Idylls of the King Part 15

Sees what his fair bride is and does, and winks?

By which the good King means to blind himself, And blinds himself and all the Table Round To all the foulness that they work. Myself Could call him (were it not for womanhood) The pretty, popular cause such manhood earns, Could call him the main cause of all their crime; Yea, were he not crowned King, coward, and fool.'

Then Merlin to his own heart, loathing, said: 'O true and tender! O my liege and King!

O selfless man and stainless gentleman, Who wouldst against thine own eye-witness fain Have all men true and leal, all women pure; How, in the mouths of base interpreters, From over-fineness not intelligible To things with every sense as false and foul As the poached filth that floods the middle street, Is thy white blamelessness accounted blame!'

But Vivien, deeming Merlin overborne By instance, recommenced, and let her tongue Rage like a fire among the n.o.blest names, Polluting, and imputing her whole self, Defaming and defacing, till she left Not even Lancelot brave, nor Galahad clean.

Her words had issue other than she willed.

He dragged his eyebrow bushes down, and made A snowy penthouse for his hollow eyes, And muttered in himself, 'Tell her the charm!

So, if she had it, would she rail on me To snare the next, and if she have it not So will she rail. What did the wanton say?

"Not mount as high;" we scarce can sink as low: For men at most differ as Heaven and earth, But women, worst and best, as Heaven and h.e.l.l.

I know the Table Round, my friends of old; All brave, and many generous, and some chaste.

She cloaks the scar of some repulse with lies; I well believe she tempted them and failed, Being so bitter: for fine plots may fail, Though harlots paint their talk as well as face With colours of the heart that are not theirs.

I will not let her know: nine t.i.thes of times Face-flatterer and backbiter are the same.

And they, sweet soul, that most impute a crime Are p.r.o.nest to it, and impute themselves, Wanting the mental range; or low desire Not to feel lowest makes them level all; Yea, they would pare the mountain to the plain, To leave an equal baseness; and in this Are harlots like the crowd, that if they find Some stain or blemish in a name of note, Not grieving that their greatest are so small, Inflate themselves with some insane delight, And judge all nature from her feet of clay, Without the will to lift their eyes, and see Her G.o.dlike head crowned with spiritual fire, And touching other worlds. I am weary of her.'

He spoke in words part heard, in whispers part, Half-suffocated in the h.o.a.ry fell And many-wintered fleece of throat and chin.

But Vivien, gathering somewhat of his mood, And hearing 'harlot' muttered twice or thrice, Leapt from her session on his lap, and stood Stiff as a viper frozen; loathsome sight, How from the rosy lips of life and love, Flashed the bare-grinning skeleton of death!

White was her cheek; sharp breaths of anger puffed Her fairy nostril out; her hand half-clenched Went faltering sideways downward to her belt, And feeling; had she found a dagger there (For in a wink the false love turns to hate) She would have stabbed him; but she found it not: His eye was calm, and suddenly she took To bitter weeping like a beaten child, A long, long weeping, not consolable.

Then her false voice made way, broken with sobs:

'O crueller than was ever told in tale, Or sung in song! O vainly lavished love!

O cruel, there was nothing wild or strange, Or seeming shameful--for what shame in love, So love be true, and not as yours is--nothing Poor Vivien had not done to win his trust Who called her what he called her--all her crime, All--all--the wish to prove him wholly hers.'

She mused a little, and then clapt her hands Together with a wailing shriek, and said: 'Stabbed through the heart's affections to the heart!

Seethed like the kid in its own mother's milk!

Killed with a word worse than a life of blows!

I thought that he was gentle, being great: O G.o.d, that I had loved a smaller man!

I should have found in him a greater heart.

O, I, that flattering my true pa.s.sion, saw The knights, the court, the King, dark in your light, Who loved to make men darker than they are, Because of that high pleasure which I had To seat you sole upon my pedestal Of wors.h.i.+p--I am answered, and henceforth The course of life that seemed so flowery to me With you for guide and master, only you, Becomes the sea-cliff pathway broken short, And ending in a ruin--nothing left, But into some low cave to crawl, and there, If the wolf spare me, weep my life away, Killed with inutterable unkindliness.'

She paused, she turned away, she hung her head, The snake of gold slid from her hair, the braid Slipt and uncoiled itself, she wept afresh, And the dark wood grew darker toward the storm In silence, while his anger slowly died Within him, till he let his wisdom go For ease of heart, and half believed her true: Called her to shelter in the hollow oak, 'Come from the storm,' and having no reply, Gazed at the heaving shoulder, and the face Hand-hidden, as for utmost grief or shame; Then thrice essayed, by tenderest-touching terms, To sleek her ruffled peace of mind, in vain.

At last she let herself be conquered by him, And as the cageling newly flown returns, The seeming-injured simple-hearted thing Came to her old perch back, and settled there.

There while she sat, half-falling from his knees, Half-nestled at his heart, and since he saw The slow tear creep from her closed eyelid yet, About her, more in kindness than in love, The gentle wizard cast a s.h.i.+elding arm.

But she dislinked herself at once and rose, Her arms upon her breast across, and stood, A virtuous gentlewoman deeply wronged, Upright and flushed before him: then she said:

'There must now be no pa.s.sages of love Betwixt us twain henceforward evermore; Since, if I be what I am grossly called, What should be granted which your own gross heart Would reckon worth the taking? I will go.

In truth, but one thing now--better have died Thrice than have asked it once--could make me stay-- That proof of trust--so often asked in vain!

How justly, after that vile term of yours, I find with grief! I might believe you then, Who knows? once more. Lo! what was once to me Mere matter of the fancy, now hath grown The vast necessity of heart and life.

Farewell; think gently of me, for I fear My fate or folly, pa.s.sing gayer youth For one so old, must be to love thee still.

But ere I leave thee let me swear once more That if I schemed against thy peace in this, May yon just heaven, that darkens o'er me, send One flash, that, missing all things else, may make My scheming brain a cinder, if I lie.'

Scarce had she ceased, when out of heaven a bolt (For now the storm was close above them) struck, Furrowing a giant oak, and javelining With darted spikes and splinters of the wood The dark earth round. He raised his eyes and saw The tree that shone white-listed through the gloom.

But Vivien, fearing heaven had heard her oath, And dazzled by the livid-flickering fork, And deafened with the stammering cracks and claps That followed, flying back and crying out, 'O Merlin, though you do not love me, save, Yet save me!' clung to him and hugged him close; And called him dear protector in her fright, Nor yet forgot her practice in her fright, But wrought upon his mood and hugged him close.

The pale blood of the wizard at her touch Took gayer colours, like an opal warmed.

She blamed herself for telling hearsay tales: She shook from fear, and for her fault she wept Of petulancy; she called him lord and liege, Her seer, her bard, her silver star of eve, Her G.o.d, her Merlin, the one pa.s.sionate love Of her whole life; and ever overhead Bellowed the tempest, and the rotten branch Snapt in the rus.h.i.+ng of the river-rain Above them; and in change of glare and gloom Her eyes and neck glittering went and came; Till now the storm, its burst of pa.s.sion spent, Moaning and calling out of other lands, Had left the ravaged woodland yet once more To peace; and what should not have been had been, For Merlin, overtalked and overworn, Had yielded, told her all the charm, and slept.

Then, in one moment, she put forth the charm Of woven paces and of waving hands, And in the hollow oak he lay as dead, And lost to life and use and name and fame.

Then crying 'I have made his glory mine,'

And shrieking out 'O fool!' the harlot leapt Adown the forest, and the thicket closed Behind her, and the forest echoed 'fool.'

Lancelot and Elaine

Elaine the fair, Elaine the loveable, Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, High in her chamber up a tower to the east Guarded the sacred s.h.i.+eld of Lancelot; Which first she placed where the morning's earliest ray Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam; Then fearing rust or soilure fas.h.i.+oned for it A case of silk, and braided thereupon All the devices blazoned on the s.h.i.+eld In their own tinct, and added, of her wit, A border fantasy of branch and flower, And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.

Nor rested thus content, but day by day, Leaving her household and good father, climbed That eastern tower, and entering barred her door, Stript off the case, and read the naked s.h.i.+eld, Now guessed a hidden meaning in his arms, Now made a pretty history to herself Of every dint a sword had beaten in it, And every scratch a lance had made upon it, Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh; That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle; That at Caerleon; this at Camelot: And ah G.o.d's mercy, what a stroke was there!

And here a thrust that might have killed, but G.o.d Broke the strong lance, and rolled his enemy down, And saved him: so she lived in fantasy.

How came the lily maid by that good s.h.i.+eld Of Lancelot, she that knew not even his name?

He left it with her, when he rode to tilt For the great diamond in the diamond jousts, Which Arthur had ordained, and by that name Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.

For Arthur, long before they crowned him King, Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse, Had found a glen, gray boulder and black tarn.

A horror lived about the tarn, and clave Like its own mists to all the mountain side: For here two brothers, one a king, had met And fought together; but their names were lost; And each had slain his brother at a blow; And down they fell and made the glen abhorred: And there they lay till all their bones were bleached, And lichened into colour with the crags: And he, that once was king, had on a crown Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside.

And Arthur came, and labouring up the pa.s.s, All in a misty moons.h.i.+ne, unawares Had trodden that crowned skeleton, and the skull Brake from the nape, and from the skull the crown Rolled into light, and turning on its rims Fled like a glittering rivulet to the tarn: And down the s.h.i.+ngly scaur he plunged, and caught, And set it on his head, and in his heart Heard murmurs, 'Lo, thou likewise shalt be King.'

Thereafter, when a King, he had the gems Plucked from the crown, and showed them to his knights, Saying, 'These jewels, whereupon I chanced Divinely, are the kingdom's, not the King's-- For public use: henceforward let there be, Once every year, a joust for one of these: For so by nine years' proof we needs must learn Which is our mightiest, and ourselves shall grow In use of arms and manhood, till we drive The heathen, who, some say, shall rule the land Hereafter, which G.o.d hinder.' Thus he spoke: And eight years past, eight jousts had been, and still Had Lancelot won the diamond of the year, With purpose to present them to the Queen, When all were won; but meaning all at once To snare her royal fancy with a boon Worth half her realm, had never spoken word.

Now for the central diamond and the last And largest, Arthur, holding then his court Hard on the river nigh the place which now Is this world's hugest, let proclaim a joust At Camelot, and when the time drew nigh Spake (for she had been sick) to Guinevere, 'Are you so sick, my Queen, you cannot move To these fair jousts?' 'Yea, lord,' she said, 'ye know it.'

'Then will ye miss,' he answered, 'the great deeds Of Lancelot, and his prowess in the lists, A sight ye love to look on.' And the Queen Lifted her eyes, and they dwelt languidly On Lancelot, where he stood beside the King.

He thinking that he read her meaning there, 'Stay with me, I am sick; my love is more Than many diamonds,' yielded; and a heart Love-loyal to the least wish of the Queen (However much he yearned to make complete The tale of diamonds for his destined boon) Urged him to speak against the truth, and say, 'Sir King, mine ancient wound is hardly whole, And lets me from the saddle;' and the King Glanced first at him, then her, and went his way.

No sooner gone than suddenly she began:

'To blame, my lord Sir Lancelot, much to blame!

Why go ye not to these fair jousts? the knights Are half of them our enemies, and the crowd Will murmur, "Lo the shameless ones, who take Their pastime now the trustful King is gone!"'

Then Lancelot vext at having lied in vain: 'Are ye so wise? ye were not once so wise, My Queen, that summer, when ye loved me first.

Then of the crowd ye took no more account Than of the myriad cricket of the mead, When its own voice clings to each blade of gra.s.s, And every voice is nothing. As to knights, Them surely can I silence with all ease.

But now my loyal wors.h.i.+p is allowed Of all men: many a bard, without offence, Has linked our names together in his lay, Lancelot, the flower of bravery, Guinevere, The pearl of beauty: and our knights at feast Have pledged us in this union, while the King Would listen smiling. How then? is there more?

Has Arthur spoken aught? or would yourself, Now weary of my service and devoir, Henceforth be truer to your faultless lord?'

She broke into a little scornful laugh: 'Arthur, my lord, Arthur, the faultless King, That pa.s.sionate perfection, my good lord-- But who can gaze upon the Sun in heaven?

He never spake word of reproach to me, He never had a glimpse of mine untruth, He cares not for me: only here today There gleamed a vague suspicion in his eyes: Some meddling rogue has tampered with him--else Rapt in this fancy of his Table Round, And swearing men to vows impossible, To make them like himself: but, friend, to me He is all fault who hath no fault at all: For who loves me must have a touch of earth; The low sun makes the colour: I am yours, Not Arthur's, as ye know, save by the bond.

And therefore hear my words: go to the jousts: The tiny-trumpeting gnat can break our dream When sweetest; and the vermin voices here May buzz so loud--we scorn them, but they sting.'

Then answered Lancelot, the chief of knights: 'And with what face, after my pretext made, Shall I appear, O Queen, at Camelot, I Before a King who honours his own word, As if it were his G.o.d's?'

'Yea,' said the Queen, 'A moral child without the craft to rule, Else had he not lost me: but listen to me, If I must find you wit: we hear it said That men go down before your spear at a touch, But knowing you are Lancelot; your great name, This conquers: hide it therefore; go unknown: Win! by this kiss you will: and our true King Will then allow your pretext, O my knight, As all for glory; for to speak him true, Ye know right well, how meek soe'er he seem, No keener hunter after glory breathes.

He loves it in his knights more than himself: They prove to him his work: win and return.'

Then got Sir Lancelot suddenly to horse, Wroth at himself. Not willing to be known, He left the barren-beaten thoroughfare, Chose the green path that showed the rarer foot, And there among the solitary downs, Full often lost in fancy, lost his way; Till as he traced a faintly-shadowed track, That all in loops and links among the dales Ran to the Castle of Astolat, he saw Fired from the west, far on a hill, the towers.

Thither he made, and blew the gateway horn.

Then came an old, dumb, myriad-wrinkled man, Who let him into lodging and disarmed.

And Lancelot marvelled at the wordless man; And issuing found the Lord of Astolat With two strong sons, Sir Torre and Sir Lavaine, Moving to meet him in the castle court; And close behind them stept the lily maid Elaine, his daughter: mother of the house There was not: some light jest among them rose With laughter dying down as the great knight Approached them: then the Lord of Astolat: 'Whence comes thou, my guest, and by what name Livest thou between the lips? for by thy state And presence I might guess thee chief of those, After the King, who eat in Arthur's halls.

Him have I seen: the rest, his Table Round, Known as they are, to me they are unknown.'

Then answered Sir Lancelot, the chief of knights: 'Known am I, and of Arthur's hall, and known, What I by mere mischance have brought, my s.h.i.+eld.

But since I go to joust as one unknown At Camelot for the diamond, ask me not, Hereafter ye shall know me--and the s.h.i.+eld-- I pray you lend me one, if such you have, Blank, or at least with some device not mine.'