Youth, we are damsels-errant, and we ride,
Arm’d as ye see, to tilt against the knights
There at Caerleon, but have lost our way:
To right? to left? straight forward? back again?
Which? tell us quickly.’
65 Pelleas gazing thought,
‘Is Guinevere herself so beautiful?’
For large her violet eyes look’d, and her bloom
A rosy dawn kindled in stainless heavens,
And round her limbs, mature in womanhood;
70 And slender was her hand and small her shape;
And but for those large eyes, the haunts of scorn,
She might have seem’d a toy to trifle with,
And pass and care no more. But while he gazed
The beauty of her flesh abash’d the boy,
75 As tho’ it were the beauty of her soul:
For as the base man, judging of the good,
Puts his own baseness in him by default
Of will and nature, so did Pelleas lend
All the young beauty of his own soul to hers,
80 Believing her; and when she spake to him,
Stammer’d, and could not make her a reply.
For out of the waste islands had he come,
Where saving his own sisters he had known
Scarce any but the women of his isles,
85 Rough wives, that laugh’d and scream’d against the gulls,
Makers of nets, and living from the sea.
Then with a slow smile turn’d the lady round
And look’d upon her people; and as when
A stone is flung into some sleeping tarn,
90 The circle widens till it lip the marge,
Spread the slow smile thro’ all her company.
Three knights were thereamong; and they too smiled,
Scorning him; for the lady was Ettarre,
And she was a great lady in her land.
95 Again she said, ‘O wild and of the woods,
Knowest thou not the fashion of our speech?
Or have the Heavens but given thee a fair face,
Lacking a tongue?’
‘O damsel,’ answer’d he,
‘I woke from dreams; and coming out of gloom
100 Was dazzled by the sudden light, and crave
Pardon: but will ye to Caerleon? I
Go likewise: shall I lead you to the King?’
‘Lead then,’ she said; and thro’ the woods they went.
And while they rode, the meaning in his eyes,
105 His tenderness of manner, and chaste awe,
His broken utterances and bashfulness,
Were all a burthen to her, and in her heart
She mutter’d, ‘I have lighted on a fool,
Raw, yet so stale!’ But since her mind was bent
110 On hearing, after trumpet blown, her name
And title, ‘Queen of Beauty,’ in the lists
Cried – and beholding him so strong, she thought
That peradventure he will fight for me,
And win the circlet: therefore flatter’d him,
115 Being so gracious, that he wellnigh deem’d
His wish by hers was echo’d; and her knights
And all her damsels too were gracious to him,
For she was a great lady.
And when they reach’d
Caerleon, ere they past to lodging, she,
120 Taking his hand, ‘O the strong hand,’ she said,
‘See! look at mine! but wilt thou fight for me,
And win me this fine circlet, Pelleas,
That I may love thee?’
Then his helpless heart
Leapt, and he cried, ‘Ay! wilt thou if I win?’
125 ‘Ay, that will I,’ she answer’d, and she laugh’d,
And straitly nipt the hand, and flung it from her;
Then glanced askew at those three knights of hers,
Till all her ladies laugh’d along with her.
‘O happy world,’ thought Pelleas, ‘all, meseems,
130 Are happy; I the happiest of them all.’
Nor slept that night for pleasure in his blood,
And green wood-ways, and eyes among the leaves;
Then being on the morrow knighted, sware
To love one only. And as he came away,
135 The men who met him rounded on their heels
And wonder’d after him, because his face
Shone like the countenance of a priest of old
Against the flame about a sacrifice
Kindled by fire from heaven: so glad was he.
140 Then Arthur made vast banquets, and strange knights
From the four winds came in: and each one sat,
Tho’ served with choice from air, land, stream, and sea,
Oft in mid-banquet measuring with his eyes
His neighbour’s make and might: and Pelleas look’d
145 Noble among the noble, for he dream’d
His lady loved him, and he knew himself
Loved of the King: and him his new-made knight
Worshipt, whose lightest whisper moved him more
Than all the rangèd reasons of the world.
150 Then blush’d and brake the morning of the jousts,
And this was call’d ‘The Tournament of Youth:’
For Arthur, loving his young knight, withheld
His older and his mightier from the lists,
That Pelleas might obtain his lady’s love,
155 According to her promise, and remain
Lord of the tourney. And Arthur had the jousts
Down in the flat field by the shore of Usk
Holden: the gilded parapets were crown’d
With faces, and the great tower fill’d with eyes
160 Up to the summit, and the trumpets blew.
There all day long Sir Pelleas kept the field
With honour: so by that strong hand of his
The sword and golden circlet were achieved.
Then rang the shout his lady loved: the heat
165 Of pride and glory fired her face; her eye
Sparkled; she caught the circlet from his lance,
And there before the people crown’d herself:
So for the last time she was gracious to him.
Then at Caerleon for a space – her look
170 Bright for all others, cloudier on her knight –
Linger’d Ettarre: and seeing Pelleas droop,
Said Guinevere, ‘We marvel at thee much,
O damsel, wearing this unsunny face
To him who won thee glory!’ And she said,
175 ’Had ye not held your Lancelot in your bower,
My Queen, he had not won.’ Whereat the Queen,
As one whose foot is bitten by an ant,
Glanced down upon her, turn’d and went her way.
But after, when her damsels, and herself,
180 And those three knights all set their faces home,
Sir Pelleas follow’d. She that saw him cried,
‘Damsels – and yet I should be shamed to say it –
I cannot bide Sir Baby. Keep him back
Among yourselves. Would rather that we had
185 Some rough old knight who knew the worldly way,
Albeit grizzlier than a bear, to ride
And jest with: take him to you, keep him off,
And pamper him with papmeat, if ye will,
Old milky fables of the wolf and sheep,
190 Such as the wholesome mothers tell their boys.
Nay, should ye try him with a merry one
To find his mettle, good: and if he fly us,
Small matter! let him.’ This her damsels heard,
And mindful of her small and cruel hand,
195 They, closing round him thro’ the journey home,
Acted her hest, and always from her side
Restrain’d him with all manner of device,
So that he could not come to speech with her.
And when she gain’d her castle, upsprang the bridge,
200 Down rang the grate of iron thro’ the groove,
And he was left alone in open field.
‘ These be the ways of ladies,’ Pelleas thought,
‘To those who love them, trials of our faith.
Yea, let her prove me to the uttermost,
205 For loyal to the uttermost am I.’
So made his moan; and, darkness falling, sought
A priory not far off, there lodged, but rose
With morning every day, and, moist or dry,
Full-arm’d upon his charger all day long
210 Sat by the walls, and no one open’d to him.
And this persistence turn’d her scorn to wrath.
Then calling her three knights, she charged them, ‘Out!
And drive him from the walls.’ And out they came,
But Pelleas overthrew them as they dash’d
215 Against him one by one; and these return’d,
But still he kept his watch beneath the wall.
Thereon her wrath became a hate; and once,
A week beyond, while walking on the walls
With her three knights, she pointed downward, ‘Look,
220 He haunts me –I cannot breathe –besieges me;
Down! strike him! put my hate into your strokes,
And drive him from my walls.’ And down they went,
And Pelleas overthrew them one by one;
And from the tower above him cried Ettarre,
‘Bind him, and bring him in.’
225 He heard her voice;
Then let the strong hand, which had overthrown
Her minion-knights, by those he overthrew
Be bounden straight, and so they brought him in.
Then when he came before Ettarre, the sight
230 Of her rich beauty made him at one glance
More bondsman in his heart than in his bonds.
Yet with good cheer he spake, ‘Behold me, Lady,
A prisoner, and the vassal of thy will;
And if thou keep me in thy donjon here,
235 Content am I so that I see thy face
But once a day: for I have sworn my vows,
And thou hast given thy promise, and I know
That all these pains are trials of my faith,
And that thyself, when thou hast seen me strain’d
240 And sifted to the utmost, wilt at length
Yield me thy love and know me for thy knight.’
Then she began to rail so bitterly,
With all her damsels, he was stricken mute;
But when she mock’d his vows and the great King,
245 Lighted on words: ‘For pity of thine own self,
Peace, Lady, peace: is he not thine and mine?’
‘Thou fool,’ she said, ‘I never heard his voice
But long’d to break away. Unbind him now,
And thrust him out of doors; for save he be
250 Fool to the midmost marrow of his bones,
He will return no more.’ And those, her three,
Laugh’d, and unbound, and thrust him from the gate.
And after this, a week beyond, again
She call’d them, saying, ‘There he watches yet,
255 There like a dog before his master’s door!
Kick’d, he returns: do ye not hate him, ye?
Ye know yourselves: how can ye bide at peace,
Affronted with his fulsome innocence?
Are ye but creatures of the board and bed,
260 No men to strike? Fall on him all at once,
And if ye slay him I reck not: if ye fail,
Give ye the slave mine order to be bound,
Bind him as heretofore, and bring him in:
It may be ye shall slay him in his bonds.’
265 She spake; and at her will they couch’d their spears,
Three against one: and Gawain passing by,
Bound upon solitary adventure, saw
Low down beneath the shadow of those towers
A villainy, three to one: and thro’ his heart
270 The fire of honour and all noble deeds
Flash’d, and he call’d, ‘I strike upon thy side –
The caitiffs!’ ‘Nay,’ said Pelleas, ‘but forbear;
He needs no aid who doth his lady’s will.’
So Gawain, looking at the villainy done,
275 Forbore, but in his heat and eagerness
Trembled and quiver’d, as the dog, withheld
A moment from the vermin that he sees
Before him, shivers, ere he springs and kills.
And Pelleas overthrew them, one to three;
280 And they rose up, and bound, and brought him in.
Then first her anger, leaving Pelleas, burn’d
Full on her knights in many an evil name
Of craven, weakling, and thrice-beaten hound:
‘Yet, take him, ye that scarce are fit to touch,
285 Far less to bind, your victor, and thrust him out,
And let who will release him from his bonds.
And if he comes again’ – there she brake short;
And Pelleas answer’d, ‘Lady, for indeed
I loved you and I deem’d you beautiful,
290 I cannot brook to see your beauty marr’d
Thro’ evil spite: and if ye love me not,
I cannot bear to dream you so forsworn:
I had liefer ye were worthy of my love,
Than to be loved again of you – farewell;
295 And tho’ ye kill my hope, not yet my love,
Vex not yourself: ye will not see me more.’
While thus he spake, she gazed upon the man
Of princely bearing, tho’ in bonds, and thought,
‘Why have I push’d him from me? this man loves,
300 If love there be: yet him I loved not. Why?
I deem’d him fool? yea, so? or that in him
A something – was it nobler than myself? –
Seem’d my reproach? He is not of my kind.
He could not love me, did he know me well.
305 Nay, let him go – and quickly.’ And her knights
Laugh’d not, but thrust him bounden out of door.
Forth sprang Gawain, and loosed him from his bonds,
And flung them o’er the walls; and afterward,
Shaking his hands, as from a lazar’s rag,
310 ‘Faith of my body,’ he said, ‘and art thou not –
Yea thou art he, whom late our Arthur made
Knight of his table; yea and he that won
The circlet? wherefore hast thou so defamed
Thy brotherhood in me and all the rest,
315 As let these caitiffs on thee work their will?’
And Pelleas answer’d, ‘O, their wills are hers
For whom I won the circlet; and mine, hers,
Thus to be bounden, so to see her face,
Marr’d tho’ it be with spite and mockery now,
320 Other than when I found her in the woods;
And tho’ she hath me bounden but in spite,
And all to flout me, when they bring me in,
Let me be bounden, I shall see her face;
Else must I die thro’ mine unhappiness.’
325 And Gawain answer’d kindly tho’ in scorn,
‘Why, let my lady bind me if she will,
And let my lady beat me if she will:
But an she send her delegate to thrall
These fighting hands of mine – Christ kill me then
330 But I will slice him handless by the wrist,
And let my lady sear the stump for him,
Howl as he may. But hold me for your friend:
Come, ye know nothing: here I pledge my troth,
Yea, by the honour of the Table Round,
335 I will be leal to
thee and work thy work,
And tame thy jailing princess to thine hand.
Lend me thine horse and arms, and I will say
That I have slain thee. She will let me in
To hear the manner of thy fight and fall;
340 Then, when I come within her counsels, then
From prime to vespers will I chant thy praise
As prowest knight and truest lover, more
Than any have sung thee living, till she long
To have thee back in lusty life again,
345 Not to be bound, save by white bonds and warm,
Dearer than freedom. Wherefore now thy horse
And armour: let me go: be comforted:
Give me three days to melt her fancy, and hope
The third night hence will bring thee news of gold.’
350 Then Pelleas lent his horse and all his arms,
Saving the goodly sword, his prize, and took
Gaw,ain’s, and said, ‘Betray me not, but help –
Art thou not he whom men call light-of-love?’
‘Ay,’ said Gawain, ‘for women be so light.’
355 Then bounded forward to the castle walls,
And raised a bugle hanging from his neck,
And winded it, and that so musically
That all the old echoes hidden in the wall
Rang out like hollow woods at hunting-tide.
360 Up ran a score of damsels to the tower;
‘Avaunt,’ they cried, ‘our lady loves thee not.’
But Gawain lifting up his vizor said,
‘Gawain am I, Gawain of Arthur’s court,
And I have slain this Pelleas whom ye hate:
365 Behold his horse and armour. Open gates,
And I will make you merry.’
And down they ran,
Her damsels, crying to their lady, ‘Lo!
Pelleas is dead – he told us – he that hath
His horse and armour: will ye let him in?
370 He slew him! Gawain, Gawain of the court,
Sir Gawain – there he waits below the wall,
Blowing his bugle as who should say him nay.’
And so, leave given, straight on thro’ open door
Rode Gawain, whom she greeted courteously.
375 ‘Dead, is it so?’ she ask’d. ‘Ay, ay,’ said he,
‘And oft in dying cried upon your name.’
‘Pity on him,’ she answer’d, ‘a good knight,
But never let me bide one hour at peace.’
‘Ay,’ thought Gawain, ‘and you be fair enow:
380 But I to your dead man have given my troth,
That whom ye loathe, him will I make you love.’
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