Gawayne and the Green Knight Part 1

Gawayne And The Green Knight.

by Charlton Miner Lewis.

PREFACE

Arms and the man I sing,--not as of old The Mantuan bard his mighty verse unrolled, But in such humbler strains as may beseem Light changes rung on a fantastic theme.

My tale is ancient, but the sense is new,-- Replete with monstrous fictions, yet half true;-- And, if you'll follow till the story's done, I promise much instruction, and some fun.

CANTO I

THE GREEN KNIGHT

King Arthur and his court were blithe and gay In high-towered Camelot, on Christmas day, For all the Table Round were back again, At peace with G.o.d and with their fellow-men.

Their shields hung idly on the pictured wall; Their blood-stained banners decked the festal hall Light footsteps, rustling on the rush-strewn floors, And laughter, rippling down long corridors, Attested minds at ease and hearts at play,-- Rude Mars unharnessed for love's holiday.

In the great hall the Christmas feast was done.

The level sunbeams from the setting sun Stretched through the mullioned cas.e.m.e.nts to the wall, And wove fantastic shadows over all.

The revelry was hushed. In tranquil ease The warriors grouped themselves by twos and threes About the dames and damsels of the court, And chattered careless words of small import; But in an alcove, un.o.bserved, apart, Young Gawayne sat with Lady Elfinhart, In Arthur's court no goodlier knight than he Wore shirt of mail, or Cupid's panoply; And Elfinhart, to Gawayne's eager eyes.

Of all heaven's treasures seemed the goodliest prize.

Now daylight faded, and the twilight gloom Deepened the stillness in the vaulted room, Save where upon the hearth a fitful glow Blushed from the embers as the fire burned low.

There is a certain subtle twilight mood, When two hearts meet in a dim solitude, That thrills the soul e'en to the finger-tips, And brings the heart's dear secrets to the lips.

In Gawayne's corner, as the shades grew thicker, Four eyes waxed brighter, and two pulses quicker; Ten minutes more of quiet talk unbroken, And heaven alone can tell what might be spoken!

But it was not to be, for fates unequal Compelled--but this antic.i.p.ates the sequel.

Just in the nick of time, King Arthur rose From his sedate post-prandial repose, And called for lights. Along the shadowy aisles His pages' footsteps pattered o'er the tiles, Speeding to do his errand, and at once Four tapers flickered from each silver sconce.

The scene was changed, the dreamer's dream dispelled, And what might else have been his fate withheld From Gawayne's grasp. So may one touch of chance Shatter the fragile fabric of romance, And all the heart's desire,--the joy, the trouble,-- Flash to oblivion with the bursting bubble!

But Arthur, on his kingly dais-seat, Felt nothing of the pa.s.sion and the heat That fire young blood. He raised his warlike head And glancing moodily around him, said: "So have ye feasted well, my knights, this day, And filled your hearts with revel and with play.

But to my mind that day is basely spent Which pa.s.ses by without accomplishment Of some bright deed of arms or chivalry.

We rust in indolence. As well not be, As be the minions of an idle court Where all is gallantry and girlish sport!

Some bold adventure let our thoughts devise, To stir our courage and to cheer our eyes."

And lo! while yet he spoke, from far away In the thick shroud of the departed day, Upon the frosty air of evening borne, Came the faint challenge of a fairy horn!

King Arthur started up in mild surprise, While knights and dames looked round with questioning eyes, And each to other spoke some hurried word, As, "Did you hear it?"--"What was that I heard?"

But well they knew; for you must understand That Camelot lay close to Fairyland, And the wild blast of fairy horns, once known, Is straightway recognized as soon as blown, Being a sound unique, unearthly, shrill,-- Between a screech-owl and a whip-poor-will.

The mischief is, that no one e'er can tell Whether such heralding bodes ill or well!

The ladies of the palace looked faint fear, Dreading some perilous adventure near; For peril can the bravest spirits move, When threatening not ourselves, but those we love; But Lady Elfinhart clapped hands in glee,-- In sooth, no sentimentalist seemed she,-- And cried: "Now, brave Sir Gawayne,--O what fun!

Succor us, save us, else we are undone; Show us the prowess of your arm this night; I never saw a tilt by candle-light!"

Gaily she spoke, and seemed all unconcerned; And yet a curious watcher might have learned From a slight quaver in her laughter free To doubt the frankness of her flippancy.

Gawayne, bewildered, looked the other way, And wondered what she meant; for in that day The ready wit of man was under muzzle, And woman's heart was still an unsolved puzzle; And Gawayne, though in valor next to none, Wished that _her_ heart had been a tenderer one.

His sword was out for any foe on earth, And yet to face death for a lady's mirth Seemed scarce worth while. What honor bade, he'ld do, But would have liked to see a tear or two.

While thus he pondered, came a sudden burst Of high-pitched fairy horn-calls, like the first, But nearer, clearer, deadlier than before, Blown seemingly from just outside the door.

The cas.e.m.e.nts shook, the taper lights all trembled; The bravest knight's dismay was ill-dissembled; And as all sprang with one accord to win Their swords and shields, stern combat to begin, The great doors shot their bolts, and opened slowly in.

And now my laboring muse is hard beset, For something followed such as never yet Was writ or sung, by human voice or hand, Save those that tell old tales from Fairyland.

"Miracles _do_ not happen:"--'t is plain sense, If you italicize the present tense; But in those days, as rare old Chaucer tells, All Britain was fulfilled of miracles.

So, as I said, the great doors opened wide.

In rushed a blast of winter from outside, And with it, galloping on the empty air, A great green giant on a great green mare Plunged like a tempest-cleaving thunderbolt, And struck four-footed, with an earthquake's jolt, Plump on the hearthstone. There the uncouth wight Sat greenly laughing at the strange affright That paled all cheeks and opened wide all eyes; Till after the first shock of quick surprise The people circled round him, still in awe, And circling stared; and this is what they saw: Ca.s.sock and hood and hose, of plushy sheen Like close-cut gra.s.s upon a bowling-green, Covered his stature, from his verdant toes To the green brows that topped his emerald nose.

His beard was glossy, like unripened corn; His eyes shot sparklets like the polar morn.

But like in hue unto that deep-sea green Wherewith must shine those gems of ray serene The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear.

Green was his raiment, green his monstrous mare.

He rode unarmed, uncorsleted, unshielded, Except that in his huge right hand he wielded A frightful battle-axe, with blade as green As coppery rust;--but the long edge shone keen.

Such was the stranger, and he turned his head From one side to the other, and then said, With gentle voice, most like a summer breeze That rustles through the leaves of the green trees: "So this is Arthur's court! My n.o.ble lord, You said just now you felt a trifle bored, And wished, instead of dancing, feasting, flirting, Your gallant warriors might be exerting Their puissance upon some worthier thing.

The wish, my lord, was worthy of a king!

It pleased me; here I am; and I intend To serve your fancy as a faithful friend.

I bring adventure,--no hard, tedious quest, But merely what I call a merry jest.

Let some good knight, the doughtiest of you all, Swing this my battle-axe, and let it fall On whatsoever part of me he will; I will abide the blow, and hold me still; But let him, just a twelvemonth from this day, Come to me, if by any means he may, And let me, if I live, pay back my best, As he pays me. What think you of the jest?"

He said; and made a courteous bow,--the while Lighting his features with a bright green smile; As when June breezes, after rain-clouds pa.s.s, Ripple in sunlight o'er the unmown gra.s.s.

The jest seemed fair indeed; but none the less No knight showed any undue forwardness To seize the offer. Some with laughter free Daffed it aside; while others carelessly Strolled to the farthest corners of the hall As if they had not heard his words at all, And whistled with an air of idle ease, Or studied figures in the tapestries.

Not so Sir Gawayne. Vexed in mind he stood With downcast eyes, and knew not what he would.

Trained in the school of chivalry to prize His honor as the light of his dear eyes, He held his life, his fortunes, everything, In sacred trust for knighthood and his king, And in the battle-field or tilting-yard He met his foe full-fronted, and struck hard.

But now it seemed a foolish thing to throw One's whole life to the fortune of a blow.

True valor breathes not in the braggart vaunt; True honor takes no shame from idle taunt; So let this wizard, if he wants to, scoff; Why should our hero have his head cut off?

While thus Sir Gawayne, wrapped in thought intense, Debated honor versus common sense, The stranger knight was casting his green glance Around the circling throng,--until by chance He met the eyes of Lady Elfinhart, And--did she flush?--and did the Green Knight start?

Surely a quiver twinkled in each eye; But what of that? It need not signify: Beneath his glance a brave man well might flush; What wonder then that a fair maid should blush?

And as for him, no man that ever loved Could look upon her loveliness unmoved.

Could I but picture her--ah, you would deem My tale the figment of a poet's dream; And if you saw her, (could such bliss be given), You'ld think _yourself_ in dreamland--or in heaven.

Not the red rapture of new-wakened roses, When morning dew their soul of love uncloses, (Roses that must be wooed,--nor may be won Save by the prince of lovers, the warm sun), Not the fair lily, nor the violet shy, Whose heart's love lurks deep in her still blue eye, Nor any flower, the loveliest and the best, Can image to you half the charm compressed In those dear eyes, those lips,--nay, every part That made that sum of witcheries--Elfinhart.

Her face was a dim dream of shadowy light, Like misty moonbeams on the fields of night, And in her voice sweet nature's sweetest tunes Sang the glad song of twenty cloudless Junes.

Her raiment,--nay; go, reader, if you please, To some sage Treatise on Antiquities, Whence writers of historical romances Cull old embroideries for their new-spun fancies; I care not for the trivial, nor the fleeting.

Beneath her dress a woman's heart was beating The rhythm of love's eternal eloquence, And I confess to you, in confidence, Though flowers have grown a thousand years above her, Unseen, unknown, with all my soul I love her.

From these digressions upon love and glory, 'Tis time we were returning to our story.

I only meant, in a few words, to tell you (For fear my heroine's conduct should repel you) That if she jests, for instance, out of season, Perhaps there is a good substantial reason.

Sir Gawayne, had he seen the stranger wink And seen the lady blushing, you may think Might have been spared a most unhappy lot.

Perhaps you're right;--but peradventure not.

I give you but a hint, for half the art Of narrative is holding back a part, And if without reserve I gave my best In the first canto, who would read the rest?

But now Sir Gawayne, with a troubled eye, Looked up, and saw his lady standing by.

Quoth he: "And if this conjurer unblest Win no acceptance of his bitter jest, How then in after days shall Arthur's court Confront the calumny and foul report Of idle tongues?" The wrath in Gawayne's eyes Hashed for an instant; then in humbler wise He spoke on: "Yet G.o.d grant I be not blind Where honor lights the way; for to my mind True honor bids us shun the devil's den, To fight G.o.d's battles in the world of men.

Who takes this challenge up, I doubt will rue it."

Quoth Elfinhart: "I'ld like to see you do it!"

She laughed a gay laugh, but by hard constraint: Then turned and hid her face, all pale and faint, As one might be who stabs and turns the knife In the warm heart of one more dear than life.

She turned and Gawayne saw not; but he heard, And felt his heart-strings tighten at her word.

"Nay, lady, if you wish it I will try; Be your least wish my will, although I die!

Yet one thing, if I may, I fain would ask, Before I make the venture;--if this task Prove fateful as it threatens,--do you care?"

"Perhaps," said Elfinhart, "you do not dare!"

Lightly she laughed, and scoffing tossed her head, Yet spoke as one who knew not what she said, With random words, and with quick-taken breath; Then turned again, ere that same look of death Should steal upon her and betray her heart Despite all stratagems of woman's art.

And Gawayne heard but saw not; and the night Descended on him, and his face grew white With grief and pa.s.sion. When all else is lost, The brave man gives life too, nor counts the cost.