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Against Women Unconstant, Geoffrey Chaucer

Geoffrey Chaucer was an English poet and writer of The Canterbury Tales. The language he wrote in was fairly close to modern English but he wrote in the common English of the time. This has lead to recent editions of his work having the spelling modernized for ease of use. The following selection is a short poem that is generally agreed by scholars to be written by him although in manuscripts featuring it his name is not present. The poem is a complaint against the inconstancy of women and features most of the original spellings in the text. Although the spelling is not modernized there are word occurrences that match words in current use and a key repeating of lyric to enforce the supposed inconstancy of the woman he is addressing. This repeating phrase as well as historical examples of women choosing to not be constant informs Chaucer’s poem while also adding weight to the charge he puts on the unnamed woman he addresses.

Against Women Unconstant

Madame, for your newefanglenesse

Many a servaunt have ye put out of grace.

I take my leve of your unstedfastnesse,

For wel I wot, whyl ye have lyves space,

Ye can not love ful half yeer in a place,

To newe thing your lust is ay so kene.

In stede of (1)blew, thus may ye were al grene.

Right as a mirour nothing may impresse,

But, lightly as it cometh, so mot it pace,

So fareth your love, your werkes beren witnesse.

Ther is no feith that may your herte enbrace,

But as a wedercok, that turneth his face

With every wind, ye fare, and that is sene;

In sted of blew, thus may ye were al grene.

Ye might be shryned for your brotelnesse

Bet than (2)Dalyda, Creseyde or Candace,

For ever in chaunging stant your sikernesse;

That tache may no wight fro your herte arace.

If ye lese oon, ye can wel tweyn purchase;

Al light for somer (ye woot wel what I mene),

In stede of blew, thus may ye were al grene.

English writers of the time coded blue with faithfulness, green with the opposite

Old spelling of Delilah. As in the bible story Samson and Delilah

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Vox Clamantis Book 4, John Gower

Another selection from Vox Clamantis taken from Book 4 of the work by John Gower discusses the poet’s view of monks and his opinions on these supposed men of God. Another side to this section of the poem is advice Gower has for monks to take. In the following selection he describes the deadly lure of women and how easily a monk could turn from God in a female’s presence. There is vivid imagery utilized in describing the magnetic pull of the feminine with Gower using imagery of fire and original sin to bring home the dangers to his mortal soul a monk faces when interacting with a woman. With the use of such stark imagery Gower builds up the frailness of male morality and in turn the frailness of church morals. In many ways Gower gives women intense power. It’s destructive power but power nonetheless. Modern readers might be put off by the way Gower describes the feminine but it’s an important piece of male religious perspective. It paints the feminine as all encompassing and irresistible. This is in stark contrast to the tenuous control a monk has over his urge to stray from their faith into sin. It’s an interesting choice but Gower is utilizing these religious parallels to craft a discussion of what a truly faithful monk is able to do.

Vox Clamantis, Book 4

Shun a woman's conversation, O holy man; beware lest you entrust yourself to a passion raging beyond control. For the mind which is allured and bound over by a woman's love can never reach the (1)pinnacle of virtue. Of what use is their prattling to you? If you come in as a monk, you will go away a foul adulterer. Unless you turn aside from the venomous serpent, you will be poisoned by her when you least expect. Every woman enkindles a flame of passion; if one touches her, he is burned instantly. >> note 10 If you ponder the (2)books of the ancients and the writings of the Church Fathers, you may grieve that even holy men have met with ruin in this way. Did not woman expel man from the seat of Paradise? And was she not the source of our death? The man who is a good shepherd should therefore be vigilant, and he should everywhere drive these rapacious she-wolves away from the monastery.

Heaven

The bible/holy texts

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Vox Clamantis Book 1, John Gower

John Gower was an English poet and a close friend of Geoffrey Chaucer. He’s most known for his long poetry of which Vox Clamantis is a much discussed example. Gower particularly focused on political and moral themes throughout his work. Vox Clamantis is Gower’s account of the 1381 Peasant’s Rising and throughout the work he takes the side of aristocrats and condemns the actions of the peasant class. For a poem with such strong views it opens with a rich and happy scene: a spring day. Gower uses his intro to his long form poem to set the scene and also ease the audience into the work. The rich language and detailed accounting of the actions of spring with the breeding of animals, new vegetation, and soft breezes create a picture of a thriving English countryside. This imagery later serves as a counterpoint to his various indictments of classes of individual within English society. The fact he opens his series of indictments with such a rich and peaceful scene works to his advantage in that he uses an ideal image of England to draw the audience to the further discussion of what he views as faults in English society. This was a fiery personal account of an uprising but Gower used his stance as a poet to discuss the failings of common men and the future he feared if lawlessness like the revolt continued.

 Vox Clamantis, Book 1

It happened in the fourth year of King Richard, when June claims the month as its own, that the moon, leaving the heavens hid its rays under the earth, and Lucifer the betrothed of Dawn arose. A new light arose from its setting. * * * (1)Phoebus glowed warm with new fire in the sign of Cancer. He fertilized, nourished, fostered, increased, and enriched all things, and he animated everything that land and sea bring forth. Fragrance, glory, gleaming light, splendor and every embellishment adorned his chariot.

Then everything flourished, and there was a new epoch of time, and the cattle sported wantonly in the fields. Then the land was fertile, then was the hour for the herds to mate, and it was then that the reptile might renew its sports. The meadows were covered with the bloom of different flowers, and the chattering bird sang with its (2)untutored throat. Then too the teeming grass which had long lain concealed found a hidden path through which it lifted itself into the gentle breezes.

Phoebus: the sun god or the sun

Untutored: informal or untrained

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Pilgrimage to Jerusalem, Margery Kempe

Another selection from Margery Kempe’s The Book of Margery Kempe presents one of Kempe’s many pilgrimages. In Pilgrimage to Jerusalem she has an intense religious experience in which after following Jesus’ path to crucifixion she weeps as if she witnessed it and feels that pain clearly.These fits of tears and sympathetic pain follow her all through her journey back to England and onward. The fits cause those around her to fear she is being possessed or is otherwise ill but she welcomes the events since she believes they grant her higher contemplation and are God’s will. The descriptions of her experiences are intense but Kempe portrays her condition as wanted since she believes that God has chosen his servant to reach higher devotion through the experience. The imagery is sensuous but due to its more sombre subject there is less sexual charge to the descriptions instead there is focus on the higher religious experience pain can induce in an individual. This selection paired with the prior Kempe selection in this anthology paints an image of the duality of Margery Kempe’s inner religious experience. On the one hand she was deeply human, a woman grappling with natural sexual desire, her duties as a wife, and an irrepressible drive to bring herself closer to a divine purpose. This divine purpose was her other self a woman so driven by her faith that she would distance her husband and suppress her human needs all to reach near intimate union with God.

From The Book of Margery Kempe

[Pilgrimage to Jerusalem]

And so they went forth into the Holy Land till they might see Jerusalem. And when this creature saw Jerusalem, riding on an ass, she thanked God with all her heart, praying him for his mercy that like as he had brought her to see this earthly city Jerusalem, he would grant her grace to see the blissful city Jerusalem above, the city of Heaven. Our Lord Jesu Christ, answering to her thought, granted her to have her desire. Then for joy that she had and the sweetness that she felt in the dalliance of our Lord, she was in point to 'a fallen off her ass, for she might not bear the sweetness and grace that God wrought in her soul. The twain pilgrims of Dutchmen went to her and kept her from falling, of which the one was a priest. And he put spices in her mouth to comfort her, weening she had been sick. And so they helped her forth to Jerusalem. And when she came there, she said, "Sirs, I pray you be not displeased though I weep sore in this holy place where our Lord Jesu Christ was quick and dead."

Then they went to the Temple in Jerusalem, and they were let in that one day at (1)evensong time and they abide there till the next day at evensong time. Then the friars lifted up a cross and led the pilgrims about from one place to another where our Lord had suffered his pains and his passions, every man and woman bearing a wax candle in their hand. And the friars always as they went about told them what our Lord suffered in every place. And the foresaid creature wept and sobbed so plentivously as though she had seen our Lord with her bodily eye suffering his Passion at that time. Before her in her soul she saw him verily by contemplation, and that caused her to have compassion. And when they came up onto the Mount of Calvary she fell down that she might not stand nor kneel but wallowed and wrested with her body, spreading her arms abroad, and cried with a loud voice as though her heart should 'a burst asunder, for in the city of her soul she saw verily and freshly how our Lord was crucified. Before her face she heard and saw in her ghostly sight the mourning of our Lady, of St. John and of Mary Magdalene, and of many other that loved our Lord. And she had so great compassion and so great pain to see our Lord's pain that she might not keep herself from crying and roaring though she should 'a been dead therefore.

And this was the first cry that ever she cried in any contemplation. And this manner of crying endured many years after this time for aught that any man might do, and therefore suffered she much despite and much reproof. The crying was so loud and so wonderful that it made people astoned unless that they had heard it before or else that they knew the cause of the crying. Abd she had them so oftentimes that they made her right weak in her bodily mights, and namely if she heard of our Lord's Passion. And sometime when she saw the Crucifix, or if she saw a man had a wound or a beast, whether it were, or if a man beat a child before her or smote a horse or another beast with a whip, if she might see it or hear it, her thought she saw our Lord be beaten or wounded like as she saw in the man or in the beast, as well in the field as in the town, and by herself alone as well as among the people. First when she had her cryings at Jerusalem, she had them oftentimes, and in Rome also. And when she came home into England, first at her coming home it came but seldom as it were once in a month, sithen once in the week, afterward quotidianly, and once she had fourteen on one day, and another day she had seven, and so as God would visit her, sometime in the church, sometime in the street, sometime in the chamber, sometime in the field when God would send them, for she knew never time nor hour when they should come. And they came never without passing great sweetness of devotion and high contemplation. And as soon as she perceived that she should cry, she would keep it in as much as she might that people should not 'a heard it for noying of them. For some said it was a wicked spirit vexed her; some said it was a sickness; some said she had drunken too much wine; some banned her; some wished she had been in the haven; some would she had been in the sea in a bottomless boat; and so each man as him thought. Other (2)ghostly men loved her and favored her the more. Some great clerks said our Lady cried never so, nor no saint in Heaven, but they knew full little what she felt, nor they would not believe but that she might 'a abstained her from crying if she had wished.

Evensong: evening prayer

Ghostly men: could be reference to the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

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Eliduc, Marie De France

          Marie de France was an accomplished poet and court writer of the Middle Ages. Remembered for her narrative poetry she wrote on subjects that in many ways were predecessors to Medieval romances. The Lay of Eliduc is the last and longest of de France’s lays (or rhymed tale of love). Following the adventures of the knight Eliduc and the love triangle between him and his wife and lover the piece uses romantic imagery to inform the trials of his infidelity. The following excerpt from The Lay of Eliduc is from the point in the poem where he has left his wife’s side to be in service to a king who is being besieged due to an outside king wanting his daughter as wife. The daughter, Guilliadon soon falls in love with the brave knight and he eventually returns her love. The excerpt extends through their meeting, falling in love, and swearing of oaths that they would meet again at a time chosen by Guilliadon. Marie de France’s dealing of Eliduc’s infidelity with tenderness and sensual imagery renders why the princess would fall in love with a stranger and Eliduc would be tempted to stray as reasonable conclusions. There is considerable heightened language and the exchanging of tokens calls to mind courtship rituals as well as the formalities of chivalric action. These elements render de France’s lay as an intriguing early example of Medieval romantic court writing.

ELIDUC (excerpt) by Marie de France, translated by Eugene Mason

Eliduc was not only a brave and wary captain; he was also a courteous gentleman, right goodly to behold.

That fair maiden, the daughter of the King, heard tell of his deeds, and desired to see his face, because of the good men spake of him. She sent her privy chamberlain to the knight, praying him to come to her house, that she might solace herself with the story of his deeds, for greatly she wondered that he had no care for her friendship. Eliduc gave answer to the chamberlain that he would ride forthwith, since much he desired to meet so high a dame. He bade his squire to saddle his destrier, and rode to the palace, to have speech with the lady. Eliduc stood without the lady's chamber, and prayed the chamberlain to tell the dame that he had come, according to her wish. The chamberlain came forth with a smiling face, and straightway led him in the chamber. When the princess saw the knight, she cherished him very sweetly, and welcomed him in the most honourable fashion. The knight gazed upon the lady, who was passing fair to see. He thanked her courteously, that she was pleased to permit him to have speech with so high a princess. Guillardun took Eliduc by the hand, and seated him upon the bed, near her side. They spake together of many things, for each found much to say. The maiden looked closely upon the knight, his face and semblance; to her heart she said that never before had she beheld so comely a man. Her eyes might find no blemish in his person, and Love knocked upon her heart, requiring her to love, since her time had come. She sighed, and her face lost its fair colour; but she cared only to hide her trouble from the knight, lest he should think her the less maidenly therefore. When they had talked together for a great space, Eliduc took his leave, and went his way. The lady would have kept him longer gladly, but since she did not dare, she allowed him to depart. Eliduc returned to his lodging, very pensive and deep in thought. He called to mind that fair maiden, the daughter of his King, who so sweetly had bidden him to her side, and had kissed him farewell, with sighs that were sweeter still. He repented him right earnestly that he had lived so long a while in the land without seeking her face, but promised that often he would enter her palace now. Then he remembered the wife whom he had left in his own house. He recalled the parting between them, and the covenant he made, that good faith and stainless honour should be ever betwixt the twain. But the maiden, from whom he came, was willing to take him as her knight! If such was her will, might any pluck him from her hand?

All night long, that fair maiden, the daughter of the King, had neither rest nor sleep. She rose up, very early in the morning, and commanding her chamberlain, opened out to him all that was in her heart. She leaned her brow against the casement.

"By my faith," she said, "I am fallen into a deep ditch, and sorrow has come upon me. I love Eliduc, the good knight, whom my father made his (1)Seneschal. I love him so dearly that I turn the whole night upon my bed, and cannot close my eyes, nor sleep. If he assured me of his heart, and loved me again, all my pleasure should be found in his happiness. Great might be his profit, for he would become King of this realm, and little enough is it for his deserts, so courteous is he and wise. If he have nothing better than friendship to give me, I choose death before life, so deep is my distress."

When the princess had spoken what it pleased her to say, the chamberlain, whom she had bidden, gave her loyal counsel.

"Lady," said he, "since you have set your love upon this knight, send him now—if so it please you—some goodly gift-girdle or scarf or ring. If he receive the gift with delight, rejoicing in your favour, you may be assured that he loves you. There is no Emperor, under Heaven, if he were tendered your tenderness, but would go the more lightly for your grace."

The damsel hearkened to the counsel of her chamberlain, and made reply,

"If only I knew that he desired my love! Did ever maiden woo her knight before, by asking whether he loved or hated her? What if he make of me a mock and a jest in the ears of his friends! Ah, if the secrets of the heart were but written on the face! But get you ready, for go you must, at once."

"Lady," answered the chamberlain, "I am ready to do your bidding."

"You must greet the knight a hundred times in my name, and will place my girdle in his hand, and this my golden ring."

When the chamberlain had gone upon his errand, the maiden was so sick at heart, that for a little she would have bidden him return. Nevertheless, she let him go his way, and eased her shame with words.

"Alas, what has come upon me, that I should put my heart upon a stranger. I know nothing of his folk, whether they be mean or high; nor do I know whether he will part as swiftly as he came. I have done foolishly, and am worthy of blame, since I have bestowed my love very lightly. I spoke to him yesterday for the first time, and now I pray him for his love. Doubtless he will make me a song! Yet if he be the courteous gentleman I believe him, he will understand, and not deal hardly with me. At least the dice are cast, and if he may not love me, I shall know myself the most woeful of ladies, and never taste of joy all the days of my life." Whilst the maiden lamented in this fashion, the chamberlain hastened to the lodging of Eliduc. He came before the knight, and having saluted him in his lady's name, he gave to his hand the ring and the girdle. The knight thanked him earnestly for the gifts. He placed the ring upon his finger, and the girdle he girt about his body. He said no more to the chamberlain, nor asked him any questions; save only that he proffered him a gift. This the messenger might not have, and returned the way he came. The chamberlain entered in the palace and found the princess within her chamber. He greeted her on the part of the knight, and thanked her for her bounty.

"Diva, diva," cried the lady hastily, "hide nothing from me; does he love me, or does he not?"

"Lady," answered the chamberlain, "as I deem, he loves you, and truly. Eliduc is no cozener with words. I hold him for a discreet and prudent gentleman, who knows well how to hide what is in his heart. I gave him greeting in your name, and granted him your gifts. He set the ring upon his finger, and as to your girdle, he girt it upon him, and belted it tightly about his middle. I said no more to him, nor he to me; but if he received not your gifts in tenderness, I am the more deceived. Lady, I have told you his words: I cannot tell you his thoughts. Only, mark carefully what I am about to say. If Eliduc had not a richer gift to offer, he would not have taken your presents at my hand."

"It pleases you to jest," said the lady. "I know well that Eliduc does not altogether hate me. Since my only fault is to cherish him too fondly, should he hate me, he would indeed be blameworthy. Never again by you, or by any other, will I require him of aught, or look to him for comfort. He shall see that a maiden's love is no slight thing, lightly given, and lightly taken again—but, perchance, he will not dwell in the realm so long as to know of the matter."

"Lady, the knight has covenanted to serve the King, in all loyalty, for the space of a year. You have full leisure to tell, whatever you desire him to learn."

When the maiden heard that Eliduc remained in the country, she rejoiced very greatly. She was glad that the knight would sojourn awhile in her city, for she knew naught of the torment he endured, since first he looked upon her. He had neither peace nor delight, for he could not get her from his mind. He reproached himself bitterly. He called to remembrance the covenant he made with his wife, when he departed from his own land, that he would never be false to his oath. But his heart was a captive now, in a very strong prison. He desired greatly to be loyal and honest, but he could not deny his love for the maiden—Guillardun, so frank and so fair.

Eliduc strove to act as his honour required. He had speech and sight of the lady, and did not refuse her kiss and embrace. He never spoke of love, and was diligent to offend in nothing. He was careful in this, because he would keep faith with his wife, and would attempt no matter against his King. Very grievously he pained himself, but at the end he might do no more. Eliduc caused his horse to be saddled, and calling his companions about him, rode to the castle to get audience of the King. He considered, too, that he might see his lady, and learn what was in her heart. It was the hour of meat, and the King having risen from table, had entered in his daughter's chamber. The King was at chess, with a lord who had but come from over-sea. The lady sat near the board, to watch the movements of the game. When Eliduc came before the prince, he welcomed him gladly, bidding him to seat himself close at hand. Afterwards he turned to his daughter, and said, "Princess, it becomes you to have a closer friendship with this lord, and to treat him well and worshipfully. Amongst five hundred, there is no better knight than he."

When the maiden had listened demurely to her father's commandment, there was no gayer lady than she. She rose lightly to her feet, and taking the knight a little from the others, seated him at her side. They remained silent, because of the greatness of their love. She did not dare to speak the first, and to him the maid was more dreadful than a knight in mail. At the end Eliduc thanked her courteously for the gifts she had sent him; never was grace so precious and so kind. The maiden made answer to the knight, that very dear to her was the use he had found for her ring, and the girdle with which he had belted his body. She loved him so fondly that she wished him for her husband. If she might not have her wish, one thing she knew well, that she would take no living man, but would die unwed. She trusted he would not deny her hope.

"Lady," answered the knight, "I have great joy in your love, and thank you humbly for the goodwill you bear me. I ought indeed to be a happy man, since you deign to show me at what price you value our friendship. Have you remembered that I may not remain always in your realm? I covenanted with the King to serve him as his man for the space of one year. Perchance I may stay longer in his service, for I would not leave him till his quarrel be ended. Then I shall return to my own land; so, fair lady, you permit me to say farewell."

The maiden made answer to her knight,

"Fair friend, right sweetly I thank you for your courteous speech. So apt a clerk will know, without more words, that he may have of me just what he would. It becomes my love to give faith to all you say."

The two lovers spoke together no further; each was well assured of what was in the other's heart. Eliduc rode back to his lodging, right joyous and content. Often he had speech with his friend, and passing great was the love which grew between the (2)twain.

Eliduc pressed on the war so fiercely that in the end he took captive the King who troubled his lord, and had delivered the land from its foes. He was greatly praised of all as a crafty captain in the field, and a hardy comrade with the spear. The poor and the minstrel counted him a generous knight. About this time that King, who had bidden Eliduc avoid his realm, sought diligently to find him. He had sent three messengers beyond the seas to seek his ancient Seneschal. A strong enemy had wrought him much grief and loss. All his castles were taken from him, and all his country was a spoil to the foe. Often and sorely he repented him of the evil counsel to which he had given ear. He mourned the absence of his mightiest knight, and drove from his councils those false lords who, for malice and envy, had defamed him. These he outlawed for ever from his realm. The King wrote letters to Eliduc, conjuring him by the loving friendship that was once between them, and summoning him as a vassal is required of his lord, to hasten to his aid, in that his bitter need. When Eliduc heard these tidings they pressed heavily upon him, by reason of the grievous love he bore the dame. She, too, loved him with a woman's whole heart. Between the two there was nothing but the purest love and tenderness. Never by word or deed had they spoiled their friendship. To speak a little closely together; to give some fond and foolish gift; this was the sum of their love. In her wish and hope the maiden trusted to hold the knight in her land, and to have him as her lord. Naught she deemed that he was wedded to a wife beyond the sea. "Alas," said Eliduc, "I have loitered too long in this country, and have gone astray. Here I have set my heart on a maiden, Guillardun, the daughter of the King, and she, on me. If, now, we part, there is no help that one, or both, of us, must die. Yet go I must. My lord requires me by letters, and by the oath of fealty that I have sworn. My own honour demands that I should return to my wife. I dare not stay; needs must I go. I cannot wed my lady, for not a priest in Christendom would make us man and wife. All things turn to blame. God, what a tearing asunder will our parting be! Yet there is one who will ever think me in the right, though I be held in scorn of all. I will be guided by her wishes, and what she counsels that will I do. The King, her sire, is troubled no longer by any war. First, I will go to him, praying that I may return to my own land, for a little, because of the need of my rightful lord. Then I will seek out the maiden, and show her the whole business. She will tell me her desire, and I shall act according to her wish."

The knight hesitated no longer as to the path he should follow. He went straight to the King, and craved leave to depart. He told him the story of his lord's distress, and read, and placed in the King's hands, the letters calling him back to his home. When the King had read the writing, and knew that Eliduc purposed to depart, he was passing sad and heavy. He offered the knight the third part of his kingdom, with all the treasure that he pleased to ask, if he would remain at his side. He offered these things to the knight—these, and the gratitude of all his days besides.

"Do not tempt me, sire," replied the knight. "My lord is in such deadly peril, and his letters have come so great a way to require me, that go I must to aid him in his need. When I have ended my task, I will return very gladly, if you care for my services, and with me a goodly company of knights to fight in your quarrels."

The King thanked Eliduc for his words, and granted him graciously the leave that he demanded. He gave him, moreover, all the goods of his house; gold and silver, hound and horses, silken cloths, both rich and fair, these he might have at his will. Eliduc took of them discreetly, according to his need. Then, very softly, he asked one other gift. If it pleased the King, right willingly would he say farewell to the princess, before he went. The King replied that it was his pleasure, too. He sent a page to open the door of the maiden's chamber, and to tell her the knight's request. When she saw him, she took him by the hand, and saluted him very sweetly. Eliduc was the more fain of counsel than of claspings. He seated himself by the maiden's side, and as shortly as he might, commenced to show her of the business. He had done no more than read her of his letters, than her face lost its fair colour, and near she came to swoon. When Eliduc saw her about to fall, he knew not what he did, for grief. He kissed her mouth, once and again, and wept above her, very tenderly. He took, and held her fast in his arms, till she had returned from her swoon.

"Fair dear friend," said he softly, "bear with me while I tell you that you are my life and my death, and in you is all my comfort. I have bidden farewell to your father, and purposed to go back to my own land, for reason of this bitter business of my lord. But my will is only in your pleasure, and whatever the future brings me, your counsel I will do."

"Since you cannot stay," said the maiden, "take me with you, wherever you go. If not, my life is so joyless without you, that I would wish to end it with my knife." Very sweetly made answer Sir Eliduc, for in honesty he loved honest maid,

"Fair friend, I have sworn faith to your father, and am his man. If I carried you with me, I should give the lie to my troth. Let this covenant be made between us. Should you give me leave to return to my own land I swear to you on my honour as a knight, that I will come again on any day that you shall name. My life is in your hands. Nothing on earth shall keep me from your side, so only that I have life and health."

Then she, who loved so fondly, granted her knight permission to depart, and fixed the term, and named the day for his return. Great was their sorrow that the hour had come to bid farewell. They gave rings of gold for remembrance, and sweetly kissed adieu. So they severed from each other's arms.

Seneschal: senior court appointment

Twain:old form of two

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Showing Of Love, Julian of Norwich

Julian of Norwich was an English mystic and theologian who in the writing of Showing of Love became the first woman to write a theological text. The text is a description and rumination of the sixteen visions of Christ that came to her as she lay battling an intense illness. The selections that follow are a sampling of her thoughts on Christ, her dialogue with Christ’s messages to her, and her striving to explain the truth’s she believed were revealed to her. In the And in this he showed me a little thing showing, a hazelnut is used to illuminate God’s intent and quality. In the showing God, for your goodness God’s requirements of humanity are explored. Both showings utilize a set of three qualities and portray the dialogue between God and Julian with an unusual amount of sensuality. This sensuality is in many ways tied to her positive outlook on the divine and her ideas of divine love. Julian’s concept of divine love encompassed all aspects of familial love in the belief that God’s interactions with humanity mirrored and exceeded the love humanity experienced with family connections. There are also mildly existential threads present in her writings that combined with the theological create a complex picture of religious experience that have been seldom matched. Julian of Norwich was alive during Margery Kempe’s time but by investigating their individual experiences with religion and their concepts of the divine modern readers can view a fuller image of early female religious experience.

Selections from The Westminster Cathedral/Abbey Manuscript

And in this he showed me a little thing, the quantity of a hazel nut , lying in the  palm of my hand, as it seemed. And it was as round as any ball. I looked upon it with the eye of my understanding, and thought, 'What may this be?' And it was answered generally thus,'It is all that is made.' I marvelled how it might last, for I thought it might suddenly have fallen to nought for littleness. And I was answered in my understanding: It lasts and ever shall, for God loves it. And so have all things their beginning by the love of God.

   In this little thing I saw three properties. The first is that God made it. The second that he loves it. And the third, that God keeps it. But what is this to me? Truly, the Creator, the Keeper, the Lover. For until I am substantially oned to him, I may never have full rest nor true bliss. That is to say, until I be so fastened to him that there is nothing that is made between my God and me.

  This little thing that is made, I thought it might have fallen to nought for littleness. Of this we need to have knowledge that it is like to nought, all things that are made. For to love and have God that is unmade.

  For this is the cause why we are not at ease in heart and soul, for we seek rest here, in this thing that is so little where there is no rest, and knowing not our God who is all mighty, all wise and all good. For he is true rest. God will be known, and he likes us to rest in him. For all that is beneath him cannot suffice us. And this is the cause why no soul is rested, until it is noughted of all that is made. And when he wills to be noughted for love, to have him who is all, then he is able to receive spiritual rest.

  Also our Lord showed that it is the fullest pleasure to him, that an innocent soul come to him nakedly, plainly and humbly. For this is the natural yearning of the soul by the touching of the Holy Spirit. And by the understanding that I have in this showing,

'God, for your goodness, give me yourself. For you are enough for me and I may not ask anything that is less, that may be fully worthy of you. And if I ask any thing that is less, I am always wanting. But only in you I have all.' And these words, 'God of your goodness' , are most lovely to the soul, and full nigh touching the will of our Lord. For his goodness comprehends all his creation and all his blessed works and overpasses them without end. For he is the endlessness, and he has made us only for himself, and restored us by his precious Passion, and ever keeps us in his blessed love, and all this is of his goodness. This Showing was given, as to my understanding, to teach our souls wisely to cleave to the goodness of God.

  It is God's will that we have three things in our seeking of his gift. The first is, that we seek willingly and busily without sloth, as it may be with his grace gladly and merrily, without (1)unskilfull heaviness and vain sorrow. The second, that we abide with him steadfastly for his love, without complaining and striving against him to our lives' end, for it shall last only a while. The third is that we trust in him mightily with a fully sure faith, for it is his will that we shall know that he will appear suddenly and blessedfully to all his lovers, for his working is secret, and it will be perceived, and his appearing shall be swift and sudden, and he will be believed, for he is very able, humble and courteous, blessed must he be.

  After this,  I saw God in a point. That is to say in my understanding. But which sight I saw that he is all things. I beheld with advisement, seeing and knowing in that sight, that he does all that is done, be it never so little. And I saw that nothing is done by chance, nor by hazard, but all by the foreseeing of God's wisdom. And if it be chance or fortune in the sight of man, our blindness and our lack of foresight is the cause. Therefore, well I know that in sight of our lord God, there is not chance or happenstance. And therefore it needs behoove me to grant that all things that are done, are well done, because our lord God does all. For in this time the working of Creation was not showed but of our lord God, in Creation, (2)for he is in the midpoint of all things, and he does all.

Unskilfull: old form of unskilled

God is the wellspring of humanities experiences

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Margery Kempe and Her Husband Reach A Settlement, Margery Kempe

          Margery Kempe was a Christian mystic who dictated her visions and spiritual experiences in a self titled autobiography, The Book of Margery Kempe. Considered by some circles to be the first autobiography it is also unique in being one of the few documents to give insight into the female experience of a middle class woman in Medieval times. Following Kempe early in her marriage and the birth of her first child, through pilgrimages, and her tribulations in attaining a sexless marriage the text offers an extensive account of her life.

          Another attribute of her book is extensive and surprisingly frank discussions of Margery’s sexual appetites, thoughts, and seeking of near sexual union with Christ. She was a married woman and had many children but the level of sexual frankness displayed in the writing can be surprising at first. An example of this frankness is shown in the the following excerpt Margery and Her Husband Reach a Settlement. Detailing the discussion between Margery and her husband as they travel they discuss the state of their relationship and the toll of being abstinent from sexual activity. They have been abstinent for three years but Margery still craves intimacy from her husband and she questions why he has not tried to make her do her wifely duty when they share a bed. The discussion that comes from this goes back and forth between Margery and her husband and internally her discussion and vision of God in their travels.  

[Margery and Her Husband Reach a Settlement]

It befell upon a Friday on Midsummer Even in right hot weather, as this creature was coming from York-ward bearing a bottle with beer in her hand and her husband a cake in his bosom, he asked his wife this question: "Margery, if there came a man with a sword and would smite off my head unless that I should commune kindly with you as I have done beofre, say me truth of your conscience - for ye say ye will not lie - whether would ye suffer my head to be smit off or else suffer me to meddle with you again as I did sometime?" "Alas, sir," She said, "why move ye this matter and have we been chaste this eight weeks?" "For I will wit the truth of your heart." And the she said with great sorrow, "Forsooth, I had liefer see you be slain than we should turn again to our uncleanness." And he said again, "Ye are no good wife."

And then she asked her husband what was the cause that he had not meddled with eight weeks before, sithen she lay with him every night in his bed. And he said he was so made afeared when he would 'a touched her that he durst no more do. "Now, good sir, amend you and ask God mercy, for I told you near three year sithen that ye should be slain suddenly, and now is this the third year, and yet I hope I shall have my desire. Good sir, I pray you grant me that I shall ask, and I shall pray for you that ye shall be saved through the mercy of our Lord Jesu Christ, and ye shall have more meed in Heaven than if ye wore a hair or a habergeon. I pray you, suffer me to make a vow of chastity in what bishop's hand that God will." "Nay," he said, "that will I not grant you, for now I may use you without deadly sin and then might I not so." The she said again, "If it be the will of the Holy Ghost to fulfill that I have said, I pray God ye might consent thereto; and if it be not the will of the Holy Ghost, I pray God ye never consent thereto."

Then they went forth to-Bridlington-ward in right hot weather, the foresaid creature (1) having great sorrow and great dread for her chastity. And as they came by a cross, her husband set him down under the cross, cleping his wife unto him and saying these words unto her, "Margery, grant me my desire, and I shall grant you your desire. My first desire is that we shall lie still together in one bed as we have done before; the second that ye shall pay my debts ere ye go to Jerusalem; and the third that ye shall eat and drink with me on the Friday as ye were wont to do." "Nay sir," she said, "to break the Friday I will never grant you while I live." "Well," he said, "then shall I meddle with you again."

 She prayed him that he would give her leave to make her prayers, and he granted it goodly. Then she knelt down beside a cross in the field and prayed in this manner with great abundance of tears, "Lord God, thou knowest all thing; thou knowest what sorrow I have had to be chaste in my body to thee all this three year, and now might I have my will and I dare not for love of thee. For if I would break that manner of fasting which thou commandest me to keep on the Friday without meat or drink, I should now have my desire. But, blessed Lord, thou knowest I will not contrary to thy will, and mickle now is my sorrow unless that I find comfort in thee. Now, blessed Jesu, make thy will known to me unworthy that I may follow thereafter and fulfil it with all my might." And then our Lord Jesu (2) Christ with great sweetness spoke to this creature, commanding her to go again to her husband and pray him to grant her that she desired, "And he shall have that he desireth. For, my dearworthy daughter, this was the cause that I bade thee fast for thou shouldest the sooner obtain and get thy desire, and now it is granted thee. I will no longer thou fast, therefore I bid thee in the name of Jesu eat and drink as thy husband doth."

Then this creature thanked our Lord Jesu Christ of his grace and his goodness, sithen rose up and went to her husband saying unto him, "Sir, if it like you, ye shall grant me my desire and ye shall have your desire. Granteth me that ye shall not come in my bed, and I grant you to quit your debts ere I go to Jerusalem. And maketh my body free to God so that ye never make no challenging in me to ask no debt of matrimony after this day while ye live, and I shall eat and drink on the Friday at your bidding." Then said her husband again to her, "As free may your body be to God as it hath been to me." This creature thanked God greatly, enjoying that she had her desire, praying her husband that they should say three Pater Noster in the worship of the Trinity for the great grace that he had granted them. And so they did, kneeling under a cross, and sithen they ate and drank together in great gladness of spirit. This was on a Friday on Midsummer Even.

 1. Creature: Margery’s referring to herself as a creature could be seen as her saying she is a creature of God or rather created by God

2. Jesu: Older form of Jesus

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Romance, Gender, & Sexuality In The Middle Ages

          Although the study of gender and sexuality is relatively young in comparison to other academic studies it’s a rich topic that extends into almost every aspect of the human experience. Keeping this in mind the authors of this anthology have set out to explore an era that the general public might not think would be ripe for sexual studies: The Middle Ages. In the course of the research for this anthology it became clear that any ideas that early eras were more sexually closeted were gross misconceptions and instead by looking at the literature from the era it could be construed that sexuality and gender norms were more open than previously thought. In this vein the contributors of this work have sought to present literary texts that provide clear examples of Medieval explorations of sexuality, sensuality, and gender. These texts are dynamic enough to pique the interest of a general audience but are also curated enough to satisfy regular readers of Medieval writing. Keeping these dual audiences in mind the author’s have decided to debut this volume online through Tumblr to allow discussion among readers and denizens of the internet to learn and comment.

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I Sing of a Maiden

          I Sing of a Maiden is a medieval lyric about the virgin mother of Jesus Christ, Mother Mary. Most writings during this period directly pertained to religious material, and the lyrics were no different. This particular lyric sings of Mother Mary, and how elegant and serene she is. There is a fair amount of nature symbolism in this lyric too, as the impregnation of Mary is compared to a drop of dew from spring’s showers. She gives life to the growing Earth, and to Jesus himself, who ensure eternal life for so many.  Her virginity and purity is referenced all throughout as well, as the line “he cam also stille” can be read as the seed of life came to her divinely.

          The last stanza of I Sing of a Maiden heralds the virgin Mother Mary, and exalting how great a woman she must be to be lucky enough to birth the son of king of the heavens. This shows us some of the virtues that were valued during this time period, as the Mother Mary is clearly portrayed as role model not only for women but also for men. Mother Mary seems to be the standard at which a woman should be judged; she should be commandingly sublime through graceful purity. This is unfair, however, for women to be judged against the Mother Mary, which also can be read as a reality vs. expectation issue for medieval era women.

I sing of a maiden

That is makelees (1):

King of alle kinges

To her sone she chees.

He cam also stille

Ther his moder was

As dewe in Aprille

That falleth on the gras.

He cam also stille

To his modres bowr

As dewe in Aprille

That falleth on the flowr.

He cam also stille

Ther his moder lay

As dewe in Aprille

That falleth on the spray (2).

Moder and maiden

Was nevere noon but she:

Wel may swich a lady

Godes moder be.

1. Mateless; alludes to the immaculate conception

2. The escalation from grass to flower to spray coincides with the stages of pregnancy

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How the Goode Wife Taught Hyr Doughter

          How the Goode Wife Taught Hyr Doughter is a medieval conduct poem that directly addresses medieval women, something that was very rare for this time period. The speaker of this poem can be read as either a literal mother or an elder, either way, the target audience is for younger women. One of the primary virtues preached in this poem is honor. Honor encompasses a lot in this poem, as honor applies not only to honoring one’s religion but also honoring their husbands/men. Both of these are normative for the time period, as religion was massively influential at the time as it was the primary subject of most writings, and women submitting to men was a big portion of marital life.

          The other virtue discussed in How the Goode Wife Taught Hyr Doughter is prosperity, and that is in reference to one’s appearance in public and in status. The speaker tells its’ audience to be prudent when it comes to men by that one shouldn’t accept too many gifts from men or to be seen with different men out in public. The prosperity of “wealth” alludes to making economically wise decisions, which was something that garnered status in itself in the medieval era.

          Another interesting component of this poem that is being preached is it tell the young women to be nice to the other women of the house, presumably meaning the “help”. This provides interesting insight into the workings of the different classes, especially considering that the speaker is advocating for treating them nicely, or at least marginally so.

Lyst and lythe a lytell space,

Y schall you telle a praty cace,

How the gode wyfe taught hyr doughter

5 To mend hyr lyfe, and make her better:

"Doughter, and thou wylle be a wyfe,

Wysely to wyrche in all thi lyfe

Serve God, and kepe thy chyrche,

And myche the better thou shalt wyrche.

10 To go to the chyrch, lette for no reyne,

And that schall helpe thee in thy peyne.

Gladly loke thou pay thy tythes,

Also thy offeringes loke thou not mysse;

Of pore men be thou not lothe,

15 Bot gyff thou them both mete (1) and clothe;

And to pore folke be thou not herde,

Bot be to them thyn owen stowarde;

For where that a gode stowerde is,

Wantys seldome any ryches.

20 When thou arte in the chyrch, my chyld,

Loke that thou be bothe meke and myld,

And bydde thy bedes aboven alle thinge,

With sybbe ne fremde make no jangelynge.

Laughe thou to scorne nother olde ne yonge,

25 Be of gode berynge and of gode tonge;

Yn thi gode berynge begynnes thi worschype,

My dere doughter, of this take kepe.

Yf any man profer thee to wede,

A curtas answer to hym be seyde,

30 And schew hym to thy frendes alle;

For any thing that may befawle,

Syt not by hym, ne stand thou nought

Yn sych place ther synne mey be wroght.

What man that thee doth wedde with rynge,

35 Loke thou hym love aboven all thinge;

Yf that it forteyne thus with thee

That he be wroth, and angery be,

Loke thou mekly answere hym,

And meve hym nother lyth ne lymme;

40 And that schall sclake hym of hys mode

Than schall thou be hys derlynge gode.

Fayre wordes wreth do slake;

Fayre wordes wreth schall never make,

Ne fayre wordes brake never bone,

45 Ne never schall in no wone.

Be fayre of semblant, my dere doughter,

Change not thi countenans with grete laughter

And wyse of maneres loke thou be gode,

Ne for no tayle change thi mode

50 Ne fare not a thou a gyglot were,

Ne laughe thou not low, be thou therof sore.

Luke thou also gape not to wyde,

For anythinge that may betyde.

Suete of speche, loke that thow be

55 Trow in worde and dede; lerne thus of me.

Loke thou fle synne, vilony, and blame,

And se ther be no man that seys thee any schame.

When thou goys in the gate, go not to faste,

Ne hyderwerd ne thederward thi hede thou caste.

60 No grete othes loke thou swere:

Byware, my doughter, of syche a maner!

Go not as it wer a gase

Fro house to house, to seke the mase

Ne go thou not to no merket

65 To sell thi thryft, bewer of itte.

Ne go thou nought to the taverne,

Thy godnes for to selle therinne;

Forsake thou hym that taverne hanteth,

And all the vices that therinne bethe.

70 Wherever thou comme at ale other wyne,

Take not to myche, and leve be tyme;

For mesure therinne, it is no herme,

And drounke to be, it is thi schame.

Ne go thou not to no wrastylynge,

75 Ne git to no coke schetynge,

As it wer a strumpet other a gyglote,

Or as a woman that lyst to dote.

Byde thou at home, my doughter dere.

Thes poyntes at me I rede thou lere,

80 And wyrke thi werke at nede,

All the better thou may spede

Y swere thee, doughter, be heven Kynge,

Mery it is of althynge.

Aquyente thee not with every man.

85 That inne the stret thou metys than;

Thof he wold be aqueynted with thee,

Grete hym curtasly, and late hym be.

Loke by hym not longe thou stond,

That thorow no vylony thi hert fond

90 All the men be not trew

That fare spech to thee can schew.

For no covetys no giftys thou take,

Bot thou wyte why: sone them forsake.

For gode women, with gyftes

95 Me ther honour fro them lyftes,

Thofe that thei wer all trew

As any stele that bereth hew,

For with ther giftes men them over gone.

Thof thei wer trew as ony stone,

100 Bounde thei be that giftys take:

Therfor thes giftes thou forsake.

Yn other mens houses make thou no maystry;

For drede, no vylony to thee be spye.

Loke thou chyd no wordes bolde,

105 To myssey nother yonge ne olde

For and thou any chyder be,

Thy neyghbors wylle speke thee vylony.

Be thou not to envyos,

For dred thi neyghbors wyll thee curse,

110 Envyos hert hymselve fretys,

And of gode werkys hymselve lettys.

Houswyfely wyll thou gone

On werke deys in thine awne wone.

Pryde, rest, and ydellschype,

115 Fro thes werkes thou thee kepe;

And kepe thou welle thy holy dey,

And thy God worschype when thou may,

More for worschype than for pride;

And styfly in thy feyth thou byde.

120 Loke thou were no ryche robys;

Ne counterfyte thou no ladys

For myche schame do them betyde

That lese ther worschipe thorow ther pride.

Be thou, doughter, a houswyfe gode,

125 And evermore of mylde mode.

Wysely loke thi hous and meneye,

The beter to do thei schall be.

Women that be of yvell name,

Be ye not togedere in same

130 Loke what moste nede is to done.

And sette thi mené therto ryght sone.

That thinge that is before done dede,

Redy it is when thou hast nede.

And if thy lord be fro home,

135 Lat not thy meneye idell gone

And loke thou wele who do hys dede,

Quyte hym therafter to his mede;

And thei that wylle bot lytell do,

Therafter thou quite is mede also.

140 A grete dede if thou have to done,

At the tone ende thou be ryght sone;

And if that thou fynd any fawte,

Amend it sone, and tarrye note.

Mych thynge behoven them

145 That gode housold schall kepyn.

Amend thy hous or thou have nede,

For better after thou schall spede;

And if that thy nede be grete,

And in the country courne be stryte,

150 Make an houswyfe on thyselve,

Thy bred thou bake for houswyfys helthe.

Amonge thi servantes if thou stondyne,

Thy werke it schall be soner done

To helpe them sone thou sterte,

155 For many handes make lyght werke.

Bysyde thee if thy neghbores thryve,

Therfore thou make no stryfe,

Bot thanke God of all thi gode

That He send thee to thy fode;

160 And than thow schall lyve gode lyfe,

And so to be a gode houswyfe.

At es he lyves that awes no dette,

Yt is no les, withouten lette.

Syte not to longe uppe at evene,

165 For drede with ale thou be oversene

Loke thou go to bede bytyme;

Erly to ryse is fysyke fyne (2).

And so thou schall be, my dere chyld,

Be welle dysposed, both meke and myld,

170 For all ther es may thei not have,

That wyll thryve, and ther gode save,

And if it thus thee betyde,

That frendes falle thee fro on every syde,

And God fro thee thi chyld take,

175 Thy wreke one God do thou not take,

For thyselve it wyll undo,

And all thes that thee longe to

Many one for ther awne foly

Spyllys themselve unthryftyly.

180 Loke, doughter, nothing thou lese,

Ne thi housbond thou not desples.

And if thou have a doughter of age,

Pute here sone to maryage;

For meydens, thei be lonely

185 And nothing syker therby.

Borow thou not, if that thou meye,

For drede thi neybour wyll sey naye;

Ne take thou nought to fyrste,

Bot thou be inne more bryste.

190 Make thee not ryche of other mens thyng,

The bolder to spend be one ferthyng.

Borowyd thinge muste nedes go home,

Yf that thou wyll to heven gone.

When the servantes have do ther werke,

195 To pay ther hyre loke thou be smerte,

Whether thei byde or thei do wende

Thus schall thou kepe them ever thi frende,

And thus thi frendes wyll be glade

That thou dispos thee wyslye and sade.

200 Now I have taught thee, my dere doughter,

The same techynge I hade of my modour:

Thinke theron both nyght and dey,

Forgette them not if that thou may,

For a chyld unborne wer better

205 Than be untaught, thus seys the letter.

Therfor Allmyghty God inne trone,

Spede us all, bothe even and morne;

And bringe us to Thy hyghe blysse,

That never more fro us schall mysse!"

1. Food

2. Good for you

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Confessio Amantis, The Tale of Florent - John Gower

          The “Tale of Florent” from John Gower’s Confessio Amantis is very similar to the Geoffrey Chaucer’s “Wife of Bath’s Tale”, in fact it is a retelling of it. John Gower’s Confessio Amantis is particularly fascinating collection of poems, and many of the pieces are inspired/ take directly from many older pieces. Confessio uses these re-working of pieces as a means of harkening to a virtue that was laid out in a previous text, and the virtue being represented in the “Tale of Florent” is pride.

          The “Tale of Florent” follows a man named Florent who is tasked with answering the question what do women want most? If he answers incorrectly, he loses his life. Florent finds the answer in a wholly grotesque woman, who tells Florent that if her answer to his question proves to be correct, then he must marry her. Florent agrees, and the woman basically tells him that the thing women most desire is to be seen as equal to men, to be sovereign.

          Florent gives this answer, is proven to be correct, and then weds the hag-like woman. The woman has another trick up her sleeve, however, as she reveals to her new husband she is young and fair. She tells Florent that he can either have her pretty during the day and ugly at night, or ugly during the day or fair by night. Our hero concedes that his wife should choose because no matter which she makes, he knows it will be the right one. Having proven sovereignty with his mate, his wife rewards Florent by being beautiful all the time.

          This piece proves to be relatively progressive in that it preaches the equality of men and women, and is actually concerned with what women want.

Ther was whilom be daies olde

A worthi knyht, and as men tolde

He was Nevoeu to th'emperour

1410 And of his Court a Courteour:

Wifles he was, Florent he hihte,

He was a man that mochel myhte,

Of armes he was desirous,

Chivalerous and amorous,

1415 And for the fame of worldes speche,

Strange aventures forto seche,

He rod the Marches al aboute.

And fell a time, as he was oute,

Fortune, which may every thred

1420 Tobreke and knette of mannes sped,

Schop, as this knyht rod in a pas,

That he be strengthe take was,

And to a Castell thei him ladde,

Wher that he fewe frendes hadde:

1425 For so it fell that ilke stounde

That he hath with a dedly wounde

Feihtende his oghne hondes slain

Branchus (1), which to the Capitain

Was Sone and Heir, wherof ben wrothe

1430 The fader and the moder bothe.

That knyht Branchus was of his hond

The worthieste of al his lond,

And fain thei wolden do vengance

Upon Florent, bot remembrance

1435 That thei toke of his worthinesse

Of knyhthod and of gentilesse,

And how he stod of cousinage

To th'emperour, made hem assuage,

And dorsten noght slen him for fere:

1440 In gret desputeisoun thei were

Among hemself, what was the beste.

Ther was a lady, the slyheste

Of alle that men knewe tho,

1445 So old sche myhte unethes go,

And was grantdame unto the dede:

And sche with that began to rede,

And seide how sche wol bringe him inne,

That sche schal him to dethe winne

1450 Al only of his oghne grant,

Thurgh strengthe of verray covenant

Withoute blame of eny wiht.

Anon sche sende for this kniht,

And of hire Sone sche alleide

1455 The deth, and thus to him sche seide:

"Florent, how so thou be to wyte

Of Branchus deth, men schal respite

As now to take vengement,

Be so thou stonde in juggement

1460 Upon certein condicioun,

That thou unto a questioun

Which I schal axe schalt ansuere;

And over this thou schalt ek swere,

That if thou of the sothe faile,

1465 Ther schal non other thing availe,

That thou ne schalt thi deth receive.

And for men schal thee noght deceive,

That thou therof myht ben avised,

Thou schalt have day and tyme assised

1470 And leve saufly forto wende,

Be so that at thi daies ende

Thou come ayein with thin avys.

This knyht, which worthi was and wys,

This lady preith that he may wite,

1475 And have it under Seales write,

What questioun it scholde be

For which he schal in that degree

Stonde of his lif in jeupartie.

With that sche feigneth compaignie,

1480 And seith: "Florent, on love it hongeth

Al that to myn axinge longeth:

What alle wommen most desire

This wole I axe, and in th'empire

Wher as thou hast most knowlechinge

1485 Tak conseil upon this axinge."

Florent this thing hath undertake,

The day was set, the time take,

Under his seal he wrot his oth,

In such a wise and forth he goth

1490 Hom to his Emes court ayein;

To whom his aventure plein

He tolde, of that him is befalle.

And upon that thei weren alle

The wiseste of the lond asent,

1495 Bot natheles of on assent

Thei myhte noght acorde plat,

On seide this, an othre that.

After the disposicioun

Of naturel complexioun

1500 To som womman it is plesance,

That to an other is grevance;

Bot such a thing in special,

Which to hem alle in general

Is most plesant, and most desired

1505 Above alle othre and most conspired,

Such o thing conne thei noght finde

Be Constellacion ne kinde:

And thus Florent withoute cure

Mot stonde upon his aventure,

1510 And is al schape unto the lere,

As in defalte of his answere.

This knyht hath levere forto dye

Than breke his trowthe and forto lye

In place ther as he was swore,

1515 And schapth him gon ayein therfore.

Whan time cam he tok his leve,

That lengere wolde he noght beleve,

And preith his Em he be noght wroth,

For that is a point of his oth,

1520 He seith, that noman schal him wreke,

Thogh afterward men hiere speke

That he par aventure deie.

And thus he wente forth his weie

Alone as knyht aventurous,

1525 And in his thoght was curious

To wite what was best to do:

And as he rod al one so,

And cam nyh ther he wolde be,

In a forest under a tre

1530 He syh wher sat a creature,

A lothly wommannysch figure,

That forto speke of fleisch and bon

So foul yit syh he nevere non.

This knyht behield hir redely,

1535 And as he wolde have passed by,

Sche cleped him and bad abide;

And he his horse heved aside

Tho torneth, and to hire he rod,

And there he hoveth and abod,

1540 To wite what sche wolde mene.

And sche began him to bemene,

And seide: "Florent be thi name,

Thou hast on honde such a game,

That bot thou be the betre avised,

1545 Thi deth is schapen and devised,

That al the world ne mai the save,

Bot if that thou my conseil have."

Florent, whan he this tale herde,

Unto this olde wyht answerde

1550 And of hir conseil he hir preide.

And sche ayein to him thus seide:

"Florent, if I for the so schape,

That thou thurgh me thi deth ascape

And take worschipe of thi dede,

1555 What schal I have to my mede?"

"What thing," quod he, "that thou wolt axe."

"I bidde nevere a betre taxe,"

Quod sche, "bot ferst, er thou be sped,

Thou schalt me leve such a wedd,

1560 That I wol have thi trowthe in honde

That thou schalt be myn housebonde."

"Nay," seith Florent, "that may noght be."

"Ryd thanne forth thi wey," quod sche,

"And if thou go withoute red,

1565 Thou schalt be sekerliche ded."

Florent behihte hire good ynowh

Of lond, of rente, of park, of plowh,

Bot al that compteth sche at noght.

Tho fell this knyht in mochel thoght,

1570 Now goth he forth, now comth ayein,

He wot noght what is best to sein,

And thoghte, as he rod to and fro,

That chese he mot on of the tuo,

Or forto take hire to his wif

1575 Or elles forto lese his lif.

And thanne he caste his avantage,

That sche was of so gret an age,

That sche mai live bot a while,

And thoghte put hire in an Ile,

1580 Wher that noman hire scholde knowe,

Til sche with deth were overthrowe.

And thus this yonge lusti knyht

Unto this olde lothly wiht

Tho seide: "If that non other chance

1585 Mai make my deliverance,

Bot only thilke same speche

Which, as thou seist, thou schalt me teche,

Have hier myn hond, I schal thee wedde."

And thus his trowthe he leith to wedde.

1590 With that sche frounceth up the browe:

"This covenant I wol allowe,"

Sche seith: "if eny other thing

Bot that thou hast of my techyng

Fro deth thi body mai respite,

1595 I woll thee of thi trowthe acquite,

And elles be non other weie.

Now herkne me what I schal seie.

"Whan thou art come into the place,

Wher now thei maken gret manace

1600 And upon thi comynge abyde,

Thei wole anon the same tide

Oppose thee of thin answere.

I wot thou wolt nothing forbere

Of that thou wenest be thi beste,

1605 And if thou myht so finde reste,

Wel is, for thanne is ther nomore.

And elles this schal be my lore,

That thou schalt seie, upon this Molde

That alle wommen lievest wolde

1610 Be soverein of mannes love:

For what womman is so above,

Sche hath, as who seith, al hire wille;

And elles may sche noght fulfille

What thing hir were lievest have.

1615 "With this answere thou schalt save

Thiself, and other wise noght.

And whan thou hast thin ende wroght,

Com hier ayein, thou schalt me finde,

And let nothing out of thi minde."

1620 He goth him forth with hevy chiere,

As he that not in what manere

He mai this worldes joie atteigne:

For if he deie, he hath a peine,

And if he live, he mot him binde

1625 To such on which of alle kinde

Of wommen is th'unsemlieste:

Thus wot he noght what is the beste:

Bot be him lief or be him loth,

Unto the Castell forth he goth

1630 His full answere forto yive,

Or forto deie or forto live.

Forth with his conseil cam the lord,

The thinges stoden of record,

He sende up for the lady sone,

1635 And forth sche cam, that olde Mone.

In presence of the remenant

The strengthe of al the covenant

Tho was reherced openly,

And to Florent sche bad forthi

1640 That he schal tellen his avis,

As he that woot what is the pris.

Florent seith al that evere he couthe,

Bot such word cam ther non to mowthe,

That he for yifte or for beheste

1645 Mihte eny wise his deth areste.

And thus he tarieth longe and late,

Til that this lady bad algate

That he schal for the dom final

Yive his answere in special

1650 Of that sche hadde him ferst opposed:

And thanne he hath trewly supposed

That he him may of nothing yelpe,

Bot if so be tho wordes helpe,

Whiche as the womman hath him tawht;

1655 Wherof he hath an hope cawht

That he schal ben excused so,

And tolde out plein his wille tho.

And whan that this Matrone herde

The manere how this knyht ansuerde,

1660 Sche seide: "Ha treson, wo thee be,

That hast thus told the privite,

Which alle wommen most desire!

I wolde that thou were afire."

Bot natheles in such a plit

1665Florent of his answere is quit:

And tho began his sorwe newe,

For he mot gon, or ben untrewe,

To hire which his trowthe hadde.

Bot he, which alle schame dradde,

1670 Goth forth in stede of his penance,

And takth the fortune of his chance,

As he that was with trowthe affaited.

This olde wyht him hath awaited

In place wher as he hire lefte:

1675 Florent his wofull heved uplefte

And syh this vecke wher sche sat,

Which was the lothlieste what

That evere man caste on his yhe:

Hire Nase bass, hire browes hyhe,

1680 Hire yhen smale and depe set,

Hire chekes ben with teres wet,

And rivelen as an emty skyn

Hangende doun unto the chin,

Hire Lippes schrunken ben for age,

1685 Ther was no grace in the visage,

Hir front was nargh, hir lockes hore,

Sche loketh forth as doth a More,

Hire Necke is schort, hir schuldres courbe,

That myhte a mannes lust destourbe,

1690 Hire body gret and nothing smal,

And schortly to descrive hire al,

Sche hath no lith withoute a lak;

Bot lich unto the wollesak

Sche proferth hire unto this knyht,

1695 And bad him, as he hath behyht (2),

So as sche hath ben his warant,

That he hire holde covenant,

And be the bridel sche him seseth.

Bot godd wot how that sche him pleseth

1700 Of suche wordes as sche spekth:

Him thenkth welnyh his herte brekth

For sorwe that he may noght fle,

Bot if he wolde untrewe be.

Loke, how a sek man for his hele

1705 Takth baldemoine with Canele,

And with the Mirre takth the Sucre,

Ryht upon such a maner lucre

Stant Florent, as in this diete:

He drinkth the bitre with the swete,

1710 He medleth sorwe with likynge,

And liveth, as who seith, deyinge;

His youthe schal be cast aweie

Upon such on which as the weie

Is old and lothly overal.

1715 Bot nede he mot that nede schal:

He wolde algate his trowthe holde,

As every knyht therto is holde,

What happ so evere him is befalle:

Thogh sche be the fouleste of alle,

1720 Yet to th'onour of wommanhiede

Him thoghte he scholde taken hiede;

So that for pure gentilesse,

As he hire couthe best adresce,

In ragges, as sche was totore,

1725 He set hire on his hors tofore

And forth he takth his weie softe;

No wonder thogh he siketh ofte.

Bot as an oule fleth be nyhte

Out of alle othre briddes syhte,

1730 Riht so this knyht on daies brode

In clos him hield, and schop his rode

On nyhtes time, til the tyde

That he cam there he wolde abide;

And prively withoute noise

1735 He bringth this foule grete Coise

To his Castell in such a wise

That noman myhte hire schappe avise,

Til sche into the chambre cam:

Wher he his prive conseil nam

1740 Of suche men as he most troste,

And tolde hem that he nedes moste

This beste wedde to his wif,

For elles hadde he lost his lif.

The prive wommen were asent,

1745 That scholden ben of his assent:

Hire ragges thei anon of drawe,

And, as it was that time lawe,

She hadde bath, sche hadde reste,

And was arraied to the beste.

1750 Bot with no craft of combes brode

Thei myhte hire hore lockes schode,

And sche ne wolde noght be schore

For no conseil, and thei therfore,

With such atyr as tho was used,

1755 Ordeinen that it was excused,

And hid so crafteliche aboute,

That noman myhte sen hem oute.

Bot when sche was fulliche arraied

And hire atyr was al assaied,

1760 Tho was sche foulere on to se:

Bot yit it may non other be,

Thei were wedded in the nyht;

So wo begon was nevere knyht

As he was thanne of mariage.

1765 And sche began to pleie and rage,

As who seith, I am wel ynowh;

Bot he therof nothing ne lowh,

For sche tok thanne chiere on honde

And clepeth him hire housebonde,

1770 And seith, "My lord, go we to bedde,

For I to that entente wedde,

That thou schalt be my worldes blisse:"

And profreth him with that to kisse,

As sche a lusti Lady were.

1775 His body myhte wel be there,

Bot as of thoght and of memoire

His herte was in purgatoire.

Bot yit for strengthe of matrimoine

He myhte make non essoine,

1780 That he ne mot algates plie

To gon to bedde of compaignie:

And whan thei were abedde naked,

Withoute slep he was awaked;

He torneth on that other side,

1785 For that he wolde hise yhen hyde

Fro lokynge on that foule wyht.

The chambre was al full of lyht,

The courtins were of cendal thinne

This newe bryd which lay withinne,

1790 Thogh it be noght with his acord,

In armes sche beclipte hire lord,

And preide, as he was torned fro,

He wolde him torne ayeinward tho;

"For now," sche seith, "we ben bothe on."

1795 And he lay stille as eny ston,

Bot evere in on sche spak and preide,

And bad him thenke on that he seide,

Whan that he tok hire be the hond.

He herde and understod the bond,

1800 How he was set to his penance,

And as it were a man in trance

He torneth him al sodeinly,

And syh a lady lay him by

Of eyhtetiene wynter age,

1805 Which was the faireste of visage

That evere in al this world he syh:

And as he wolde have take hire nyh,

Sche put hire hand and be his leve

Besoghte him that he wolde leve,

1810 And seith that forto wynne or lese

He mot on of tuo thinges chese,

Wher he wol have hire such on nyht,

Or elles upon daies lyht,

For he schal noght have bothe tuo.

1815 And he began to sorwe tho,

In many a wise and caste his thoght,

Bot for al that yit cowthe he noght

Devise himself which was the beste.

And sche, that wolde his hertes reste,

1820 Preith that he scholde chese algate,

Til ate laste longe and late

He seide: "O ye, my lyves hele,

Sey what you list in my querele,

I not what ansuere I schal yive:

1825 Bot evere whil that I may live,

I wol that ye be my maistresse,

For I can noght miselve gesse

Which is the beste unto my chois.

Thus grante I yow myn hole vois,

1830 Ches for ous bothen, I you preie;

And what as evere that ye seie,

Riht as ye wole so wol I."

"Mi lord," sche seide," grant merci,

For of this word that ye now sein,

1835 That ye have mad me soverein,

Mi destine is overpassed,

That nevere hierafter schal be lassed

Mi beaute, which that I now have,

Til I be take into my grave;

1840 Bot nyht and day as I am now

I schal alwey be such to yow.

"The kinges dowhter of Cizile

I am, and fell bot siththe awhile,

As I was with my fader late,

1845 That my Stepmoder for an hate,

Which toward me sche hath begonne,

Forschop me, til I hadde wonne

The love and sovereinete

Of what knyht that in his degre

1850 Alle othre passeth of good name:

And, as men sein, ye ben the same,

The dede proeveth it is so;

Thus am I youres evermo."

Tho was plesance and joye ynowh,

1855 Echon with other pleide and lowh;

Thei live longe and wel thei ferde,

And clerkes that this chance herde

Thei writen it in evidence,

To teche how that obedience

1860 Mai wel fortune a man to love

And sette him in his lust above,

As it befell unto this knyht.

Forthi, my Sone, if thou do ryht,

Thou schalt unto thi love obeie,

1865 And folwe hir will be alle weie.

Min holy fader, so I wile:

For ye have told me such a skile

Of this ensample now tofore,

That I schal evermo therfore

1870 Hierafterward myn observance

To love and to his obeissance

The betre kepe: and over this

Of pride if ther oght elles is,

Wherof that I me schryve schal,

1875 What thing it is in special,

Mi fader, axeth, I you preie.

Now lest, my Sone, and I schal seie:

For yit ther is Surquiderie,

Which stant with Pride of compaignie;

1880 Wherof that thou schalt hiere anon,

To knowe if thou have gult or non

Upon the forme as thou schalt hiere:

Now understond wel the matiere.

1.  Branchus is the family of the knight Florent kills, which sparks the whole journey as Grandma Branchus is the one who tasks Florent with procuring an answer to her fateful question: what do women desire the most?

2.  Promised

[ishipbertigwain-blog]

Images

This crude illustration fits well with Marie De France’s Yonec, with the caption “love is a rebellious bird.“ -Emily

Gawain cuts off the Green Knights head, thus initiating the pact and setting the path of the story. -Emily

This illustration is from a Medieval Book of hours. These books could contain a number of items from calendars, prayers, or lives of saints. -Callie

A detail from an illuminated manuscript. Manuscripts were hand written and featured decorative images in letters and margins. -Callie 

These are all the legendary women from Chaucer’s “Legend of Good Women.” -Adam

A medieval painting of the virgin Mother Mary, the pure protagonist of the lyric “I Sing of a Maiden.” -Adam

[ishipbertigwain-blog]

Translation

This is a modern translation of “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight”, FITT III, lines 1922-1947, in which we assume that both Sir Gawain and Lord Bertilak share erotic feelings for one another.

Middle English

And woried me þis wyly wyth a wroth noyse.

Þe lorde lyȝtez bilyue, and lachez hym sone,

Rased hym ful radly out of þe rach mouþes,

Haldez heȝe ouer his hede, halowez faste,

And þer bayen hym mony braþ houndez.

Huntes hyȝed hem þeder with hornez ful mony,

Ay rechatande aryȝt til þay þe renk seȝen.

Bi þat watz comen his compeyny noble,

Alle þat euer ber bugle blowed at ones,

And alle þise oþer halowed þat hade no hornes;

Hit watz þe myriest mute þat euer men herde,

Þe rich rurd þat þer watz raysed for Renaude saule

with lote.

Hor houndez þay þer rewarde,

Her hedez þay fawne and frote,

And syþen þay tan Reynarde,

And tyruen of his cote.

And þenne þay helden to home, for hit watz nieȝ nyȝt,

Strakande ful stoutly in hor store hornez.

Þe lorde is lyȝt at þe laste at hys lef home,

Fyndez fire vpon flet, þe freke þer-byside,

Sir Gawayn þe gode, þat glad watz withalle,

Among þe ladies for luf he ladde much ioye;

He were a bleaunt of blwe þat bradde to þe erþe,

His surkot semed hym wel þat softe watz forred,

And his hode of þat ilke henged on his schulder,

Blande al of blaunner were boþe al aboute.

He metez me þis godmon inmyddez þe flore,

And al with gomen he hym gret, and goudly he sayde,

'I schal fylle vpon fyrst oure forwardez nouþe, [folio 117r]

Þat we spedly han spoken, þer spared watz no drynk.'

Þen acoles he þe knyȝt and kysses hym þryes,

As sauerly and sadly as he hem sette couþe.

'Bi Kryst,' quoþ þat oþer knyȝt, 'Ȝe cach much sele

In cheuisaunce of þis chaffer, ȝif ȝe hade goud chepez.'

'Ȝe, of þe chepe no charg,' quoþ chefly þat oþer,

'As is pertly payed þe chepez þat I aȝte.'Page  54

'Mary,' quoþ þat oþer mon, 'myn is bihynde,

For I haf hunted al þis day, and noȝt haf I geten

Bot þis foule fox felle--þe fende haf þe godez!--

And þat is ful pore for to pay for suche prys þinges

As ȝe haf þryȝt me here þro, suche þre cosses

so gode.'

'Inoȝ,' quoþ Sir Gawayn,

'I þonk yow, bi þe rode',

And how þe fox watz slayn

He tolde hym as þay stode.

Modern Translation

The sky was growing dark, so the hunters made their way towards home,

Blowing their trumpets and bugles quite impressively.

The king and his party had finally arrived

Where they found Sir Gawain,

Who was sitting merrily near the warm fire,

And was feeling particularly pleased with himself, after his afternoon with the ladies.

His blue robe carried down to the floor,

His soft and fluffy coat matched his demeanor,

And the hood of his coat hung elegantly from his shoulders.

His hood and his coat were bordered with white fur.

Gawain heads towards the king, in the middle of the room,

Graciously greets him, and says:

“Let me first fulfill my end of our arrangement,

Which we agreed upon when we were very drunk.

Gawain held the King tightly, pulled him in close, and kissed him three times

With as much passion as any man could ever muster.

“My sweet Lord above,” said the king, “what a glorious day you must have had

To earn such a prize, if it didn’t cost you too gravely.”

“Oh forget about the price” exclaimed Gawain

“It’s all worth it as long as I get to share my rewards with you.”

“Unfortunately my gift falls flat in comparison” bemoaned the king,

“I spent all day hunting, but the only thing I found

Was this small, smelly fox. Oh curse it to hell,

How could this puny creature ever compare to your wondrous presents,

Three mouth-watering, desirable and perfect kisses, that came

From such a true man’s heart.”

[ishipbertigwain-blog]

Appendices

Emily’s Appendix 

This illustration was taken from Cotton Nero A.x., thought to be the only surviving folio of manuscripts by the anonymous Gawain Poet. The illustrator is unknown as is the author and scribe of the original manuscripts, but researchers believe the manuscripts to be written by the same medieval author because of the similar writing style and dialect. While new research (1) on these illustrations is far from definitive, an analysis of the ink used to create the preliminary illustrations-- that is, the original sketch underneath the paintings-- to be composed of the same type of ink that is typically not used by artists. The same type of ink, however, was used in the original text of the Cotton Nero A.x. folio. Scholars speculate that this could mean that the preliminary drawings were created by the same person who transcribed the original manuscript. Since there is such little known about the Gawain poet or the Cotton Nero A.x. Folio, this discovery is rooted deeply in our academic understanding of the author and illustrator as well as whoever scribed the manuscripts by hand. It stimulates questions such as if the author of all the works in the folio are the same, perhaps it was the author that also transcribed and illustrated his or her own work. With so many remaining questions on this elusive folio, finding an answer to these questions would also provide some more historical context.  To understand more even just about these seemingly-crude illustrations could alter our understanding of the manuscripts content themselves.

Furthermore, the image itself of Lady Bertilak and Sir Gawain at some point during one of their daily meetings depicts a tender moment with Lady Bertilak touching Sir Gawain’s head. This does not say much in modern terms, but for a lady to touch a knight let alone be in his bed chambers alone was something that could have been perceived as a scandalous act in the middle ages. While the near-adultery of their secret kisses was a ploy on Bertilak/The Green Knight’s part, it seemed like the tenderness of Lady Bertilak and Gawain’s companionship was natural. Lines such as in the bob os stanza 59,

“The lady bends her adown and sweetly she kisses his face; much speech they there expound of love, its grief and grace.”

This wording invokes a sense of affection that the Lady seemingly holds for Gawain, and the illustration above of her soft touch to his forehead parallels this line wonderfully. It makes us, as scholars, wonder if perhaps there was something deeper between Sir Gawain, Lady Bertilak, and the Green Knight, something more than lust or the quest for chivalry. Had Sir Gawain accepted Lady Bertilak’s advances more freely than his code of honor would allow, a stronger relationship could have formed, perhaps transcending the times with polyamorous relationship.

1. Hilmo, Maidie. “Illustrating the Gawain Manuscript: A Visual Journey Through MS Cotton Nero A.x.” The Cotton Nero A.x. Project. UC Calgary. https://sites.nd.edu/manuscript-studies/2015/10/29/illustrating-the-gawain-manuscript-new-scientific-evidence/

Adam’s Appendices

A1) “How the Wise Man Taught His Son”, a companion piece for “How the Good Wyfe Taught her Doughter”.

http://d.lib.rochester.edu/teams/text/shuffelton-codex-ashmole-61-how-the-wise-man-taught-his-son

A2) “The Wife of Bath’s Tale” by Geoffrey Chaucer

http://www.b-g.k12.ky.us/userfiles/1049/The-Wife-of-Bath-s-Tale%20text.pdf

A3) John Gower’s Confessio Amantis anthology.

http://d.lib.rochester.edu/teams/publication/peck-confessio-amantis-volume-1

A4) “The Death of the Duchess” from Elaine Tuttle Hansen’s book Chaucer and the Fictions of Gender.

https://publishing.cdlib.org/ucpressebooks/view?docId=ft2s2004t2&chunk.id=d0e2055&toc.depth=1&toc.id=d0e2055&brand=ucpress

“How the Wise Man Taught His Son” was included in the appendix because it is a perfect companion piece for the conduct poem “How the Good Wyfe Taught Her Doughter” as it is focused on the opposite sex. Much like “How the Good Wyfe Taught Her Doughter”, “How the Wise Man…” is concerned with how a proper man should navigate his daily life, like how to treat/speak to your wife, how to execute your required tasks for the day, and what to prioritize in your life. It is interesting that one of the teachings of this conduct poem is how to speak to your wife, especially considering that “How the Good Wyfe…” tells the women to submit and respect their husbands, and men in general. It is refreshing that both sexes are being told to respect one another, something you wouldn’t expect of stereotypical medieval men. Including “How the Wise Man…” is also useful for this anthology’s purposes because it gives our readers a chance to see how conduct poems work for both women and men, and to see how each address the women and men of that time.

Geoffrey Chaucer’s “The Wife of Bath’s Tale” was included in the appendix because of how closely related it is to John Gower’s “The Tale of Florent”, from Confessio Amantis. Chaucer’s “The Wife of Bath’s Tale” is essentially retold in “The Tale of Florent”  Including it in the appendix gives our readers an opportunity to see how two prominent middle English writers differed in form, style, and in word choices while dealing within a constant framework. This gives us an unique insight into the decision making process of both writers. John Gower’s poem Confessio Amantis is also included in the appendix because it is in itself an anthology of older works that have been rewritten and contextualized to coincide with the then-present day. This makes Confessio Amantis an absolutely vital addition to the appendix because it is essentially doing the same thing we are doing; taking stories from the medieval and middle ages, and using them to learn about not only ourselves, but also on how those works influenced modern thinking.

This appendix also includes a chapter from Elaine T. Hansen’s Chaucer and the Fictions of Gender, with the title of the chapter being “The Death of the Duchess”. This is an important source for us to include in the appendix because it deals directly with gender from Chaucer’s “The Book of the Duchess”, and also it gives some interesting insight into the characters and how they are portrayed through the guise of gender. Hansen argues that both the black knight and the narrator in the “Book of Duchess” seem to act explicitly as women, and in fact, the black’s knights actions are eerily symmetrical to Alcyone’s actions, as they both are overridden with a great amount of sorrow from losing their loved ones. This unique insight into the characters of the “Book of Duchess” greatly incorporates many of the same themes discussed throughout this anthology.

Callie’s Apendices

For this appendix I have chosen an illustrated letter depicting childbirth from a Medieval manuscript and an illustrated manuscript page from Julian of Norwich’s Showing of Love. These images were chosen for my appendix because of Margery Kempe’s description of her crisis of faith after childbirth and the inclusion of selections from Julian of Norwich’s Showing of Love. Both images are intently female centric most especially, the image of childbirth. The image depicts not only midwife, mother and child but by featuring the image of a star there are also hints of celestial influence. This celestial or divine influence is relevant especially in Margery Kempe’s case in that through the illness and trials she suffered from the aftereffects of childbirth she was granted divine insight and a vision of what God may require for her to prove her devotion. In many ways a uniquely feminine act gave her a vision that pushed her to attain a fervent level of faith that would disrupt decorum but held the possibility of Kempe attaining a higher purpose.This fulfilling of faith is a connecting thread between Margery Kempe and Julian of Norwich. In an illustrated manuscript page from Showing of Love Julian’s vision of Christ is front and center. She is in her convent cell looking outwards to the vision. This image in many ways is an apt description of Julian’s Showing. Through the experience of her illness induced visions she felt she was gifted God’s wisdom and teaching and sought to share the insights granted her to her fellow man. The fact that both women suffered what may have been near death experiences doesn’t lessen their call to faith it merely reinforces that when faced with the end of their lives they left themselves open to divine understanding. This surrender to divine understanding could perhaps be seen as a feminine response to the vast unknown or more likely, an obvious side effect of their pre-existing faith. Prior to their experiences both women were practicing Christians with Julian being an active servant of God. Although divided by social class and societal expectation (Margery was a married, middle class woman and Julian belonged to a religious order) they each in their own lives reached past what was expected or wanted of their sex. They strove to attain understanding beyond the physical sphere of their existence and in doing so left a permanent impression on their society and their faith.

The images in this appendix only scratch the surface of the influence of the texts but they are apt enough accompaniments to two important literary  examples of female Medieval writers. These texts also offer their own internal imagery but by featuring examples of the illustrations of the period in this anthology it can be easier to create a window into how life and women were depicted visually in the Medieval era. When it comes down to it, Margery Kempe and Julian of Norwich speak for themselves and of their faith in a way only they could narrate. It is the job of the anthology to simply highlight and bring their voices to a new era.

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The Legend of Good Women- Geoffrey Chaucer

Hyd, Absolon (1), thy gilte tresses clere; 250   Ester, ley thou thy meknesse al a-doun;      Hyd, Ionathas, al thy frendly manere;      Penalopee, and Marcia Catoun,      Mak of your wyfhod no comparisoun;      Hyde ye your beautes, Isoude and Eleyne,      My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne.

     Thy faire body, lat hit nat appere,      Lavyne; and thou, Lucresse of Rome toun,      And Polixene, that boghten love so dere,      And Cleopatre, with al thy passioun, 260   Hyde ye your trouthe of love and your renoun;      And thou, Tisbe, that hast of love swich peyne;      My lady cometh (2), that al this may disteyne.

     Herro, Dido, Laudomia, alle y-fere,      And Phyllis, hanging for thy Demophon,      And Canace, espyed by thy chere,      Ysiphile, betrayed with Jasoun,      Maketh of your trouthe neyther boost ne soun;      Nor Ypermistre or Adriane, ye tweyne;      My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne.

270   This balade may ful wel y-songen be,      As I have seyd erst, by my lady free;      For certeynly, alle these now nat suffyse      To apperen with my lady in no wyse.      For as the sonne wol the fyr disteyne,      So passeth al my lady sovereyne,      That is so good, so fair, so debonaire;      I prey to god that ever falle hir faire!      For, nadde comfort been of hir presence,      I had ben deed, withouten any defence, 280   For drede of Loves wordes and his chere;      As, when tyme is, her-after ye shal here.

     Behind this god of love, upon the grene,      I saugh cominge of ladyes nyntene      In real habit, a ful esy paas;      And after hem com of women swich a traas,      That, sin that god Adam had mad of erthe,      The thridde part of mankynd, or the ferthe,      Ne wende I nat by possibilitee,      Had ever in this wyde worlde y-be; 290   And trewe of love thise women were echoon.

     Now whether was that a wonder thing or noon,      That, right anoon as that they gonne espye      This flour, which that I clepe the dayesye,      Ful sodeinly they stinten alle at ones,      And kneled doun, as it were for the nones,      And songen with o vois, "hele and honour      To trouthe of womanhede, and to this flour      That berth our alder prys in figuringe!      Hir whyte coroun berth the witnessinge!"

300   And with that word, a compas enviroun,      They setten hem ful softly adoun.      First sat the god of love, and sith his quene      With the whyte coroun, clad in grene;      And sithen al the remenant by and by,      As they were of estaat, ful curteisly;      Ne nat a word was spoken in the place      The mountance of a furlong-wey of space.

     I kneling by this flour, in good entente      Abood, to knowen what this peple mente, 310   As stille as any stoon; til at the laste,      This god of love on me his eyen caste,      And seyde, "who kneleth ther?" and I answerde      Unto his asking, whan that I hit herde,      And seyde, "sir, hit am I"; and com him neer,      And salued him.  Quod he, "what dostow heer      So nigh myn owne flour, so boldely?      For it were better worthy, trewely,      A worm to neghen neer my flour than thou."      "And why, sir," quod I, "and hit lyke yow?" 320   "For thou," quod he, "art ther-to nothing able.      Hit is my relik, digne and delytable,      And thou my fo, and al my folk werreyest,      And of myn olde servaunts thou misseyest,      And hindrest hem, with thy translacioun,      And lettest folk from hir devocioun      To serve me, and holdest hit folye      To serve Love.  Thou mayest hit nat denye;      For in pleyn text, with-outen nede of glose,      Thou hast translated the Romaunce of the Rose, 330   That is an heresye ageyns my lawe,      And makest wyse folk fro me withdrawe.      And of Criseyde thou hast seyd as thee liste,      That maketh men to wommen lasse triste,      That ben as trewe as ever was any steel.      Of thyn answere avyse thee right weel;      For, thogh that thou reneyed hast my lay,      As other wrecches han doon many a day,      By seynt Venus, that my moder is,      If that thou live, thou shalt repenten this 340   So cruelly, that hit shal wel be sene!"

     Tho spak this lady, clothed al in grene,      And seyde, "god, right of your curtesye,      Ye moten herknen if he can replye      Agayns al this that ye han to him meved;      A god ne sholde nat be thus agreved,      But of his deitee he shal be stable,      And therto gracious and merciable.      And if ye nere a god, that knowen al,      Than mighte hit be, as I yow tellen shal; 350   This man to you may falsly been accused,      Ther as by right him oghte been excused.      For in your court is many a losengeour,      And many a queynte totelere accusour,      That tabouren in your eres many a soun,      Right after hir imaginacioun,      To have your daliance, and for envye;      These been the causes, and I shall nat lye.      Envye is lavender of the court alway;      For she ne parteth, neither night ne day, 360   Out of the hous of Cesar; thus seith Dante;      Who-so that goth, algate she wol nat wante.      And eek, paraunter, for this man is nyce,      He mighte doon hit, gessing no malyce,      But for he useth thinges for to make;      Him rekketh noght of what matere he take;

     Or him was boden maken thilke tweye      Of som persone, and durste hit nat with-seye;      Or him repenteth utterly of this.      He ne hath nat doon so grevously amis 370   To translaten that olde clerkes wryten,      As thogh that he of malice wolde endyten      Despyt of love, and had him-self hit wroght. ��    This shulde a rightwys lord have in his thoght,      And nat be lyk tiraunts of Lumbardye,      That han no reward but at tirannye.      For he that king or lord is naturel,      Him oghte nat be tiraunt ne cruel,      As is a fermour, to doon the harm he can.      He moste thinke hit is his lige man, 380   And is his tresour, and his gold in cofre.      This is the sentence of the philosophre:      A king to kepe his liges in Iustyce;      With-outen doute, that is his offyce.      Al wole he kepe his lordes hir degree,      As hit is right and skilful that they be      Enhaunced and honoured, and most dere --      For they ben half-goddes in this world here --      Yit mot he doon bothe right, to pore and riche,      Al be that hir estat be nay y-liche, 390   And han of pore folk compassioun,      For lo, the gentil kynd of the leoun!      For whan a flye offendeth him or byteth,      He with his tayl awey the flye smyteth      Al esily; for, of his genterye,      Him deyneth nat to wreke him on a flye,      As doth a curre or elles another beste.      In noble corage oghte been areste,      And weyen every thing by equitee,      And ever han reward to his owen degree. 400   For, sir, hit is no maystrie for a lord      To dampne a man with-oute answere of word;      And, for a lord, that is ful foul to use.      And if so be he may him nat excuse,      But asketh mercy with a dredful herte,      And profreth him, right in his bare sherte,      To been right at your owne Iugement,      Than oghte a god, by short avysement,      Considre his owne honour and his trespas.      For sith no cause of deeth lyth in his cas, 410   Yow oghte been the lighter merciable;      Leteth your yre, and beth somwhat tretable!      The man hath served yow of his conning,      And forthred wel your lawe in his making.

     "Al be hit that he can nat wel endyte,      Yet hath he maked lewed folk delyte      To serve you, in preysing of your name.      He made of the book that hight the Hous of Fame,      And eek the Deeth of Blaunche the Duchesse,      And the Parlement of Foules, and I gesse, 420   And al the love of Palamon and Arcyte      Of Thebes, thogh the story is knowen lyte;      And many an ympne for your halydayes,      That highten Balades, Roundels, Virelayes;      And, for to speke of other holynesse,      He hath in prose translated Boece,      And mad the Lyf also of seynt Cecyle;      He made also, goon sithen a greet whyl,      Origenes upon the Maudeleyne;      Him oghte now to have the lesse peyne; 430   He hath mad many a lay and many a thing.

     "Now as ye been a god, and eek a king,      I, your Alceste, whylom quene of Trace,      I aske yow this man, right of your grace,      That ye him never hurte in al his lyve;      And he shal sweren yow, and that as blyve,      He shal no more agilten in this wyse;      But he shal maken, as ye wil devyse,      Of wommen trewe in lovinge al hir lyve,      Wher-so ye wil, of maiden or of wyve, 440   And forthren yow, as muche as he misseyde      Or in the Rose or elles in Creseyde."

     The god of love answerde hir thus anoon,      "Madame," quod he, "hit is so long agoon      That I yow knew so charitable and trewe,      That never yit, sith that the world was newe,      To me ne fond I better noon than ye.      If that I wolde save my degree,      I may ne wol nat werne your requeste;      Al lyth in yow, doth with him as yow leste. 450   I al foryeve, with-outen lenger space;      For who-so yeveth a yift, or doth a grace,      Do hit by tyme, his thank is wel the more;      And demeth ye what he shal do therfore.      Go thanke now my lady heer," quod he.

     I roos, and doun I sette me on my knee,      And seyde thus: "madame, the god above      Foryelde yow, that ye the god of love      Han maked me his wrathe to foryive;      And yeve me grace so long for to live, 460   That I may knowe soothly what ye be      That han me holpe and put in this degree.      But truly I wende, as in this cas,      Naught have agilt, ne doon to love trespas.      Forwhy a trewe man, with-outen drede,      Hath not to parten with a theves dede;      Ne a trewe lover oghte me nat blame,      Thogh that I speke a fals lover som shame.      They oghte rather with me for to holde,      For that I of Creseyde wroot or tolde, 470   Or of the Rose; what-so myn auctour mente,      Algate, god wot, hit was myn entente      To forthren trouthe in love and hit cheryce;      And to be war fro falsnesse and fro vyce      By swich ensample; this was my meninge."

     And she answerde, "lat be thyn arguinge;      For Love ne wol nat countrepleted be      In right ne wrong; and lerne that of me!      Thou hast thy grace, and hold thee right ther-to.      Now wol I seyn what penance thou shald do 480   For thy trespas, and understond hit here:      Thou shalt, whyl that thou livest, yeer by yere,      The moste party of thy tyme spende      In making of a glorious Legende      Of Gode Wommen, maidenes and wyves,      That weren trewe in lovinge al hir lyves;      And telle of false men that hem bitrayen,      That al hir lyf ne doon nat but assayen      How many wommen they may doon a shame;      For in your world that is now holde a game. 490   And thogh thee lyke nat a lover be,      Spek wel of love; this penance yive I thee.      And to the god of love I shal so preye,      That he shal charge his servants, by any weye,      To forthren thee, and wel thy labour quyte;      Go now thy wey, this penance is but lyte.      And whan this book is maad, yive hit the quene      On my behalfe, at Eltham, or at Shene."

     The god of love gan smyle, and than he seyde,      "Wostow," quod he, "wher this be wyf or mayde, 500   Or quene, or countesse, or of what degree,      That hath so litel penance yiven thee,      That hast deserved sorer for to smerte?      But pitee renneth sone in gentil herte;      That maystow seen, she kytheth what she is."      And I answerde, "nay, sir, so have I blis,      No more but that I see wel she is good."

     "That is a trewe tale, by myn hood,"      Quod Love, "and that thou knowest wel, pardee,      If hit be so that thou avyse thee. 510   Hastow nat in a book, lyth in thy cheste,      The grete goodnesse of the quene Alceste,      That turned was into a dayesye:      She that for hir husbande chees to dye,      And eek to goon to helle, rather than he,      And Ercules rescowed hir, pardee,      And broghte hir out of helle agayn to blis?"

     "And I answerde ageyn, and seyde, "yis,      Now knowe I hir!  And is this good Alceste,      The dayesye, and myn owne hertes reste? 520   Now fele I wel the goodnesse of this wyf,      That bothe after hir deeth, and in hir lyf,      Hir grete bountee doubleth hir renoun!      Wel hath she quit me myn affeccioun      That I have to hir flour, the dayesye!      No wonder is thogh Iove hir stellifye,      As telleth Agaton, for hir goodnesse!      Hir whyte coroun berth of hit witnesse;      For also many vertues hadde she,      As smale floures in hir coroun be. 530   In remembraunce of hir and in honour,      Cibella made the dayesy and the flour      Y-coroned al with whyt, as men may see;      And Mars yaf to hir coroun reed, pardee,      In stede of rubies, set among the whyte."

     Therwith this quene wex reed for shame a lyte,      Whan she was preysed so in hir presence.      Than seyde Love, "a ful gret negligence      Was hit to thee, that ilke tyme thou made      `Hyd, Absolon, thy tresses,' in balade, 540   That thou forgete hir in thy song to sette,      Sin that thou art so gretly in hir dette,      And wost so wel, that kalender is she      To any woman that wol lover be.      For she taughte al the craft of fyn lovinge,      And namely of wyfhood the livinge,      And alle the boundes that she oghte kepe;      Thy litel wit was thilke tyme a-slepe.      But now I charge thee, upon thy lyf,      That in thy Legend thou make of this wyf, 550   Whan thou hast other smale y-maad before;      And fare now wel, I charge thee no more.

     "But er I go, thus muche I wol thee telle,      Ne shal no trewe lover come in helle.      Thise other ladies sittinge here arowe      Ben in thy balade, if thou canst hem knowe,      And in thy bokes alle thou shalt hem finde;      Have hem now in thy Legend alle in minde,      I mene of hem that been in thy knowinge.      For heer ben twenty thousand mo sittinge 560   That thou knowest, that been good wommen alle      And trewe of love, for aught that may befalle;      Make the metres of hem as thee leste.      I mot gon hoom, the sonne draweth weste,      To Paradys, with al this companye;      And serve alwey the fresshe dayesye.

     "At Cleopatre I wol that thou beginne;      And so forth; and my love so shalt thou winne.      For lat see now what man that lover be,      Wol doon so strong a peyne for love as she. 570   I wot wel that thou mayest nat al hit ryme,      That swiche lovers diden in hir tyme;      It were so long to reden and to here;      Suffyceth me, thou make in this manere,      That thou reherce of al hir lyf the grete,      After thise olde auctours listen to trete.      For who-so shal so many a storie telle,      Sey shortly, or he shal to longe dwelle."      And with that word my bokes gan I take,      And right thus on my Legend gan I make.

1. Absolon is a character from another work by Chaucer; “The Miller’s Tale” from the Canterbury Tales who infamously was made to kiss the literal anus of another man (although he did think it was the anus of his one true love, she had played the good ‘ol switcheroo on him and switched with her prefered lover.)

2.  Alcestis, a princess from Greek mythology known for her strong love for her husband 

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The Book of Duchess- Geoffrey Chaucer

Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Book of Duchess is one of Chaucer’s earliest works, and it is a long poem that primarily focuses on loss, specifically the loss of a loved one. The speaker, Chaucer, has trouble falling asleep because he is too distracted by the loss of his own love  so he reads the Greek myth of Ceyx and Alcyone. Ceyx had lost his life at sea, while Alcyone mourned for him on shore. Alcyone prays to the god Juno so that she may see her lost love but one more time. This wish was granted, and Ceyx tells Alcyone not to grieve for him anymore, and to bury him.

Chaucer then has a dream where he finds a young knight, dressed all in black, in the middle of a clearing singing a sad song of sorrow. Chaucer asks why the black knight is so gloomy, and the black knight tells Chaucer his story in a veiled way: the black knight says he lost his queen during a game chess against Fortune, but in reality he has actually lost the woman that he loved.

One of the more interesting aspects of this poem is how the black knight is depicted. The black knight quite literally plays the role of a widow; he is dressed in all black, and mourns seemingly all the time. The way that Chaucer has the knight divulge his story can be seen as therapeutic for Chaucer (to help deal with his own grief), and it also plays with our idea of how a knight should act. Knight’s are supposed to be stoic and strong, not overrun with emotions. The black knight’s lady also doesn’t immediately reciprocate his love, another aspect that antagonizes our expectations for a medieval romance, as women were mainly portrayed as not having much say in the matter at all.

           (Lines 515 -709)

He was aware of me, where I stood

Before him, and did doff my hood,

And greeted him, the best I could,

Debonairly, and nothing rude.

He said,’ I pray you, be not wrath,

I heard you not, to tell the truth,

Nor did I see you, sir, most truly.’

‘Ah, good sir, naught ill,’ quoth I,

‘I am right sorry if I by aught

Have stirred you out of your thought;

Forgive me if I did mistake.’

‘Why, your amends are easy to make,’

Quoth he, ‘for there is naught to do;

Nothing ill said or done by you.’

Lo, how goodly spoke the man,

As if he was another person;

Neither proud nor too polite

I saw, and warmed to the knight

And found him so agreeable,

Wondrous reasonable and rational,

It seemed to me, for all his ills.

I straight began to speak at will

To him, to see if I in aught

Might have knowledge of his thought.

‘Sir,’ quoth I, ‘the sport is done;

I think that the hart is gone;

The huntsmen nowhere can it see.’

‘I take no thought of that,’ quoth he;

My mind thereon it does not dwell.’

‘By our Lord,’ quoth I, ‘I know that well,

So from your face it does appear,

But, sir, one word will you hear?

Methinks in great sorrow I you see;

But truly, good sir, if you to me

Would show something of your woe,

I would, if the wise God help me so,

Amend it, if I can or may;

You may prove it by assay.

For, by my troth, to make you whole,

I will do all my powers may hold.

Tell me of all your sorrow’s smart;

Peradventure it may ease your heart,

That seems full sick beneath your side.’

With that he looked on me aside,

As if to say, ‘Nay, that will not be.’

‘Grant mercy, good friend,’ quoth he

‘I thank you that you’d do so,

But it will no swifter make it go;

No man my sorrow gladden may,

That makes my hue to fall and fade,

And has my understanding shorn,

That woe is me that I was born!

Naught can keep my sorrows hid,

Not all the remedies of Ovid,

Nor Orpheus, god of melody,

Nor Daedalus, his artistry;

No help for me from the physician,

Neither Hippocrates nor Galen;

Woe is me that I live hours twelve.

But whoso would prove to himself

Whether his heart can take pity

On any sorrow, let him view me.

I, wretch, that death has flayed

Of all the bliss that ever was made,

Am become the worst of all sights,

Who hate my days and my nights;

My life, my joys to me are loathsome,

For all welfare and I apart run.

Death itself is so much my foe

That my death it wills not so;

For when I follow it, it will flee;

I would have death, it wants not me.

This is my pain, all remedy fled,

Always dying, yet never dead,

Such that Tityus, there in hell,

May not of more sorrow tell.

And whoever knew all, by my truth,

Of my sorrow, and had not ruth

And pity on my sorrow’s smart,

He would have a fiend’s heart.

For whoso sees me on a morrow

May say that he has met with sorrow;

For I am sorrow and sorrow is I.

Alas, and I will tell you why:

My song is turned to complaining,

And all my laughter to weeping,

My glad thoughts to heaviness,

To travail turned my idleness

And my rest too; my weal is woe,

My good is harm, and evermore so

Into wrath is turned my playing,

And my delight into sorrowing.

My health is turned into sickness,

To dread all my contentedness.

To dark is turned all my light,

My wit is folly, my day is night,

My love is hate, my sleep waking,

My mirth and my meals are fasting,

My good countenance is folly,

And all’s confounded where I be,

My peace is argument and war,

Alas, how might I fare ill more?

My boldness is turned to shame,

For false Fortune (1) has played a game

Of chess with me, alas, the while!

The traitress false and full of guile,

Who promises yet delivers naught;

She walks upright and yet she halts,

Who squints all foul and gazes fair,

The disdainful and debonair

Who scorns full many a creature!

An idol of false portraiture

Is she, for she will soon awry,

She is the monster’s head say I,

As filth over-strewn with flowers.

Her highest honour and her flower is

To lie, for that is her nature,

Without faith, law, or measure.

She is false and ever laughing

With one eye, and the other weeping.

All that is raised, she brings down.

I liken her to the scorpion,

That is a false, flattering beast,

For with his head he seems to feast,

But all amidst his flattering

With his tail he will sting

And envenom, and so will she.

She is the envious charity

That’s ever false yet seems to heal;

So she turns her false wheel

About, for it is never stable –

Now by the fire, now at table;

For many a one blind she has sent.

She is the play of enchantment,

That seems a thing, and is not so,

The false thief! What did she though,

Dost think? By our Lord, I will say.

At chess with me she began to play;

With her false moves diversely seen

She stole upon me and took my queen.

And when I saw my queen away,

Alas, I could no longer play,

But said, ‘Farewell, sweet, by this,

And farewell all that ever there is!’

Therewith Fortune said, ‘Check, here!’

And ‘Mate!’ to me in mid-career

With an errant pawn, alas!

Full craftier at play she was

Than Athalus, that first the game

Of chess made; such was his name.

I wish to God that once or twice

I’d studied, learnt the pitfalls thrice

Known to the Greek Pythagoras,

I’d have played the better at chess

Guarded my queen better thereby.

Yet, in truth, I say, what for and why?

I hold that wish not worth a straw.

It would never have aided me more,

For Fortune knows many a wile,

There are but few can her beguile,

And then she is the less to blame;

I myself would have done the same,

Before God, had I been as she;

She should be pardoned more easily,

For this I say, adding thereto:

Had I been God and able to do

My will, when she the victor proved,

I would have made the same move,

For, as I hope God will give me rest,

I dare well swear she chose the best.

But through that move I am shorn

Of bliss; alas, that I was born!

For evermore think I truly,

Despite my wish, my joy is wholly

Overturned, but what’s to be done?

By our Lord, to die and soon be gone.

For nothing I believe in, naught,

But to live and die with that thought.

For there’s no planet in the firmament,

Nor in air or in earth no element,

That does not give me a gift each one

Of weeping when I am alone.

For when I consider well,

And bethink me of what befell,

How that there lies in reckoning

To my sorrows’ credit nothing,

And how there is left no gladness

To lift me out of my distress,

How I’ve lost contentment’s measure,

How, again, I have no pleasure,

Then I may say that I have naught.

And when this passes through my thought,

Alas, then I am overcome,

For what is done is not to come.

I have more sorrow than Tantalus (2).’

1.  Fortuna - the Roman goddess of fortune; “lady luck.”

2. Tantalus - a Greek mythological figure; was punished by the Gods and was left to suffer, unable to quench his thirst or feed his hunger. 

[ishipbertigwain-blog]

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight- The Pearl Poet

          The Pearl Poet, also known as the Gawain Poet, wrote Sir Gawain and the Green Knight as as an allegory for the honorability of knights. All throughout the story, Gawain tries to resist the advances of Lady Bertilak, knowing that he will have to reciprocate whatever he did that day to the Lord Bertilak, who was the Green Knight in disguise. Lord Bertilak seems to enjoy this exchange, at one point even pointing out “that’s a poor price to pay for such precious things as you so have given me here, three such kisses so good,” in reference to the meager amount of game that he had to exchange for the kiss. 

          Even in the beginning of Fitt one, the Green Knight is described in such an intimate way, from his build to the exact way that he’s dressed, emphasizing how strong of a knight he must be. This level of homoeroticism is something that can only be examined freely from the viewpoint of the past generations’ advances towards LGBTQ+ rights. The Green Knight set up this exchange and purposefully had his wife try to seduce Gawain, knowing that Gawain would show his knightly honor by being forthcoming with his daily “earnings.” Had the situation between Lady Bertilak and Gawain gone further than kissing, would Gawain have kept his word and exchanged the day’s activities freely with the Green Knight? Examining this classic tale of heroism from this point of view provides for a fresh, exciting spin on an old tale.

(Because of length constraints, we have chosen to omit certain stanzas from this fitt that are not related to the theme we are exploring. Omitted sections will be denoted by ***)

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, The Pearl Poet

7

Now will I of their service say you no more, for each man may well know no want was there another noise full new neared with speed, that would give the lord leave to take meat. For scarce was the noise not a while ceased, and the first course in the court duly served, there hales in at the hall door a dreadful man, the most in the world’s mould of measure high, from the nape to the waist so swart and so thick(1), and his loins and his limbs so long (2) and so great half giant on earth I think now that he was; but the most of man anyway I mean him to be, and that the finest in his greatness that might ride, for of back and breast though his body was strong, both his belly and waist were worthily small (3), and his features all followed his form made and clean. Wonder at his hue men displayed, set in his semblance seen; he fared as a giant were made, and over all deepest green. 8 And all garbed in green this giant and his gear: a straight coat full tight that stuck to his sides, a magnificent mantle above, masked within with pelts pared pertly, the garment agleam with blithe ermine full bright, and his hood both, that was left from his locks and laid on his shoulders; neat, well-hauled hose of that same green that clung to his calves and sharp spurs under (4) of bright gold, on silk stockings rich-barred, and no shoes under sole where the same rides. And all his vesture verily was bright verdure, both the bars of his belt and other bright stones, that were richly rayed in his bright array about himself and his saddle, on silk work, it were tortuous to tell of these trifles the half, embroidered above with birds and butterflies, with gay gaudy of green, the gold ever inmost. The pendants of his harness, the proud crupper, his bridle and all the metal enamelled was then; the stirrups he stood on stained with the same, and his saddle bows after, and saddle skirts, ever glimmered and glinted all with green stones. The horse he rode on was also of that hue, certain: A green horse great and thick, a steed full strong to restrain, in broidered bridle quick – to the giant he brought gain. A steed full strong to restrain 9 Well garbed was this giant geared in green, and the hair of his head like his horse’s mane. Fair fanned-out flax enfolds his shoulders; A beard big as a bush over his breast hangs, that with the haul of hair that from his head reaches was clipped all round about above his elbows, that half his hands thereunder were hid in the wise of a king’s broad cape that’s clasped at his neck. The mane of that mighty horse was much alike, well crisped and combed, with knots full many plaited in thread of gold about the fair green, here a thread of the hair, and there of gold. The tail and his forelock twinned, of a suit, and bound both with a band of a bright green, dressed with precious stones, as its length lasted; then twined with a thong, a tight knot aloft, where many bells bright of burnished gold ring. Such a man on a mount, such a giant that rides, was never before that time in hall in sight of human eye. He looked as lightning bright, said all that him descried; it seemed that no man might his mighty blows survive. 10 And yet he had no helm nor hauberk, neither, nor protection, nor no plate pertinent to arms, nor no shaft, nor no shield, to strike and smite, (5) but in his one hand he held a holly branch, that is greatest in green when groves are bare, and an axe in his other, one huge, monstrous, a perilous spar to expound in speech, who might. The head of an ell-rod its large length had, the spike all of green steel and of gold hewn, the blade bright burnished with a broad edge as well shaped to sheer as are sharp razors. The shaft of a strong staff the stern man gripped, that was wound with iron to the wand’s end, and all engraved with green in gracious workings; a cord lapped it about, that linked at the head, and so around the handle looped full oft, with tried tassels thereto attached enough on buttons of the bright green broidered full rich. This stranger rides in and the hall enters, driving to the high dais, danger un-fearing. Hailed he never a one, but high he overlooked. The first word that he spoke: ‘Where is,’ he said, ‘the governor of this throng? Gladly I would see that soul in sight and with himself speak reason.’ On knights he cast his eyes, And rolled them up and down. He stopped and studied ay

who was of most renown.

***

45 ‘And further,’ quoth the lord, ‘a bargain we’ll make: whatsoever I win in the wood is worthily yours; and whatever here you achieve, exchange me for it. Sweet sir, swap we so – swear it in truth – whether, lord, that way lies worse or better.’ ‘By God,’ quoth Gawain the good, ‘I grant it you, and that you lust for to play, like it methinks.’ ‘Who’ll bring us a beverage, this bargain to make?’ so said the lord of that land. They laughed each one, they drank and dallied and dealt in trifles, these lords and ladies, as long as they liked; and then with Frankish faring, full of fair words, they stopped and stood and softly spoke, kissing full comely and taking their leave. By many lively servants with flaming torches, each brave man was brought to his bed at last full soft. To bed yet ere they sped, repeating the contract oft; the old lord of that spread could keep a game aloft.

46 Full early before the day the folk were risen; Guests who would go their grooms they called on, and they busied them briskly the beasts to saddle, tightening their tackle, trussing their baggage. The richest ready themselves to ride all arrayed, leaping up lightly, latched onto their bridles, each rode out by the way that he most liked. The beloved lord of the land was not the last arrayed for the riding, with ranks full many; ate a sop hastily, when he had heard Mass, with horns to the hunting field he hastens away. By the time that daylight gleamed upon earth, he with his knights on high horses were. Then the cunning hunters coupled their hounds, unclosed the kennel door and called them out, blew briskly on their bugles three bare notes; braches bayed therefore, and bold noise made, and men chastised and turned those that chasing went, a hundred of hunters, as I have heard tell, of the best. To station, keepers strode, huntsmen leashes off-cast; great rumpus in that wood there rose with their good blasts.

47 At the first call of the quest quaked the wild; deer drove for the dales, darting for dread, hied to the high ground, but swiftly they were stayed by the beaters, with their stout cries. They let the harts with high branched heads have way, the brave bucks also with their broad antlers; for the noble lord had bidden that in close season no man there should meddle with those male deer. The hinds were held back with a ‘Hey’ and a ‘Ware!’ The does driven with great din to the deep coves. There might men see, as they loosed, the slanting of arrows; at each winding of the wood whistled a flight, that bit into brown flanks, with broad blade-heads. What screaming and bleeding, by banks they lay dying, and ever the hounds in a rush hard on them followed, hunters with high horn-calls hastened them after, with such a crack and cry as cliffs were bursting. What wild beasts so escaped the men shooting were all dragged down and rent by the new reserves, when hunted from high ground, and harried to water. The lads were so skilled at the lower stations, and the greyhounds so great, that gripped so quickly and dragged them down, as swift I swear, as sight. In bliss without alloy the lord does spur or alight, and passes that day with joy and so to the dark night.

48 Thus larks the lord by linden-wood eaves, while Gawain the good man gaily abed lies, lurks till the daylight gleams on the walls, under canopy full clear, curtained about. And as in slumber he lay, softly he heard a little sound at his door, and it slid open; and he heaves up his head out of the clothes, a corner of the curtain he caught up a little, and watches warily to make out what it might be. It was the lady (6), the loveliest to behold, that drew the door after her full silent and still, and bent her way to the bed; and the knight ashamed, laid him down again lightly and feigned to sleep. And she stepped silently and stole to his bed, caught up the curtain and crept within, and sat her full softly on the bedside and lingered there long, to look when he wakened. The lord lay low, lurked a full long while, compassing in his conscience what this case might mean or amount to, marvelling in thought. But yet he said to himself: ‘More seemly it were to descry with speech, in a space, what she wishes.’ Then he wakened and wriggled and to her he turned, and lifted his eyelids and let on he was startled, and signed himself with his hand, as with prayer, to be safer. With chin and cheek full sweet, both white and red together, full graciously did she greet, lips light with laughter.

49 ‘Good morning, Sir Gawain,’ said that sweet lady, ‘You are a sleeper unsafe, that one may slip hither. Now are you taken in a trice, lest a truce we shape, I shall bind you in your bed, that you may trust.’ All laughing the lady made her light jests. ‘Good morrow, sweet,’ quoth Gawain the blithe, ‘I shall work your will, and that I well like, for I yield me swiftly and sue for grace; and that is the best, to my mind, since behoves I must.’ And thus he jested again with much blithe laughter. ‘But would you, lovely lady, but grant me leave and release your prisoner and pray him to rise, I would bound from this bed and dress me better, I should discover more comfort in speaking with you.’ ‘Nay, forsooth, beau sire,’ said that sweet, ‘You shall not rise from your bed. I charge you better: I shall wrap you up here on this other side, and then chat with my knight whom I have caught; for I know well, indeed, Sir Gawain you are, that all the world worships, wherever you ride. Your honour, your courtesy, is nobly praised among lords, among ladies, all who life bear. And now you are here, indeed, and we on our own; my lord and his lords are far off faring, other knights are abed, and my ladies also, the door drawn and shut with a strong hasp. And since I have in this house him who all like, I shall work my time well, while it lasts, with a tale. Your are welcome to my body, Your pleasure to take all; I must by necessity your servant be, and shall.’

50 ‘In good faith,’ quoth Gawain, ‘a gain’s that me thinks, though I be not now him of whom you are speaking; to reach to such reverence as you rehearse here, I am all ways unworthy, I know well myself. By God, I’d be glad though if you thought it fit in speech or service that I might set myself to the pleasing of your worth – that were a pure joy.’ ‘In good faith, Sir Gawain,’ quoth the sweet lady, ‘The worth and the prowess that pleases all others, if I slighted or thought light of it, that were little grace; but there are ladies enough that would far rather have you, dear man, to hold, as I have you here, to dally dearly in your delightful words, comfort themselves and ease their cares, than make much of the treasure and gold they have. But as I love that same Lord that the heavens rules, I have wholly in my hand what all desire through grace.’ She made him thus sweet cheer, who was so fair of face; the knight with speeches clear answered her every case. 51 ‘Madam,’ quoth the merry man, ‘Mary give you grace, for I have found, in good faith, your friendship is noble. Others gain full much of other folks praise for their deeds, but the deference they deal me is undeserved in my case. It is honour to you that naught but good you perceive.’ ‘By Mary,’ quoth the lady, ‘methinks it otherwise; for were I worth all the wonder of women alive, and all the wealth of the world were in my hand, and I should bargain to win myself a brave lord, with the qualities that I know of you, knight, here, of beauty and debonair and blithe seeming, that I hearkened to ere now and have here found true, then should no errant on earth before you be chosen.’ ‘Indeed, lady,’ quoth the knight, ‘you have done much better; but I am proud of the value you place on me, and, solemnly your servant, my sovereign I hold you, and your knight I become, and Christ reward you!’ Thus they mulled many matters till mid-morn passed, and ever the lady let fall that she loved him much; yet the knight held to his guard, and acted full fair. ‘Though I were loveliest lady,’ so her mind had it, ‘the less is there love in his load’ – for his fate he sought that one, the stroke that should him cleave, and it must needs be done. The lady then sought to leave, he granting her that boon. 52 Then she gave him good day, with a laughing glance, and stunned him as she stood there, with cutting words: ‘May He who speeds each speech reward you this sport! But that you should be Gawain, it baffles the mind.’ ‘Wherefore?’ quoth the knight, and urgently asked, fearful lest he had failed in forms of politeness. But the lady blessed him and spoke as follows: ‘One gracious as Gawain is rightly held to be, with courtesy contained so clear in himself, could not lightly have lingered so long with a lady, but he had craved a kiss out of courtesy, with some trifling touch at some tale’s end.’ Then quoth Gawain: ‘Indeed, let it be as you like; I shall kiss at your command, as befits a knight, and further, lest I displease you, so plead no more.’ She comes nearer at that, and catches him in her arms, leans lovingly down, and the lord kisses (7). They graciously commend to Christ one another; and she goes out at the door with not a word more; And he readies himself to rise and hurries anon, calls to his chamberlain, chooses his clothes, going forth, when he is ready, blithely to Mass. And then he went to the noble meal that awaited, and made merry all day till the moonrise, at games. Was never knight fairer sung between two such noble dames, the elder and the young; much joy had they of the same.

***

55 Then the lord commanded all be summoned to the hall, both the ladies, aloft, to descend with their maids. Before all the folk on the floor, he bid men verily his venison to bring there before him; and all gaily in courtesy Gawain he called, and tells over the tally of full fat beasts, shows him the fine flesh shorn from the ribs. ‘How does this sport please you? Have I won praise? Have I won thanks, thoroughly served by my craft?’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ quoth the other, ‘here spoils are fairest of all I have seen this seven-year in season of winter.’ ‘And I give all this to you, Gawain,’ quoth the man then, ‘for according to covenant you may call it your own.’ ‘That is so,’ quoth the knight, ‘I say you the same: what I have worthily won this house within, shall with as good a will be worthily yours.’ And he clasps his fair neck his arms within, and kisses him in as comely a way as he can(8): ‘Take you there my prize, I received no more; I would grant it all, though it were greater.’ ‘That is good,’ quoth the lord, ‘many thanks therefore. This may be the better gift, if you would tell me where you won this same prize by your own wits.’ ‘That was not pledged,’ quoth he, ‘ask me no more; for you have taken what’s due, none other to you I owe.’ They laughed and made blithe with words worth praise, and so to supper then side by side, with dainties in plenty go.

***

59 She came to the curtain and peeped at the knight. Sir Gawain welcomed her courteously first, and she answered him again eager her words, sits herself soft by his side, and sweetly she laughs, and with a loving look she led with these words: ‘Sir, if you be Gawain, it’s a wonder methinks, why one so well disposed always to good, knows not how to manage his manners in company, and if any teach you to know them, you cast them from mind. You have swiftly forgot what but yesterday I taught with all the truest tokens of talk that I could.’ ‘What is that?’ quoth the knight, ‘Indeed I know not. If it be truth that you breathe, the blame is mine own.’ ‘Yet I taught you of kissing.’ quoth the fair dame, ‘where countenance is fair, quick make your claim; that becomes every knight that courtesy uses.’ ‘Unsay,’ quoth that brave man, ‘my dear, that speech, for that I dare not do, lest I were denied; if I were spurned, I’d be wrong, indeed, to have proffered.’ ‘By my faith,’ quoth the lady, ‘you cannot be spurned; you are strong enough to constrain by strength, if you like, if any were so villainous as to deny you.’ ‘Yes, by God,’ quoth Gawain, ‘true is your speech, but threats do never thrive in the land where I live, nor any gift that is given without a good will. I am at your command, to kiss when you like; you may lip when you will, and leave when you wish in a space.’ The lady bends her adown and sweetly she kisses his face; much speech they there expound of love, its grief and grace. 60 ‘I would know of you, knight,’ that lady then said, ‘if you are not angered by this, what is the reason that so young and lively a one as you at this time, so courteous, so knightly, as widely you’re known (and from all chivalry to choose, the chief things praised are the laws of loyal love, and the lore of arms; for in telling those tales of the truest of knights, all the title and text of their works is taken from how lords hazard their lives for loyal love, endured for that duty’s sake dreadful trials, and after with valour avenged, and void their cares, brought bliss to the bower by bounties their own) and you, the knight, the noblest child of your age, your high fame and honour told everywhere, why I have sat by yourself here separately twice, yet heard I never that your head held even a word that ever belonged to love, the less nor the more. And you, that are so courteous and coy of your vows, ought, to a young thing, to yearn to show and teach some tokens of true love’s craft What! Are you ignorant, who garner all praise, or else do you deem me too dull to heed your dalliance? For shame! I come hither single and sit to learn of you some game; do teach me of your wit, while my lord is away.’ 61 ‘In good faith,’ quoth Gawain, ‘may God reward you! Great is the gladness, and pleasure to me, that so worthy as you should wind her way hither, at pains with so poor a man as to sport with your knight with any show of favour – it sets me at ease. But to take on the travail myself of expounding true love, and touch on the themes of the texts and tales of arms to you who, I know well, wield more skill in that art, by half, than a hundred of such as I am or ever shall be, on this earth where I live – that were a manifold folly, my dear, by my troth. I would your wishes work if ever I might, as I am highly beholden, and evermore will be servant to yourself, so save me God!’ Thus that lady framed her questions and tempted him oft(9), for to win him to woe, whatever else she thought of; but he defended himself so fairly no fault it seemed, no evil on either hand, nor did they know aught but bliss. They laughed and larked full long; at the last she did him kiss, farewell was on her tongue, and went her way, with this.

*** 65 The lord, full loud he cried, laughed merrily when he saw Sir Gawain; and with joy he speaks. The good ladies were summoned, the household gathered; he shows him the boar’s sides, and shapes him the tale of the largeness and length, the malignity also, of the war on the wild swine in woods where he fled. So the other knight full nobly commended his deeds, and praised it, the great merit that he had proved; for such brawn from a beast, the brave knight said, nor such flanks on a swine he’d not seen before. Then they handled the huge head, the knight gave praise, and showed horror at it, for the lord to hear. ‘Now Gawain,’ quoth the good man, ‘this game is your own, by a firm and fast promise, as in faith you know.’ ‘That is true,’ quoth the knight, ‘and as surely true is that all I got I shall give you again, by my troth.’ He clasped the lord at the neck and gently kissed him(10), and after that of the same he again served him there. ‘Now are we even quit,’ quoth the knight, ‘this eventide, of all the covenants made here, since I came hither, by law.’ The lord said: ‘By Saint Giles, you are the best that I know; you’ll be rich in a while, if your trade continues so.’ 66 Then they set up tables on trestles aloft, casting cloths on them. Clear light then wakened the walls, waxen torches servants set, and served food all about. Much gladness and glee gushed out therein round the fire on the floor, and in fulsome wise at the supper and after, many noble songs, such as Christmas carols and dances new, with all manner of mirth that man may tell of, and ever our courteous knight the lady beside. Such sweetness to that man she showed all seemly, with secret stolen glances, that stalwart knight to please, that all wondering was the man, and wrath with himself; but he could not out of breeding spurn her advances, but dealt with her daintily, howsoever the deed might be cast. When they had dallied in hall as long as their will might last, to chamber the lord him called, and to the hearth they passed. 67 And there they drank and debated and decided anew to act on the same terms on New Year’s Eve; but the knight craved leave to go forth on the morn, for it was nearing the time when he must go. The lord persuaded him not to, pressed him to linger, and said: ‘As I am true, I pledge you my troth you shall gain the Green Chapel, and render your dues, sir, by New Year’s light, long before prime. And so go lie in your room and take your ease, and I shall hunt in the holt and hold to the covenant, exchanging what has chanced, when I spur hither; for I have tested you twice, and faithful I find you. Now: “third time pays all,” think on that tomorrow; Make we merry while we may, and mind only joy, for a man may find sorrow whenever he likes.’ This was graciously granted and Gawain lingered; Blithely they brought him drink, and bed-wards they went with light. Sir Gawain lies down and sleeps full still and soft all night; the lord who to woodcraft keeps, rises early and bright. *** 69 Then was it lively delight to list to the hounds, when all the meet had met him, mingled together. Such curses at that sight rained down on his head as if all the clinging cliffs clattered down in a heap. Here was he hallooed when huntsmen met him, loud was he greeted with snarling speech; there he was threatened and called thief often, and ever the hounds at his tail, that he might not tarry. Oft he was rushed at when he made for the open, and often swerved back again, so wily was Reynard. and so he led them astray, the lord and his liegemen, in this manner by mountains till after mid-morning, while the honoured knight at home happily slept within the comely curtains, on that cold morn. But the lady for love could get no sleep, nor could the purpose impair pitched in her heart, but rose up swiftly, and took herself thither in a merry mantle, that reached the earth, that was furred full fine with purest pelts; without coif on her head, but the noblest gems traced about her hair-net by twenties in clusters; her fair face and her throat shown all naked, her breast bare before, and her back the same(11). She came in by the chamber door and closed it after, threw open a window and to the knight called, and roundly thus rebuked him with her rich words with cheer: ‘Ah! Man, how can you sleep? This morning is so clear.’ He was in slumber deep, and yet he could her hear. 70 In heavy depths of dreaming murmured that noble, as one that was troubled with thronging thoughts, of how destiny would that day deal him his fate at the Green Chapel, where he must meet his man, bound there to bear his buffet without more debate. But when he had fully recovered his wits, he started from dreaming and answered in haste. The lovely lady with laughter so sweet, bent over his fair face and fully him kissed(12). He welcomed her worthily with noble cheer; he saw her so glorious and gaily attired, so faultless of feature and of such fine hue, bright welling joy warmed all his heart. With sweet smiling softly they slip into mirth, that to all bliss and beauty, that breaks between them, they win. They spoke in words full good, much pleasure was therein; in great peril would have stood, kept not Mary her knight from sin. 71 For that peerless princess pressed him so closely, urged him so near the edge, he felt it behoved him either to bow to her love, or with loathing refuse her. He cared for his courtesy, lest he were churlish, and more for the mischief if he should work sin and be traitor to that lord who held the dwelling. ‘God shield us!’ quoth the knight, ‘that must not befall!’ With loving laughter a little he put aside all the special pleading that sprang from her mouth. Quoth beauty to the brave: ‘Blame you deserve, if you love not that live lady that you lie next, who above all of the world is wounded in heart, unless you have a leman, a lover, that you like better, and firm of faith to that fair one, fastened so hard that you list not to loose it – and that I believe. If that you tell me that truly, I pray you; by all the lovers alive, hide not the truth with guile.’ The knight said: ‘By Saint John,’ and gentle was his smile ‘In faith I love no one, nor none will love the while.’ 72 ‘These words,’ said the lady, ‘are the worst words of all; but I am answered forsooth, so that it grieves me. Kiss me now gently, and I shall go hence; I may but mourn upon earth, a maid that loves much.’ Sighing she stooped down, and sweetly him kissed, and then she severs from him, and says as she stands: ‘Now, dear, at this our parting set me at ease: give me something, a gift, if only your glove, that I may think of you, man, my mourning to lessen.’ ‘Now indeed,’ quoth the knight, ‘I would I had here the dearest thing, for your sake, I own in the world, for you have deserved, forsooth, and in excess, a richer reward, by rights, than I might reckon; but as a love-token, this would profit you little. It is not to your honour to have at this time a glove of Gawain’s giving to treasure; and I am here on an errand in lands unknown, and have no servants with sacks of precious things. I dislike this, my lady, for your sake, at this time; but each man must do as he must, take it not ill nor pine.’ ‘Nay, knight of high honours,’ quoth that love-some lady fine, ‘though I shall have naught of yours, yet shall you have of mine.’

73 She proffered him a rich ring of red gold work, with a sparkling stone glittering aloft, that blazed brilliant beams like the bright sun; know you well that it’s worth was full huge. But the knight refused it and he readily said: ‘I’ll no gifts, before God, my dear, at this time; I have none to give you, nor naught will I take.’ She offered it him eagerly, yet he her gift spurned, and swore swiftly his oath that he would not seize it; and she grieved he refused her, and said thereafter: ‘Since you reject my ring, too rich it may seem, for you would not be so high beholden to me, I shall give you my girdle: that profits you less.’ She loosed a belt lightly that lay round her sides, looped over her kirtle beneath her bright mantle. Gear it was of green silk and with gold trimmed, at the edges embroidered, with finger-stitching; and that she offered the knight, and blithely besought that he would take it though it were unworthy. but he said he might have nigh him in no wise neither gold nor treasure, ere God sent him grace, to achieve the errand he had chosen there. ‘And therefore, I pray you, be not displeased, and let your gift go, for I swear it I can never you grant. To you I am deeply beholden, your kindness is so pleasant, and ever in heat and cold, then I’ll be your true servant.’ 74 ‘Now do you shun this silk,’ said the lady, ‘because it is simple in itself? And so it may seem. Lo! It is slight indeed, and so is less worthy. But whoso knew the worth woven therein he would hold it in higher praise, perchance; for whatever man is girt with this green lace, while he has it closely fastened about him, there is no man under heaven might hew him, for he may not be slain by any sleight upon earth.’ Then the knight thought, and it came to his heart, it was a jewel for the jeopardy judged upon him, when he gained the Green Chapel, his fate to find; if he might slip past un-slain, the sleight were noble. Then he indulged her suit, and told her to speak. And she pressed the belt on him urging it eagerly; and he granted it, and she gave it him with goodwill, and besought him, for her sake, never to reveal it, but loyally conceal it from her lord. The knight agrees that no one should know of it, indeed, but they two, betimes. He thanked her as he might, with all his heart and mind. By then the gallant knight, she had kissed three times. 75 Then took she her leave and left him there, for more of that man she might not get. When she is gone, Sir Gawain attires himself, rises and dresses himself in noble array, lays aside the love-lace the lady gave him, hides it full handily where he might find it. Then swiftly to the chapel took he his way, privately approached a priest, and there prayed him that he would enlighten his life and teach him better how his soul might be saved when he went hence. Then he shrove himself fully, eschewed his misdeeds the major and minor, and mercy beseeches, and calls on the priest for absolution; and he absolved him surely and left him so pure that Doomsday yet might be declared on the morn. And then he made himself merry among the fair ladies, with comely carols and all manner of joy, more than ever before that day, till the dark night, in bliss. Each one had courtesy there of him, and said: ‘He is the merriest he was ever since he came hither, ere this.’ ***

77 And then they hurry for home, for it was nigh night, striking up strongly on their stout horns. The lord alights at last at his much-loved home, finds fire upon hearth, the knight there beside, Sir Gawain the good who glad was withal – for among the ladies he was joyfully beloved. He wore a gown of blue that reached to the ground. His surcoat suited him well, all soft with fur, and his hood of the same hung from his shoulder, trimmed all with ermine were both all about. He met with the lord in the midst of the floor, and all with joy did him greet, and gladly he said: ‘I shall fulfil the first our contract now, that we settled so speedily sparing no drink.’ Then he clasped the lord and kissed him thrice, as strongly and steadily as he well could. ‘By Christ,’ quoth the other, ‘you’ve found much luck in transacting this trade, if your profit was good.’ ‘You need not care about profit,’ quick quoth the other, ‘as I’ve promptly paid over the profit I took.’ ‘Marry,’ quoth the other, ‘my own falls behind, for I have hunted all this day, and naught have I got but this foul fox fell – the fiend take such goods! – and that’s a poor price to pay for such precious things as you so have given me here, three such kisses so good(13).’ ‘Enough,’ quoth Sir Gawain, ‘I thank you, by the Rood.’ And how the fox was slain the lord told as they stood. 78 With mirth and minstrelsy, with meals at will, they made as merry as any men might, with laughter of ladies, and jesting with words. Gawain and the good man so glad are they both: must be, lest the diners are drunkards or dotards. Both master and men played many jokes, till the time it was come that they must sever; his men at the last must go to their beds. Then humbly his leave of the lord at first takes the noble knight, and fairly him thanks: ‘For such a splendid sojourn as I have had here, your honour at this high feast, the High King reward you! I would give myself as one of your men, if you so like; but I must needs, as you know, move on tomorrow, if you’ll grant me a guide to show, as you promised, the way to the Green Chapel, as God wills for me to be dealt on New Year’s day the doom my fate brings.’ ‘In good faith,’ quoth the good man, ‘by my goodwill all that ever I promised you, I shall hold ready.’ Then he assigned him a servant to show him the way and conduct him through the hills, so he’d not delay, and faring through forest and thickset the shortest way he’d weave. The lord Gawain did thank, such honour he did receive. Then of the ladies of rank the knight must take his leave. 79 With sad care and kissing he spoke to them still, and full heartfelt thanks he pressed on them: and they yielded him again replies the same, commending him to Christ then with frozen sighs. So from the company he courteously parts; each man that he met, he gave him his thanks for his service and for the solicitous care that they had shown busied about him in serving; and all were as sorry to sever from him there as if they had dwelt nobly with that knight ever. Then the lads with lights led him to his chamber, and blithely brought him to bed to be at his rest. If he did not sleep soundly, I dare say nothing, for he had much on the morrow to mind, if he would, in thought. Let him lie there quite still, he is near what he sought; and quiet you a while until I tell you of all that they wrought.

80 Now nears the New Year and the night passes, the day drives away dark, as the Deity bids. But wild weather awoke in the world outside, clouds cast cold keenly down to the earth, with wind enough from the north, to flail the flesh. The snow sleeted down sharp, and nipped the wild; the whistling wind wailed from the heights and drove each dale full of drifts full great. The knight listened full well, as he lay in his bed. Though he closes his lids, full little he sleeps; with each cock that crew he well knew his tryst. Deftly he dressed himself, ere the day sprang, for there was a lighted lamp gleamed in his chamber. He called to his servant who promptly replied, and bade him bring coat of mail and saddle his mount; the man rises up and fetches him his clothes, and attires Sir Gawain in splendid style. First he clad him in clothes to ward off the cold, and then in his harness, that burnished was kept, both his belly-armour and plate, polished full bright, the rings of his rich mail-coat rubbed free of rust; and all was as fresh as at first, and he to give thanks was glad. He had put on each piece and in bright armour clad ; fairest from here to Greece, his steed to be brought he bade. 81 While he wound himself in the most splendid weeds – his coat-armour with its badge of clear deeds, set out upon velvet, with virtuous stones embellished and bound about it, embroidered seams, and fair lined within with fine furs – yet he forgot not the lace, the lady’s gift; that Gawain did not fail of, for his own good. when he had bound the blade on his smooth haunches, then he wound the love-token twice him about, swiftly swathed it about his waist sweetly that knight. The girdle of green silk that gallant well suited, upon that royal red cloth that rich was to show. But it was not for its richness he wore this girdle, nor for pride in the pendants, though polished they were, and though the glittering gold gleamed at the ends, but to save himself when it behoved him to suffer, to abide baneful stroke without battling with blade or knife. With that the knight all sound, goes swift to risk his life; all the men of renown he thanks, prepares for strife. 82 Then was Gringolet readied, that was huge and great, and had been stabled snugly and in secure wise; he was eager to gallop, that proud horse then. The knight went to him and gazed at his coat, and said soberly to himself, and swore by the truth: ‘Here are many, in this motte, that of honour think. The man who maintains it, joy may he have! The fair lady through life may love her befall! Thus if they for charity cherish a guest, and hold honour in their hand, the Lord them reward who upholds the heavens on high, and also you all! And if I should live for any while upon earth, I would grant you some reward readily, if I might.’ Then steps he into the stirrup and strides aloft. His man showed him his shield; on shoulder he slung it, gives spur to Gringolet with his gilded heels, and he starts forth on the stones – pausing no longer to prance. His servant to horse got then, who bore his spear and lance. ‘This castle to Christ I commend: May he grant it good chance!’ 83 The drawbridge was let down, and the broad gates unbarred and flung open upon both sides. The knight blessed himself swiftly, and passed the boards; praised the porter kneeling before the prince, who gives him God and good-day, that Gawain He save; and goes on his way with his one man, who shall teach him the path to that perilous place where the grievous blow he shall receive. They brushed by banks where boughs were bare, they climbed by cliffs where clung the cold. the heavens were up high, but ugly there-under mist moved on the moors, melted on mountains, each hill had a hat, a mist-mantle huge. Brooks boiled and broke their banks about, sheer shattering on shores where they down-flowed. Well wild was the way where they by woods rode, till it was soon time that the sun in that season does rise. They were on a hill full high, the white snow lay beside; the man that rode him by bade his master abide. 84 ‘For I have brought you hither, sir, at this time, and now you are not far from that noted place that you have sought and spurred so specially after. But I must say, forsooth, that since I know you, and you are a lord full of life whom I well love, if you would hark to my wit, you might do better. The place that you pace to full perilous is held; there lives a man in that waste, the worst upon earth, for he is strong and stern and loves to strike, and more man he is than any upon middle-earth, and his body bigger than the best four that are in Arthur’s house, Hector, or others. He makes it so to chance at the Green Chapel, that none passes by that place so proud in arms that he but does him to death by dint of his hand; for he is a mighty man, and shows no mercy, for be it churl or chaplain that rides by the chapel, monk or priest of the Mass, or any man else, he is as quick to kill him, as to live himself. Therefore I say, as true as you sit in the saddle, come there, and you will be killed, if he has his way, trust me truly in that, though you had twenty lives to spend. He has lived here of yore, and battled to great extent. Against his blows full sore, you may not yourself defend.’

85 ‘Therefore, good Sir Gawain, let him alone, and go by some other way, for God’s own sake! Course some other country where Christ might you speed. And I shall hie me home again, and undertake that I shall swear by God and all his good saints – so help me God and the Holy things, and oaths enough – that I shall loyally keep your secret, and loose no tale that ever you fled from any man that I know of.’ ‘Grant merci,’ quoth Gawain, and galled he said: ‘It is worthy of you, man, to wish for my good, and loyally keep my secret I know that you would. But, keep it ever so quiet, if I passed here, and fled away in fear, in the form that you tell of, I were a cowardly knight, I might not be excused. For I will go to the chapel, whatever chance may befall, and talk with that same fellow in whatever way I wish, whether it’s weal or woe, as fate may to me behave. Though he be a stern fellow to manage, armed with a stave, full well does the Lord know His servants how to save.’ 86 ‘Marry!’ quoth the other man, ‘now you spell it out that you will take all your own trouble on yourself, if you will lose your life, I’ll not you delay. Have your helm here on your head, your spear in your hand, and ride down this same track by yon rock side, till you’re brought to the bottom of the wild valley, then look a little on the level, to your left hand, and you shall see in that vale that selfsame chapel and the burly giant on guard that it keeps. Now farewell, in God’s name, Gawain the noble! For all the gold in the ground I’d not go with you, nor bear fellowship through this forest one foot further.’ With that the man in the wood tugs at his bridle, hits his horse with his heels as hard as he might, leaps away over the land, and leaves the knight there alone. ‘By God’s self,’ quoth Gawain, ‘I will neither weep nor groan; to God’s will I bend again and I am sworn as His own.’ 87 So he gives spur to Gringolet and picks up the path, pushing on through, by a bank, at the side of a wood, rode down the rough slope right to the dale. And then he gazed all about, and wild it seemed, and saw no sign of shelter anywhere near, but high banks and steep upon either side, and rough rugged crags with gnarled stones; so the sky seemed to be grazed by their barbs. Then he halted and reined in his horse awhile, and scanned all about this chapel to find. He saw no such thing either side, and thought it quite strange, save a little mound, as it were, off in a field, a bald barrow by a bank beside the burn, by a force of the flood that flowed down there; the burn bubbled therein as if it were boiling. The knight urges on his mount and comes to the mound, alights there lightly, and ties to a lime-tree the reins of his horse round a rough branch. Then he goes to the barrow, and about it he walked, debating with himself what it might be. It had a hole at each end and on either side, and was overgrown with grass in great knots; and all was hollow within, naught but an old cave, or a crevice of an old crag – he could not distinguish it well. ‘Who knows, Lord,’ quoth the gentle knight ‘whether this be the Green Chapel? Here might about midnight the Devil his Matins tell!’

88 ‘Now indeed,’ quoth Gawain, ‘desolation is here; this oratory is ugly, with weeds overgrown; well is it seemly for the man clad in green to deal his devotion here in the devil’s wise. Now I feel it’s the Fiend, in my five senses, who set me this meeting to strike at me here. This is a chapel of mischance – bad luck it betide! It is the most cursed church that ever I came to.’ With high helm on his head, his lance in his hand, he roamed up to the roof of that rough dwelling. Then he heard from that high hill, from a hard rock beyond the brook, on the bank, a wondrous brave noise. What! It clanged through the cliff as if it would cleave it, as if on a grindstone one ground a great scythe. What! It whirred and whetted, as water in a mill. What! It rushed and rang, revolting to hear. Then ‘By God,’ quoth Gawain, ‘this here I believe is arranged to reverence me, to greet rank by rote. ‘Let God’s will work! “Alas” – will help me not a mote. My life though it be lost I dread no wondrous note.’ 89 Then the knight called out loud on high; ‘Who stands in this stead, my tryst to uphold? For now is good Gawain grounded right here. If any man wills aught, wind hither fast, either now or never his needs to further.’ ‘Abide,’ quoth one on the bank above his head, ‘and you shall have all in haste I promised you once.’ Yet he then turned to his tumult swiftly a while, and at whetting he worked, ere he would alight. And then he thrust by a crag and came out by a hole, whirling out of the rocks with a fell weapon, a Danish axe new honed, for dealing the blow, with a biting blade bow-bent to the haft, ground on a grindstone, four feet broad – no less, by that love-lace gleaming full bright. And the giant in green was garbed as at first, both the looks and the legs, the locks and the beard, save that firm on his feet he finds his ground, sets the haft to the stones and stalks beside it. When he came to the water, he would not wade, he hopped over on his axe and boldly he strides, blazing with wrath, on a bit of field broad about in snow. Sir Gawain the man did greet, he bowed to him, nothing low; the other said: ‘Now, Sir Sweet, men may trust your word, I owe.’ 90 ‘Gawain,’ quoth the green man, ‘God may you guard! Indeed you are welcome, knight, to my place, and you have timed your travel as true man should. And you know the covenant pledged between us: at this time twelvemonth gone you took what befell, that I should at this New Year promptly requite. And we are in this valley verily alone; here are no ranks to sever us, serve as you will. Heft your helm off your head, and have here your pay. Ask no more debate than I did of you then when you whipped off my head at a single blow.’ ‘Nay, by God,’ quoth Gawain, ‘who lent me a soul, I shall bear you no grudge for the grief that befalls. Strike but the one stroke, and I shall stand still and offer no hindrance, come work as you like, I swear.’ He leant down his neck, and bowed, and showed the white flesh all bare, as if he were no way cowed; for to shrink he would not dare.

91 Then the man in green readies him swiftly, girds up his grim blade, to smite Gawain; with all the strength in his body he bears it aloft, manages it mightily as if he would mar him. Had he driven it down as direly as he aimed, one had been dead of the deed who was dauntless ever. But Gawain glanced at the grim blade sideways, as it came gliding down on him to destroy him, and his shoulders shrank a little from the sharp edge. The other man with a shrug the slice withholds, and then reproves the prince with many proud words: ‘You are not Gawain,’ quoth the man, ‘held so great, that was never afraid of the host by hill or by vale, for now you flinch for fear ere you feel harm. Such cowardice of that knight have I never heard. I neither flinched nor fled, friend, when you let fly, nor cast forth any quibble in King Arthur’s house. My head flew off, at my feet, yet fled I never; yet you, ere any harm haps, are fearful at heart. And I ought to be branded the better man, I say, therefore.’ Quoth Gawain: ‘I flinched once, Yet so will I no more; Though if my head fall on the stones, I cannot it restore.’ 92 ‘Be brisk, man, by your faith, and bring me to the point. Deal me my destiny and do it out of hand, for I shall stand your stroke, and start no more till your axe has hit me – have here my troth.’ ‘Have at you, then,’ quoth the other, and heaves it aloft and glares as angrily as if he were mad. He menaces him mightily, but touches him not, swiftly withholding his hand ere it might hurt. Gawain gravely it bides and moves not a muscle, but stands still as a stone or the stump of a tree that is riven in rocky ground with roots a hundred. Then merrily again he spoke, the man in green: ‘So now you have your heart whole, it me behoves. Hold you safe now the knighthood Arthur gave you, and keep your neck from this cut, if ever it may!’ Gawain full fiercely with anger then said: ‘Why, thrash on, you wild man, threaten no longer; it seems your heart is warring with your own self.’ ‘Forsooth,’ quoth the other, ‘so fiercely you speak, I’ll not a moment longer delay your errand I vow.’ Then he takes up his stance to strike pouts lips and puckers his brow; Nothing there for him to like who hopes for no rescue now. 93 Up the weapon lifts lightly, is let down fair, and the blade’s border beside the bare neck. Though heaved heavily it hurt him not more, but nicked him on the one side, and severed the skin. The sharp edge sank in the flesh through the fair fat, so that bright blood over his shoulders shot to the earth. And when the knight saw his blood blotting the snow, he spurted up, feet first, more than a spear-length, seized swiftly his helm and on his head cast it, shrugged with his shoulders his fine shield under, broke out his bright sword, and bravely he spoke – never since he was a babe born of his mother had he ever in this world a heart half so blithe – ‘Back man, with your blade, and brandish no more! I have received a stroke in this place without strife, and if you offer another I’ll readily requite you and yield it you swiftly again – of that be you sure – as foe. But one stroke to me here falls; the covenant stated so, arranged in Arthur’s halls, so lay your weapon, now, low!’ 94 The other then turned away and on his axe rested, set the haft to the earth and leant on the head, and looked at the lord who held to his ground, how doughty, and dread-less, enduring he stands armed, without awe; in his heart he him liked. Then he spoke merrily in a mighty voice, and with a ringing roar to the knight he said: ‘Bold man be not so fierce in this field. No man here has mistreated you, been unmannerly, nor behaved but by covenant at King’s court made. I hit with a stroke, and you have it, and are well paid; I release you from the rest of all other rights. If I had been livelier, a buffet perchance I could have worked more wilfully, to bring you anger. First I menaced you merrily with a single feint, and rent you with no riving cut, rightly offered for the pledge that we made on the very first night; for you truthfully kept troth and dealt with me true, all the gain you gave me, as good men should. The next blow for the morn, man, I proffered; you kissed my fair wife, the kisses were mine. For both these days I brought you but two bare feints, without scathe. Truth for the truth restore, then man need dread no wraith. On the third you failed for sure, and so took that blow, in faith.’ 95 ‘For it is mine that you wear, that same woven girdle; my own wife gave it you, I know it well forsooth. Now, know I well your kisses and conduct too, and the wooing of my wife; I wrought it myself(14). I sent her to test you, and truly I think you the most faultless man that was ever afoot. As a pearl beside whitened pea is more precious, so is Gawain, in good faith, beside other good knights. But here sir you lacked a little, wanting in loyalty; but that was for no wily work, nor wooing neither, but for love of your life – so I blame you the less.’ The other strong man in study stood a great while, so aggrieved that for grief he grimaced within. All the blood of his breast burnt in his face, that he shrank for shame at all the man said. The first words the knight could frame on that field: ‘Curse upon cowardice and covetousness both! In you are villainy and vice that virtue distress.’ Then he caught at the knot and pulled it loose, and fair flung the belt at the man himself: ‘Lo! There’s the falseness, foul may it fall! For fear of your knock cowardice me taught to accord with covetousness, forsake my kind, the largesse and loyalty that belongs to knights. Now am I faulted and false, and ever a-feared; from both treachery and untruth come sorrow and care! I confess to you knight, here, still, my fault in this affair; let me understand your will, and henceforth I shall beware.’ 96 Then laughed that other lord and lightly said: ‘I hold it happily made whole, the harm that I had; You are confessed so clean, cleared of your faults, and have done penance plain at the point of my blade, I hold you absolved of that sin, as pure and as clean, as though you were never at fault since first you were born. And I give you, sir, the girdle that is gold-hemmed. As it is green as my gown, Sir Gawain, you may think upon this same trial when you throng forth among princes of price, and this the pure token of the test at the Green Chapel to chivalrous knights. And you shall this New Year come back to my castle, and we shall revel away the remnant of this rich feast I mean’ Thus urged him hard the lord, and said: ‘With my wife, I ween, we shall bring you in accord, who was your enemy keen.’ ***

1. This wording is very detailed, leading me to believe that it is charged in a way that is supposed to convey a sexual current.

2. As before, this wording also is very sexualized in order to show how strong the Green Knight is.

3. There is a certain care here to point out that while the Green Knight is a large man, he is not by any means fat and still sports a slim waist.

4. The Knight’s close cling to him in a very fitted way and paid very close attention to.

5. The Knight needs to weapons to display his dominance and power to King Arthur’s people.

6. ‘The lady’ refers to Sir Bertilak’s wife.

7. Sir Bertilak’s wife has been suggestive with Gawain the entire scene, and now she finally kisses him, knowing the pact that Bertilak and Gawain made to share their spoils of the day with each other.

8. The time comes for Gawain to give his day’s accomplishments to Bertilak-- in this case, a kiss.

9. Lady Bertilak has been trying to woo him all day, but Gawain’s resolve remains strong.

10. Sir Gawain kisses Bertilak again after Bertilak shares the day’s game.

11.  Lady Bertilak comes into Gawain’s room with more skin showing, with what we believe to be intentions of seduction.

12. The lady kisses him in a more tender way, and Gawain feels a conflict within on whether to reject or accept her advances.

13. It seems as if Bertilak enjoys Gawain’s kiss

14. Bertilak created this game with the intent for his wife to seduce Gawain, and in turn for him to receive the same “spoils” from Gawain.