, bi my faythe,
As any gome vnder God for þy grete trauþe.' 2470
And he nikked hym naye, he nolde bi no wayes.
Þay acolen and kyssen and kennen ayþer
to oþer To þe prynce of paradise, and parten ryзt þere on coolde;
Gawayn on blonk ful bene 2475
To þe kyngez burз buskez bolde,
And þe knyзt in þe enker-grene
Whiderwarde-so-euer he wolde.
For she gave her love tenderly, at one time,
To that greatest of wizards, whom all your knights at home have heard of,