Four Arthurian Romances
name of friend or companion? Or, if it comes about perchance that Yvain
should hurt him in turn, or defeat him in any way, will Gawain have
the right to complain? Nay, for he will not know whose fault it is. In
ignorance of each other's identity, they both drew off and took their
distance. At this first shock, their lances break, though they were
stout, and made of ash. Not a word do they exchange, for if they had
stopped to converse their meeting would have been different. In that
case, no blow would have been dealt with lance or sword; they would have
kissed and embraced each other rather than sought each other's harm. For
now they attack each other with injurious intent. The condition of the
swords is not improved, nor that of the helmets and shields, which are
dented and split; and the edges of the swords are nicked and dulled. For
they strike each other violently, not with the fiat of the swords,
but with the edge, and they deal such blows with the pommels upon the
nose-guards and upon the neck, forehead and cheeks, that they are all
marked black and blue where the blood collects beneath the skin. And
their hauberks are so torn, and their shields so broken in pieces, that
neither one escaped without wounds. Their breath is almost exhausted
with the labour of the strife; they hammer away at each other so lustily
that every hyacinth and emerald set in their helmets is crushed and
smashed. For they give each other such a battering with their pommels
upon the helmets that they are quite stunned, as they almost beat out
each other's brains. The eyes in their heads gleam like sparks, as, with
stout square fists, and strong nerves, and hard bones, they strike each
other upon the mouth as long as they can grip their swords, which are of
great service to them in dealing their heavy blows.
(Vv. 6149-6228.) When they had for a long time strained themselves,
until the helmets were crushed, and the hauberks' meshes were torn
apart with the hammering of the swords, and the shields were split and
cracked, they drew apart a little to give their pulse a rest and to
catch their breath again. However, they do not long delay, but run at
each other again more fiercely than before. And all declare that they
never saw two more courageous knights. "This fight between them is no
jest, but they are in grim earnest. They will never be repaid for their
merits and deserts." The two friends, in their bitter struggle, heard
these words, and heard how the people were talking of reconciling the
two sisters; but they had no success in placating the elder one. And the
younger one said she would leave it to the King, and would not gainsay
him in anything. But the elder one was so obstinate that even the
Queen Guinevere and the knights and the King and the ladies and the
townspeople side with the younger sister, and all join in beseeching the
King to give her a third or a fourth part of the land in spite of the
elder sister, and to separate the two knights who had displayed such
bravery, for it would be too bad if one should injure the other or
deprive him of any honour. And the King replied that he would take no
hand in making peace, for the elder sister is so cruel that she has no
desire for it. All these words were heard by the two, who were attacking
each other so bitterly that all were astonished thereat; for the battle
is waged so evenly that it is impossible to judge which has the better
and which the worse. Even the two men themselves, who fight, and who
are purchasing honour with agony, are filled with amazement and stand
aghast, for they are so well matched in their attack, that each wonders
who it can be that withstands him with such bravery. They fight so long
that the day draws on to night, while their arms grow weary and their
bodies sore, and the hot, boiling blood flows from many a spot and
trickles down beneath their hauberks: they are in such distress that
it is no wonder if they wish to rest. Then both withdraw to rest
themselves, each thinking within himself that, however long he has had
to wait, he now at last has met his match. For some time they thus seek
repose, without daring to resume the fight. They feel no further desire
to fight, because of the night which is growing dark, and because of the
respect they feel for each other's might. These two considerations keep
them apart, and urge them to keep the peace. But before they leave the
field they will discover each other's identity, and joy and mercy will
be established between them.
(Vv. 6229-6526.) My brave and courteous lord Yvain was the first to
speak. But his good friend was unable to recognise him by his utterance;
for he was prevented by his low tone and by his voice which was hoarse,
weak, and broken; for his blood was all stirred up by the blows he had
received. "My lord," he says, "the night comes on! I think no blame
or reproach will attach to us if the night comes between us. But I
am willing to admit, for my own part, that I feel great respect and
admiration for you, and never in my life have I engaged in a battle
which has made me smart so much, nor did I ever expect to see a knight
whose acquaintance I should so yearn to make. You know well how to land
your blows and how to make good use of them: I have never known a knight
who was so skilled in dealing blows. It was against my will that I
received all the blows you have bestowed on me to-day; I am stunned
by the blows you have I struck upon my head." "Upon my word," my lord
Gawain replies, "you are not so stunned and faint but that I am as much
so, or more. And if I should tell you the simple truth, I think you
would not be loath to hear it, for if I have lent you anything of mine,
you have fully paid me back, principal and interest; for you were more
ready to pay back than I was to accept the payment. But however that
may be, since you wish me to inform you of my name, it shall not be kept
from you: my name is Gawain the son of King Lot." As soon as my
lord Yvain heard that, he was amazed and sorely troubled; angry and
grief-stricken, he cast upon the ground his bloody sword and broken
shield, then dismounted from his horse, and cried: "Alas, what mischance
is this! Through what unhappy ignorance in not recognising each other
have we waged this battle! For if I had known who you were, I should
never have fought with you; but, upon my word, I should have surrendered
without a blow." "How is that?" my lord Gawain inquires, "who are you,
then?" "I am Yvain, who love you more than any man in the whole wide
world, for you have always been fond of me and shown me honour in every
court. But I wish to make you such amends and do you such honour in this
affair that I will confess myself to have been defeated." "Will you do
so much for my sake?" my gentle lord Gawain asks him; "surely I should
be presumptuous to accept any such amends from you. This honour shall
never be claimed as mine, but it shall be yours, to whom I resign
it." "Ah, fair sire, do not speak so. For that could never be. I am so
wounded and exhausted that I cannot endure more." "Surely, you have no
cause to be concerned." his friend and companion replies; "but for my
part, I am defeated and overcome; I say it not as a compliment; for
there is no stranger in the world, to whom I would not say as much,
rather than receive any more blows." Thus saying, he got down from his
horse, and they threw their arms about each other's neck, kissing each
other, and each continuing to assert that it is he who has met defeat.
The argument is still in progress when the King and the knights come
running up from every side, at the sight of their reconciliation; and
great is their desire to hear how this can be, and who these men are who
manifest such happiness. The King says: "Gentlemen, tell us now who
it is that has so suddenly brought about this friendship and harmony
between you two, after the hatred and strife there has been this day?"
Then his nephew, my lord Gawain, thus answers him: "My lord, you shall
be informed of the misfortune and mischance which have been the cause of
our strife. Since you have tarried in order to hear and learn the cause
of it, it is right to let you know the truth. I, Gawain, who am your
nephew, did not recognise this companion of mine, my lord Yvain, until
he fortunately, by the will of God, asked me my name. After each had
informed the other of his name, we recognised each other, but not until
we had fought it out. Our struggle already has been long; and if we had
fought yet a little longer, it would have fared ill with me, for, by my
head, he would have killed me, what with his prowess and the evil cause
of her who chose me as her champion. But I would rather be defeated than
killed by a friend in battle." Then my lord Yvain's blood was stirred,
as he said to him in reply: "Fair dear sire, so help me God, you have no
right to say so much. Let my lord, The King, well know in this battle
I am surely the one who has been defeated and overcome!" "I am the one"
"No, I am." Thus each cries out, and both are so honest and courteous
that each allows the victory and crown to be the other's prize, while
neither one of them will accept it. Thus each strives to convince the
King and all the people that he has been defeated and overthrown.
But when he had listened to them for a while, the King terminated the
dispute. He was well pleased with what he heard and with the sight of
them in each other's arms, though they had wounded and injured each
other in several places. "My lords," he says, "there is deep affection
between you two. You give clear evidence of that, when each insists that
it is he who has been defeated. Now leave it all to me! For I think I
can arrange it in such a way that it will redound to your honour, and
every one will give consent." Then they both promised him that they
would do his will in every particular. And the King says that he will
decide the quarrel fairly and faithfully. "Where is the damsel," he
inquires, "who has ejected her sister from her land, and has forcibly
and cruelly disinherited her?" "My lord," she answers, "here I am." "Are
you there? Then draw near to me! I saw plainly some time ago that you
were disinheriting her. But her right shall no longer be denied; for you
yourself have avowed the truth to me. You must now resign her share to
her." "Sire," she says, "if I uttered a foolish and thoughtless word,
you ought not to take me up in it. For God's sake, sire, do not be hard
on me! You are a king, and you ought to guard against wrong and error."
The King replies: "That is precisely why I wish to give your sister her
rights; for I have never defended what is wrong. And you have surely
heard how your knight and hers have left the matter in my hands. I shall
not say what is altogether pleasing to you; for your injustice is well
known. In his desire to honour the other, each one says that he has been
defeated. But there is no need to delay further: since the matter has
been left to me, either you will do in all respects what I say, without
resistance, or I shall announce that my nephew has been defeated in the
fight. That would be the worst thing that could happen to your cause,
and I shall be sorry to make such a declaration." In reality, he would
not have said it for anything; but he spoke thus in order to see if he
could frighten her into restoring the heritage to her sister; for he
clearly saw that she never would surrender anything to her for any
words of his unless she was influenced by force or fear. In fear and
apprehension, she replied to him: "Fair lord, I must now respect your
desire, though my heart is very loath to yield. Yet, however hard it may
go with me, I shall do it, and my sister shall have what belongs to her.