Auteur: Giles Watson
Beschrijving:
The story so far: At the close of the hunting season, King Arthur’s retinue descend from the fells and prepare to herd the barren does into the hollows in order to slaughter them with bows and arrows. Sir Gawaine leads King Arthur’s wife Gaynore down the track, when suddenly the woods are cast into darkness, and they are separated from their companions. Whilst Gawaine endeavours to explain away the phenomenon as a solar eclipse, a decayed, animated corpse appears before them. Gawaine observes that it is crawling with snakes and toads, and draws his sword to defend his queen. Now, the ghost opens its jaws and begins to speak, first to Gawaine, and then to Gaynore...
The Anturs of Arther: Part 2
The beaters all heard, though they stood far behind,
The jaw on the dewlap, the channering chin;
The knight called on Christ – he cried to the wind –
“By the king on the Cross, the cleanser of sin,
Tell me, cursed creature, what’s on your mind,
And why walk these woods, so wasted and thin?”
“I used to be fair; my flesh was once fine,
Christened and chrismed, and kings were my kin.
Bold, brash and brave, those ancestors of mine,
And God grants me grace
To do penance in this place,
And I turn my gaunt face
To screech at your Queen.
I was brighter than her – than sunlight in May –
Brighter than Brangeuayne or Beryl of old.
Friendship and freedom and unfettered play
I had greater than Gaynore, and great hoards of gold!
Of palaces, parks, of ponds, such display,
Of towers, of towns, of treasures untold,
Of castles and countries, of cliffs, in my day,
But now I am snatched off, shivering and cold,
In a fever of fretting and cowering in clay:
Lo, courteous knight,
Death’s a doleful, sad blight;
Let me once have a sight
Of Gaynore the gay!”
And Sir Gawaine the Good goes up to the Queen
And brings to the corpse the king’s beautiful bird.
It says, “Welcome Gaynore – such woes I have seen –
Look! Doleful Death made your mother his bride!
My cheek was once crimson, like the rose on the green,
My skin like the lilies that bloomed at its side.
Now I’m a ghost, and grisly my groan,
In Lucifer’s lake I’m compelled to abide:
This is my lot, girl – listen and learn!
Your fur and your ring,
Your mirrors that sing,
Your dukes and your King
Shall be harried, and burn!
This death you shall die, I say without doubt,
So take hearty heed, while you are still here,
When in richest array, as you ride in the rout,
Be kind to the poor, whilst there’s still time to care,
When beggars and bairns beset you about
Beware, for your body will ride on a bier,
And those who once doted will soon turn to doubt.
Then nothing will help but the holiest prayer,
For the prayers of the poor may purchase you peace:
Give them alms at the gate
And send them your meat
When you’re sitting in state
Long before your surcease.
Before your surcease, when the feast is being served,
And I rot in the dungeon – doomed there to dwell –
Needy and naked, scorned and enslaved
(My home is a-simmer, an outpost of Hell).
By a dozen black demons I’m basted and seared
On brass grates and brimstone, like a steak on a grill,
My skin is all blistered, my eyes are both bleared,
My tongue torn in two by the torments I tell.
Hear as I speak what you fear to know:
Now think upon this,
For your sin is amiss,
You’re a hussy for bliss
And you’ll share in my woe!”
Anonymous northern Middle English romance (15th century), paraphrased by Giles Watson.
The picture shows the tomb of John Hampton and his wife, Minchinhampton Church, Gloucestershire.
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