Sir Gawain and the Grail Part One
The Gawain episode from the First Continuation of Perceval.
Translated by Jessie L. Weston
Now it came to pass that the tale went about throughout the land of Britain how that King Arthur had achieved the emprise he had laid upon him for the sake of that good knight, Sir
Griffet, who was held in durance by the folk of the Castle Orguellous. For in sooth he had set him free, and would return in all haste to his own land by a set day.
Then the Queen bade carry her pavilion, and many another, to the glade of the Crossways, and said she would go thither to disport herself, nor would she in anywise depart thence till she had there kept tryst with her lord the King. With her went counts and barons enow; many a tent, many a bower, many a pavilion, did they cause to be set up in that glade, for there would they sojourn, and await as was fitting the coming of their lord. At the meeting of the Crossways was the royal tent set up where the Queen, with many a valiant knight, would keep her tryst with the King. 'Twas a fair sojourning in the greenwood, and the huntsmen took many a wild beast, there was no lack of such in the thickets!
As they abode there, even as I tell ye, it fell out on a Tuesday that 'twas a wondrous fair eventide. The Queen sat at chess with King Urien, 'twas the game she best loved, and around, to watch the play, sat Sir Gawain and many another good knight. Even as twilight fell they saw an armed knight come riding upon a gallant steed, who passed before them, and spake word to none. The Queen was vexed thereat, and spake saying, "That knight holdeth me in small account, for he looked not on me nor proffered me greeting. I were fain to know his name, and in sooth to know himself." She spake to Kay, the seneschal, "Kay, mount quickly, and go, bring him hither to me."
"Right willingly, lady "--and with that the seneschal went to arm himself, for know that ever, an he could, he would do the commandment of the Queen. He did off his rich surcoat, furred with ermine, and armed himself in haste, arid mounted, riding in pursuit swiftly, as one who is not
well assured. Such haste did he make that he came up with him whom he followed, and cried, "Vassal, ye did great folly in that ye rode past the pavilion without praying leave of the Queen and her folk, turn about quickly!"
The knight answered, "So may God help me, I withheld not my greeting through pride, but never man rode on more urgent quest than that on which I ride, nor may I turn me again.
And Kay quoth, "So may God help me, but ye speak vainly, an ye turn not again, vassal, I will slay your steed!"
The knight made answer, in fashion of a man much troubled, "That would hinder me much, for afoot I may not go, nor may - any so come thither; fair Sir, it behoves me to ride far ere this night be ended, say ye to the Queen that so surely as I return will I gladly speak with her, and yield me to her mercy in that I have failed to obey her now."
Kay took no heed of his words, but rode swiftly toward him, as if to joust; and even as the knight saw him coming he spurred his steed, and smote him so fiercely that Kay bent backward over his saddlebow, and fell to the ground, feet in air, but little more an he had been slain, so hard did he fall! The knight rode to Kay s steed, took it by the bridle, and went his way.
Then Kay turned him about, sore ashamed, and took his way to the tents afoot. A good hundred were they who at heart were right joyful for his shaming, but durst speak no word openly.
Forthwith he began to tell them the greatest lies, such as none other would have bethought him of--" Lady," quoth he, "'tis a proud and ribald knight, never man heard greater folly than that which he bath spoken of you!"
Sir Gawain made answer, "Sir Kay, by all the Saints that be, never did valiant knight miscall my lady! Say ye not so, but let the knight be, an he bath taken thy steed 'tis no cause that ye should talk foolishly, that were villainy indeed !"
Quoth the Queen, "pair nephew, go ye, and bring the knight again."
"Right willingly, lady," quoth Sir Gawain.
Then they brought unto him his steed, and he mounted thereon, all unarmed as he was, clad in a purple mantle, and bearing in his hand a painted wand. He followed the knight swiftly, nor would spare haste; 'twas wellnigh nightfall when he came up with him. Then he greeted him fairly, and the knight drew rein courteously when he heard Sir Gawain speak.
He said, "Sir, I pray ye, and the Queen to whom all Britain and Ireland do belong giveth command, that ye come straight-way unto her, so shall ye do well and courteously."
The knight made answer, "Sir, so God help me, that may I not do; but tell me I pray ye, and hide it not, how do men call ye?"
"Sir," saith he, "I am called Gawain."
"Ha, Sir, be ye right certain, that by Saint Peter of Rome, an I might turn again for any man I would do so more gladly for ye than for any other! But I have taken upon me a matter that demandeth haste, nor may I turn back for any. I wot not what I may tell ye further, save that none but I may achieve the quest; nevertheless I deem well ye might achieve it, yet should ye have great pain and travail therewith."
"Sir," saith Sir Gawain, "I pray ye frankly, with joined hands, that ye turn again with me, and come unto the Queen, since for a proud and ribald knight, felon and outrageous, doth the seneschal miscall ye, he who came to ye but now; evilly did he slander ye in the Queen's bower, in the hearing of many barons, yet there were those who laid the blame on him."
Quoth the knight, "What care I for Kay, or for any words that he may speak? But for you, right dear Sir, will I do whatsoever may please ye; yet this my quest must perforce be delayed, an ye do it not for me."
Then Sir Gawain made answer to him, who was in no wise discourteous, despite Kay's words, "Sir, I thank ye right heartily, and loyally do I here make covenant that I will aid ye in any way I may, were I the sole knight in the world. By Christ, Who seeth all, an' I rightly acquit me of this errand ye shall have no damage therefrom, so God preserve mine honour!"
The knight spake forthwith, "Great trust and great assurance, fair Sir, have I in your company; see ye, I am ready to go whithersoever ye shall lead me."
With that they turned them about; Kay's charge; methinks, they let stray as it would, nor deigned to lead it with them.
Thus they came again swiftly, but I tell ye verily and of a truth, that even as they drew nigh unto the tents, ere they had well passed the first, the knight uttered a great plaint suddenly, and cried with a loud voice, "Ha, Sir Gawain! I am a dead man-forsooth 'tis a shame and a dishonour that I be slain in your safe-conduct! An God will I think me ye will do that which ye have covenanted with me. But now straightway take this mine armour, and arm yourself therewith, and mount this my steed, which will carry ye surely, and without fail, on the great quest which 1 had thought to achieve."
Then he gave forth a great cry, "Lord God, wherefore have they slain me? For never had I done them harm!"
Sir Gawain looked upon him, marvelling greatly that he thus made plaint, for naught had he seen or heard, and he knew not that any had smitten him. And as he looked, he saw him fall forward upon the neck of his charger, and therewith the blood gushed forth, for he was smitten throughthe body with the cast of a javelin, so that the iron thereof might be seen.
Quoth Sir Gawain, weeping, "Sir! Sir! heavily hath he shamed me who hath thus smitten ye!"
But the knight fell dead, and spake never word more; nor might any ask his name, whose man he was, nor whence he came, nor whither he went. Then there came together a great folk, who lamented him sorely, but they knew not who had slain him, nor whether 'twere well or ill done. Yet many put the blame on Kay, and said surely Kay had slain him; but he denied it straitly, and made complaint that they so charged him.
Sir Gawain waxed red with wrath and anger, and thrust him from him so that he staggered and had well nigh fallen; but the knights set themselves 'twixt the twain; of a sooth, had they -not separated them the one from the other, Sir Gawain had done him a mischief. He spake in great anger, in the hearing of all, "Yet will I make ye pay dearly for his death, proven traitor that ye be! For sure and certain am I that ye slew him with your own hand." Kay hid himself as quickly as might be among the press, and made no answer to that which be heard him speak.
Sir Gawain bade them lay the body of the knight upon his shield, and bear it thus unto the Queen's pavilion; weeping, he bowed him low, and said, "Lady, see here the knight whom ye bade me bring into your presence; he came without word of refusal, great or small. Now is he dead in your safe-conduct, and thereby are ye dishonoured in the sight of all. Behold his corpse! 'Tis great pity, for 'twas a very wise and courteous knight. And I, I think me, am shamed thereby, for never in the sight or hearing of man did such dishonour befall any as to-day hath befallen me, since it seemeth that 'twas I betrayed him to his death: that I tell ye of a truth!"
With that he bade them disarm the body, and the knights and the barons looked upon the dead knight, and made lamentation, beholding the fashion of the man, and said, "Christ! Where was he born, this man who was so fair to look upon?" Nor might any of them know him, nor the land from whence he came.
Wherefore should I make a long tale thereof? Sir Gawain straightway tookthe harness of the slain knight, and therewith did he arm himself, and he mounted the steed which he aforetime bestrode, who now lay dead within the pavilion. The Queen, who wept for anger and bitter sorrow, said unto him, "Fair nephew, what would ye do? Hide naught from me, but tell me, I pray ye." Sir Gawain made answer, "Certes, lady, I may not tell ye, in that I scarce know myself, but this much may I say in all truth, that even should I die therein I must needs achieve the quest whereto I made covenant with this knight. I know naught that I may tell ye aforehand, save that this steed will surely carry me the road that it behoves me to travel: but whither I know not, nor to what land I know not, nor know I what may be the quest which I have taken upon me. Lady, I pray ye, make inquest into the death of this knight, that I may know the truth thereof at my returning, for never shall I be truly joyful till that I have avenged him."
With that Sir Gawain took leave, and would depart, nor would he remain the night for any prayer, though barons and knights besought him straitly; greatly did they lament for the good nephew of their or the King, for they knew not, nor might think of, the land whither he was bound. Thus Sir Gawain departed from among them, and the stranger knight lay dead in their midst.
Now as the writing doth us to wit the night was black, and of great darkness, for long time it thundered, and it rained, and there was so mighty a wind that the trees were split asunder. So swift and so oft were the lightning flashes that it was a marvel that gentle knight Sir Gawain died not ere the morning; but this I tell ye, that never was he in so strait a place but he was saved through his great loyalty, and his true courtesy, and this very night that we now tell of did God, Who lieth not, protect him. Know ye then verily, that throughout the night the good knight rode, even as the steed would carry him, until he came unto a great and fair chapel, that stood at a crossways in the midst of the forest. Since that he was sore pressed for the thunder and the lightning, that beset him as it were on every side, Sir Gawain made for the door, and found it open, and saw within where the altar stood all bare, with neither cloth nor covering thereon, but a great candlestick, wrought of gold, that stood alone, and therein a tall taper that burned clearly, and shed a great light around. When the knight beheld this he bethought him that he would enter therein, and rest awhile, till that the weather was somewhat cleared, and the great wind abated. Thus he passed the doorway, a horse as he was, and looked round about, up and down, to right and to left, and was ware of a window, right there behind the altar, and even as he looked, lo! a hand black and hideous, naught so marvellous had he beheld afore, came through the window, and took the taper, and extinguished the flame. With that came a voice that made lament, so loud and so dire, that it seemed as if the chapel itself rocked therefrom. This so affrighted the steed that it made a spring, and Sir Gawain was well nigh thrown to earth. Then did he raise his hand and signed him with the sign of the cross, and gat him forth from the chapel. With that the storm abated and the great wind was stayed so that thereafter it blew not nor rained a drop, but the night became clear and calm. Sir Gawain rode on his way swiftly, nor made delay, but many a time was he afeared for the marvels he had seen, yet of them durst no man speak for dread of wrath, for in sooth they appertain unto the high secrets of the Grail, and he bringeth on himself toil and tribulation who undertaketh to recount them, save in that place which is right and fitting. But I tell ye of a truth that that good knight rode all night nor drew bridle, in sorrow, in wrath, and in dread, till that the morn came and he saw the day dawn.
Sir Gawain looked around him on the land and marvelled much, for in that one night had he outridden Britain and all that country, and entered within a great forest which endured even from the morning unto the setting of the sun. Then did he issue forth on to a plain, and beheld the sea, and thither did the good steed bear him at a swift pace. Sir Gawain had held vigil through the night and journeyed far through the day, wind and rain had beaten upon him, neither had he eaten or drunk, so that he was marvellous weary and rode right heavily. Such desire of sleep came upon him that scarce might he sit upright. The good steed knew that well and dragged at the bridle, and Sir Gawain slackened his hand somewhat, and let it go as it willed.
Thus did it bear him till at nightfall he came unto the seashore, nor might he ride further. With that was Sir Gawain troubled in mind and somewhat wroth, but the good steed turned towards a path which he beheld afar off and stayed not till he came to the entering in thereof. On either side the way was planted with cypress, pine, and laurel; 'twas so narrow that the branches met overhead, and Sir Gawain must needs bend him low. Then he looked before him and saw afar off a light as it were of a kindled fire. Thither would the steed carry him, but it might scarce do so for the torment of the sea, which dashed against the pathway as it would wash it away and tear up the trees, which were thrown against each other, groaning for the violence of the wind. Sore afraid, and that of good reason, was Sir Gawain, and he said within himself that he would wait even unto the dawning ere he would adventure himself therein. But I tell ye truly that the good steed reared and strained at the bridle, and made such ado that the knight might in no wise hold it, but the rein was wrenched from his hand, and the horse took the bit in its teeth and entered the pathway, whether its rider would or no. Then the good knight bade it go at its will, and yielded the rein, yea, and spurred it on, so that with great bounds, many and oft, it went swiftly on its way.
Thus they rode even until midnight, but came not unto the light, but went ever on the causeway, and held it until they came I unto a great hail, high, and long, and wide. In the durance of a bowshot came a marvellous great folk (so I tell ye verily), and among them must Sir Gawain dismount; with great honour was he received, and all spake saying, "Fair Sir, blessed and honoured be your coming, for long time have we desired it."
Thus they led their guest within, even unto the fire, and when they had disarmed him a squire brought unto him a furred mantle, and wrapped it around him, and he I sat him down beside the fire. And it came to pass after a while, as they beheld his countenance, the folk began to marvel greatly, and to take counsel the one with the other, saying, "Lord, what may thisbe? 'Tis not he whom we awaited!" How shall I tell ye? Swiftly, in the closing of an eye, did all that great folk vanish, so that Sir Gawain might see them no more.
At this that gentle knight marvelled much, and greatly was he troubled for that not one of the folk remained behind. Angry was he and wroth in that they had so left him alone, and moreover he was troubled in that he had seen them take counsel together. Nor should any man marvel if he were afeard or in doubt. He looked adown the hail, as one ill at ease, and in no wise assured, and there in the midst he beheld a bier, wondrous long, and so soon as Sir Gawain saw it he raised his hand and made the sign of the cross, for know ye that he misdoubted him.
Now he beheld and saw that on the bier there lay a dead body, and above it was spread for honour a fair red samite, with cross of gold work, which covered the bier all round about. At the four corners stood four great tapers that burned in four fair candlesticks, worth a great treasure, at the least would they have weighed a hundred golden marks; and on each candlestick hung a censer of fine gold, richly wrought, wherein were spices which gave forth a most sweet smell. I tell ye truly that never man smelt a sweeter odour. On the samite of which I tell ye was the half and no more, of a sword broken midway below the hilt, as the writing telleth, it lay above and upon the breast of the dead.
Sir Gawain knit his brows, for wroth was he, and in dread, in that he was there alone: so troubled was he, so ill pleased and misdoubtful, that he knew not what it behoved him to do, for much he misliked the bier and the dead knight that lay thereon.
As he stood thus he raised his eyes and beheld a wondrous rich cross of silver, set about with precious stones of manifold virtue, borne by a tall clerk, who had much ado to carry it: he was vested in an alb and tunicle of a rare stuff of Constantinople. After him there came a great procession of canons, robed in silken copes, who stared them around the bier, and began with a loud voice to chant the Vigil of the Dead. As they chanted four clerks censed the bier with the censers that hung upon the golden candlesticks.
When they had ended the service they turned them again whence they came, and lo! the hail was once more filled with folk, and I tell ye verily that since the hour ye were born never might ye hear such wailing and lamentation as arose there above the dead. Sir Gawain commended him unto God, that He would keep him from harm, and made good countenance and sat him down again, for he had stood awhile, covering his eyes with his hand as he were in thought.
Anon he heard a great tumult that drew nigh unto him, and he lifted his head and beheld the great folk that he saw at the first, and he saw how they held cloths and napkins, whiter than lilies or than snow, and spread them upon the daïs. With that there came forth from a chamber a knight, tall and strong of limb, one who might well be a great man and a wise: nor was he of great age, yet was he somewhat bald. He was nobly vested, and bare a sceptre in his hand, and on his head a crown wrought of fine red gold: nor was there in Christendom a fairer man, nor a more courteous.
The King bade them bring water and he washed, and bade Sir Gawain do likewise; then he took him by the hand gently and seated him beside him at meat, even as a friend, and strove much to do him honour. When all were seated, on every
daïs bread was set, 'twas the rich Grail that served them, yet no hand held it, but it served them right well, and came and went swiftly amid the knights. But know ye 'twas the butlers who served the wine, in cups of silver and fine gold, and the Grail went and came again the while, though none might know who held it. Full seven courses had those good knights, well and richly did the Grail serve them, on every dais so soon as the one meat was lifted was the other set, all in great dishes of silver--most fair and fitting was the service. Sir Gawain gazed and greatly marvelled, for now was the Grail here and anon was it
there, and he knew not what to make of its coming and going, and the fashion of their service.
When they had eaten at leisure the King bade take away the tables, and this I tell ye of a truth that scarce had he spoken the word when the hall was left empty, and the das void, for all had departed, and the King himself first of all.
Think ye that Sir Gawain was in no wise troubled when he found himself thus left alone? I tell ye he was much in doubt and right wrathful that he should be in such case. He commended himself humbly unto God, praying that He would guard him from mischance, sorrow, and enchantment, even as He had power to do. Right suddenly he beheld there a lance, the blade of which was white as snow, 'twas fixed upright at the head of the master-dais, in a rich vessel of silver, and before it burned two tapers which shed a bright light around. From the point of the lance issued a stream of blood, which ran down into the vessel, even unto the brim rose the drops of blood, which fell not save into the silver cup. Yet might it not be filled for a fair mouthpiece, wrought of a verdant emerald, through which the blood fell into a channel of gold, which by great wisdom and artifice ran forth without the hall, but Gawain might not see whither it led. Then he marveiled greatly within himself; thinking that never had he seen so great a wonder as this lance, which was of wood and yet bled without stanching. And as he mused thus he heard the door of a chamber open, and he saw come forth the lord of the castle, holding in his hand a sword-and know verily that 'twas none other than the sword of the knight of whom I have told ye afore, he who was slain before the pavilion-and the King spake forthwith to Sir Gawain, bidding him arise from his seat, and he led him by the hand even unto the bier, weeping bitterly--for the corpse that lay thereon.
Now hearken to that which the King spake: "Great is the loss that ye lie thus, 'tis even the destruction of kingdoms. God grant that ye be avenged so that the folk be only more joyful, and the land repeopled, which by ye and by this sword are wasted and made void." With that he drew the sword, and lo! 'twas broken, so that he held but the half thereof. Weeping for bitter sorrow he gave it unto Sir Gawain, and that good knight laid hold on it, the half that was lacking lay on the corpse of the dead knight. The King took it in his hand, and spake these words, neither less nor more: "Fair Sir, and gentle knight, an God will this sword shall by ye be resoldered; put ye now the two pieces together so that the one steel shall cleave to the other, so shall ye know verily and without doubt that ye shall be held the best knight in the world so long as it may endure." Then did Sir Gawain take the pieces and set them each to the other, but in no wise might he achieve that the steel should hold together, and the brand be resoldered.
Then was the King sore vexed, and he laid the one half again lightly above the breast of the dead knight, even as it had lain afore, and the other half he set in the scabbard, but know ye that he was ill-pleased that the twain might not come together. He bare the sword in one hand and. with the other he laid hold on Sir Gawain, and led him into a chamber where he found knights enow, and a great gathering of other folk. They sat themselves down on a costly silken cloth, spread before a couch, and the King spake gently: "Fair sweet friend, take not amiss that which I tell ye, the quest on which ye came hither may not be achieved by thee; but an God so advance your prowess that He grant your return hither, then may ye perchance achieve it, and then may ye resolder the sword. For know of a truth that none save he who maketh the sword whole again may fulfil the quest. Sir knight, he who had undertaken the emprise hath remained in your country, I know not what hath delayed him, but long have we awaited his coming. Well I know that 'twas of your great hardiness that ye came hither; and would ye ask any treasure that we have in this land, certes, and of good will shall it be given ye. None here will do ye a mischief; and of the marvels ye have beheld ask at your pleasure, fair Sir, and we will tell ye the truth and lie not."
Now Sir Gawain had watched through the foregoing night, and ridden far, and had much travail, and great was his desire of slumber, yet greater was his will to hear of the marvels of the castle, thus did he force himself to be wakeful, and asked of that of which he was most in doubt: "Sire," he said, "but now I saw within the hall a lance that bled right freely, now would I pray and require of ye that ye tell me the truth thereof. Whence cometh the blood that floweth in such plenty from the point of the blade? And of the knight who lieth there dead upon the bier; and the broken sword, how it may be resoldered, and how the slain may be avenged-of all that do I ask,for an it vex ye not I would fain know the truth thereof."
"Ye shall know it, fair friend, since ye have asked me, straightway and with no tarrying, otherwise durst no man tell ye. But now shall it in no wise be hidden from ye, and ye shall know all that ye have asked. Now would I tell ye first and at the beginning of the Lance, the great loss and the great grief that came therefrom, and the great honour, even as God, through Whom we are healed and saved, hath willed and established it. Know ye verily 'tis that Lance with which the Son of God was smitten through the side, even unto the heart, in the day that He hung upon the Cross. Longinus was the name of him who smote the blow, but afterwards did he receive mercy even unto the salvation or his soul, and he rests in peace. But all the days since hath that Lance bled, and ever shall it bleed until the Day of Doom, nor may it be removed from that place where now it standeth, for 'tis ordained of God that it remain there until He come again to judge the quick and the dead. Fair Sir, I think me that they who hung Christ on the Cross, and nailed Him there, and smote Him, shall be sore afraid when they shall see Our Lord bleed as freshly as on that day, they shall be in great torment, but we shall depart into joy, for that blood shall be our ransom. The great joy that we won by that stroke, fair Sir, may I not tell ye, but by the other are we so bereft that we have lost all. I speak of the stroke given by this sword, in an ill hour was it fashioned and tempered, never did sword strike so sore a blow, for it hath sent to destruction many a duke, many a prince, many a baron, many a noble dame, many a fair maiden and gentle demoiselle. Ye shall have heard tell of the great destruction through which we came hither, how that the kingdom or Logres was destroyed, and the country laid waste by the stroke of this sword; nor would I hide from ye who he was who lost his life, nor who he was who smote him; such marvel ye never heard."
With that he began to weep, and weeping, to tell the tale the truth whereof he knew right well, but even as he would begin he saw that Sir Gawain slept, nor would he waken him, but ceased speaking and left him to his slumber. And I tell ye truly that Sir Gawain slept through the night, and wakened not till the morning, when he found himself on a lofty cliff beside the sea, and nigh at hand, on a rock, were his arms and his steed.
Strangely did he marvel in that he found himself there, and saw neither house nor castle, neither hail nor keep; and he bethought him 'twere an ill sojourning there, so he did on his armour and mounted in haste--he knew well that he was shamed in that he had fallen asleep, for by slumber had he lost hearing of the wonders he had seen, and for that was he grieved at heart.
"Ha! God," quoth he, "so gently did that gracious King, the brave, the wise, the courteous, tell unto me the secret of the great marvels I beheld! Surely do I repent me in that I fell asleep." Then he said unto himself that he would so strive in travail of arms that an it might be he would again find that court, and ask once more concerning the service of the Grail, which he had seen the even before in that goodly hail. "Never," quoth he, "will I return again to Britain till I have done such deeds of arms as may pertain thereto." Then he set spur to his horse, and rode thence swiftly, and never might one behold a land so fairly garnished with wood, with water, and with fair pastures. Yet 'twas the Waste Kingdom, but at midnight had God made it even as he saw it; for so soon as Sir Gawain asked of the Lance, wherefore it bled thus freshly the waters flowed again through their channels, and all the woods were turned to verdure. So was the land in part repeopled, but more it might not be, since he had asked no more.
All the folk whom he beheld blessed him as he passed them by, and cried with one voice upon him: "Sir knight, thou hast slain and betrayed us! Yet great ease hast thou given to us of a truth, and for that are we glad and joyful; and yet must we needs be wroth with thee. Certes, greatly should we hate thee, in that thou didst not ask concerning the Grail and the service thereof. None may tell the joy that should have followed on thine asking--thus it behoveth us to be sad and wrathful." In such fashion spake all whom he met, yet know, that of great love they did it.
Know ye that Sir Gawain rode through many lands, and suffered much travail of arms, for many a long day ere he bethought him to return to Britain. Of the combats that beset
him, and the marvels he beheld 'tis not fitting that I tell more; nor will I speak further of him who was slain at the pavilion, who he was, and whence he came, for here doth the tale pass to another matter, even to tell of Guiglain, Sir Gawain's son, and the first deeds which he wrought.
Sir Gawain at the Grail Castle. ed. and trans. Jessie L. Weston. London: D. Nutt, 1903.
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