IDYLLS OF THE KING
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Sir Lancelot went ambassador, at first,
^o fetch her, and she took him for the King.
Frontispiece
Idylls of the King
'jik? t&y
W W
BY
ALFRED
LORD TENNYSON
Illustrated in Colour by ELEANOR FORTESCUE BRICKDALE
HODDER & STOUGHTON London • NewYbrk • Toronto
Printed at the Edinburgh Press in the City of London.
ILLUSTRATIONS
W
ENID
Facing pate
To make her beauty vary day by day,
In crimsons and in purples and in gems. 6
Enid. 14
Yniol’s rusted arms
Were on his princely person, but thro’ these
Princelike his bearing shone. 30
They rode so slowly and they look’d so pale. 38
And many past, but none regarded her. 62
ILLUSTRATIONS
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VIVIEN |
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At which the King |
PaciHt taut |
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Had gazed upon her blankly and gone by. |
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O master, do you love my tender rhyme ? |
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Nor saw she save the King, who wrought the charm. |
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Sir Lancelot went ambassador, at first. To fetch her, and she took him for the King. |
Frontispiece |
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And in the hollow oak he lay as dead. And lost to life and use and name and fame. |
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W
ELAINE
Elaine.
102
Then to her tower she climb’d, and took the shield, There kept it, and so lived in fantasy.
no
ILLUSTRATIONS
But to be with you still, to see your face,
To serve you, and to follow you thro’ the world.
So those two brethren from the chariot took And on the black decks laid her in her bed.
Farewell, fair lily.
GUINEVERE
The Queen who sat betwixt her best Enid, and lissome Vivien, of her court The wiliest and the worst.
It was their last hour,
A madness of farewells.
Before the coming of the sinful Queen.
They found a naked child upon the sands Of dark Dundagil by the Cornish sea ;
And that was Arthur ; and they foster’d him Till he by miracle was approven King.
Facing Page 118
134
142
150
158
160
164
ILLUSTRATIONS
Facing page
As in the golden days. 168
The sombre close of that voluptuous day
Which wrought the ruin of my lord the King. 172
ENID
ENID
HE brave Geraint, a knight of Arthur’s court,
A tributary prince of Devon, one Of that great Order of the Table Round,
Had married Enid, Yniol’s only child,
And loved her, as he loved the light of Heaven. And as the light of Heaven vanes, now At sunrise, now at sunset, now by night With moon and trembling stars, so loved Geraint To make her beauty vary day by day,
In crimsons and in purples and in gems.
And Enid, but to please her husband’s eye.
Who first had found and loved her in a state
Of broken fortunes, daily fronted him
In some fresh splendour ; and the Queen herself.
Grateful to Prince Geraint for service done.
Loved her, and often with her own wtiite hands Array’d and deck’d her as the loveliest.
Next after her own self, in all the court.
And Enid loved the Queen, and with true heart Adored her, as the stateliest and the best And loveliest of all women upon earth.
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And seeing them so tender and so close,
Long in their common love rejoiced Geraint.
But when a rumour rose about the Queen, Touching her guilty love for Lancelot,
Tho* yet there lived no proof, nor yet was heard The world’s loud whisper breaking into storm. Not less Geraint believed it; and there fell A horror on him, lest his gentle wife.
Thro’ that great tenderness for Guinevere,
Had suffer’d, or should suffer any taint In nature : wherefore going to the King,
He made this pretext, that his princedom lay Close on the borders of a territory.
Wherein were bandit earls, and caitiff knights. Assassins, and all flyers from the hand Of Justice, and whatever loathes a law :
And therefore, till the King himself should please To cleanse this common sewer of all his realm. He craved a fair permission to depart,
And there defend his marches ; and the King Mused for a little on his plea, but, last.
Allowing it, the Prince and Enid rode.
And fifty knights rode with them, to the shores Of Severn, and they past to their own land ; Where, thinking, that if ever yet was wife True to her lord, mine shall be so to me.
He compass’d her with sweet observances And worship, never leaving her, and grew Forgetful of his promise to the King,
Forgetful of the falcon and the hunt.
Forgetful of the tilt and tournament,
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Forgetful of his glory and his name,
Forgetful of his princedom and its cares.
And this forgetfulness was hateful to her.
And by and by the people, when they met In twos and threes, or fuller companies.
Began to scoff and jeer and babble of him As of a prince whose manhood was all gone,
And molten down in mere uxoriousness.
And this she gather’d from the people’s eyes:
This too the women who attired her head.
To please her, dwelling on his boundless love.
Told Enid, and they sadden’d her the more:
And day by day she thought to tell Geraint,
But could not out of bashful delicacy ;
While he that watch’d her sadden, was the more Suspicious that her nature had a taint.
last, it chanced that on a summer morn (They sleeping each by other) the new sun Beat thro’ the blindless casement of the room And heated the strong warrior in his dreams ; Who, moving, cast the coverlet aside.
And bared the knotted column of his throat. The massive square of his heroic breast,
And arms on which the standing muscle sloped.
As slopes a wild brook o’er a little stone.
Running too vehemently to break upon it.
And Enid woke and sat beside the couch,
Admiring him, and thought within herself,
Was ever man so grandly made as he?
Then, like a shadow, past the people’s talk
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And accusation of uxoriousness Across her mind, and bowing over him,
Low to her own heart piteously she said :
“O noble breast and all-puissant arms,
Am I the cause, I the poor cause that men Reproach you, saying all your force is gone?
I am the cause, because I dare not speak And tell him what I think and what they say. And yet I hate that he should linger here ;
I cannot love my lord and not his name.
Far liefer had I gird his harness on him.
And ride with him to battle and stand by,
And watch his mightful hand striking great blows At caitiffs and at wrongers of the world.
Far better were I laid in the dark earth,
Not hearing any more his noble voice.
Not to be folded more in these dear arms,
And darken’d from the high light in his eyes, Than that my lord thro* me should suffer shame. Am I so bold, and could I so stand by.
And see my dear lord wounded in the strife.
Or maybe pierced to death before mine eyes.
And yet not dare to tell him what I think.
And how men slur him, saying all his force Is melted into mere effeminacy?
O me, I fear that I am no true wife.”
Half inwardly, half audibly she spoke.
And the strong passion in her made her weep True tears upon his broad and naked breast,
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And these awoke him, and by great mischance He heard but fragments of her later words,
And that she fear’d she was not a true wife.
And then he thought, “In spite of all my care, For all my pains, poor man, for all my pains.
She is not faithful to me, and I see her Weeping for some gay knight in Arthur’s hall.” Then tho’ he loved and reverenced her too much To dream she could be guilty of foul act.
Right thro’ his manful breast darted the pang That makes a man, in the sweet face of her Whom he loves most, lonely and miserable.
At this he hurl’d his huge limbs out of bed.
And shook his drowsy squire awake and cried, “My charger and her palfrey;” then to her,
“I will ride forth into the wilderness;
For tho’ it seems my spurs are yet to win,
I have not fall’n so low as some would wish.
And you, put on your worst and meanest dress And ride with me.” And Enid ask’d, amazed, “If Enid errs, let Enid learn her fault.”
But he, “I charge you, ask not, but obey.”
Then she bethought her of a faded silk,
A faded mantle and a faded veil.
And moving toward a cedarn cabinet.
Wherein she kept them folded reverently With sprigs of summer laid between the folds,
She took them, and array’d herself therein. Remembering when first he came on her Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it. And all her foolish fears about the dress,
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And all his journey to her, as himself Had told her, and their coming to the court.
OR Arthur on the Whitsuntide before Held court at old Caerleon upon Usk. There on a day, he sitting high in hall. Before him came a forester of Dean,
Wet from the woods, with notice of a hart Taller than all his fellows, milky-white. First seen that day: these things he told the King.
Then the good King gave order to let blow His horns for hunting on the morrow morn.
And when the Queen petition’d for his leave To see the hunt, allow’d it easily.
So with the morning all the court were gone.
But Guinevere lay late into the morn.
Lost in sweet dreams, and dreaming of her love For Lancelot, and forgetful of the hunt ;
But rose at last, a single maiden with her,
Took horse, and forded Usk, and gain’d the wood ;
There, on a little knoll beside it, stay’d Waiting to hear the hounds; but heard instead A sudden sound of hoofs, for Prince Geraint,
Late also, wearing neither hunting-dress Nor weapon, save a golden-hilted brand,
Game quickly flashing thro’ the shallow ford Behind them, and so gallop’d up the knoll.
A purple scarf, at either end whereof There swung an apple of the purest gold.
Sway’d round about him, as he gallop’d up To join them, glancing like a dragon-fly
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*^0 make her beauty vary day by day, In crimsons and in purples and in gems.
Page /
IDYLLS OF THE KING
In summer suit and silks of holiday.
Low bow’d the tributary Prince, and she,
Sweetly and statelily, and with all grace Of womanhood and queenhood, answer’d him :
“Late, late. Sir Prince,” she said, “later than we!” “Yea, noble Queen,” he answer’d, “and so late That I but come like you to see the hunt.
Not join it.” “Therefore wait with me,” she said; “For on this little knoll, if anywhere.
There is good chance that we shall hear the hounds : Here often they break covert at our feet.”
And while they listen’d for the distant hunt,
And chiefly for the baying of Gavall,
King Arthur’s hound of deepest mouth, there rode Full slowly by a knight, lady, and dwarf;
Whereof the dwarf lagg’d latest, and the knight Had visor up, and show’d a youthful face.
Imperious, and of haughtiest lineaments.
And Guinevere, not mindful of his face In the King’s hall, desired his name, and sent Her maiden to demand it of the dwarf ;
Who being vicious, old and irritable.
And doubling all his master’s vice of pride.
Made answer sharply that she should not know. “Then will I ask it of himself,” she said.
“Nay, by my faith, thou shalt not,” cried the dwarf; “Thou art not worthy ev’n to speak of him;”
And when she put her horse toward the knight. Struck at her with his whip, and she return’d Indignant to the Queen; at which Geraint
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Exclaiming, “Surely I will learn the name,”
Made sharply to the dwarf, and ask’d it of him.
Who answer’d as before; and when the Prince Had put his horse in motion toward the knight.
Struck at him with his whip, and cut his cheek.
The Prince’s blood spirted upon the scarf.
Dyeing it; and his quick, instinctive hand Caught at the hilt, as to abolish him :
But he, from his exceeding manfulness And pure nobility of temperament.
Wroth to be wroth at such a worm, refrain’d From ev’n a word, and so returning said :
‘ ‘ I will avenge this insult, noble Queen,
Done in your maiden’s person to yourself:
And I will track this vermin to their earths;
For tho’ I ride unarm’d, I do not doubt To find, at some place I shall come at, arms On loan, or else for pledge; and, being found.
Then will I fight him, and will break his pride.
And on the third day will again be here.
So that I be not fall’n in fight. Farewell.”
“Farewell, fair Prince,” answer’d the stately Queen. “Be prosperous in this journey, as in all;
And may you light on all things that you love,
And live to wed with her whom first you love :
But ere you wed with any, bring your bride,
And I, were she the daughter of a king.
Yea, tho’ she were a beggar from the hedge,
Will clothe her for her bridals like the sun.”
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
D Prince Geraint, now thinking that he heard The noble hart at bay, now the far horn,
A little vext at losing of the hunt,
A little at the vile occasion, rode.
By ups and downs, thro’ many a grassy glade And valley, with fixt eye following the three. At last they issued from the world of wood.
And climb'd upon a fair and even ridge.
And show’d themselves against the sky, and sank.
And thither came Geraint, and underneath Beheld the long street of a little town In a long valley, on one side of which.
White from the mason’s hand, a fortress rose;
And on one side a castle in decay.
Beyond a bridge that spann'd a dry ravine:
And out of town and valley came a noise As of a broad brook o’er a shingly bed Brawling, or like a clamour of the rooks At distance, ere they settle for the night.
And onward to the fortress rode the three,
And enter’d, and were lost behind the walls.
' ‘ So, ’’ thought Geraint, “I have track’d him to his earth.” And down the long street riding wearily.
Found every hostel full, and everywhere Was hammer laid to hoof, and the hot hiss And bustling whistle of the youth who scour’d His master’s armour; and of such a one He ask’d, “What means the tumult in the town?”
Who told him, scouring still, “The sparrow-hawk!”
Then riding close behind an ancient churl,
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Who, smitten by the dusty sloping beam,
Went sweating underneath a sack of corn,
Ask’d yet once more what meant the hubbub here? Who answer’d gruffly, “Ugh! the sparrow-hawk.” Then riding further past an armourer’s.
Who, with back turn’d, and bow’d above his work, Sat riveting a helmet on his knee.
He put the self-same query, but the man Not turning round, nor looking at him, said: “Friend, he that labours for the sparrow-hawk Has little time for idle questioners. ”
Whereat Geraint flash’d into sudden spleen :
“A thousand pips eat up your sparrow-hawk!
Tits, wrens, and all wing’d nothings peck him dead !
Ye think the rustic cackle of your bourg
The murmur of the world ! What is it to me?
O wretched set of sparrows, one and all.
Who pipe of nothing but of sparrow-hawks!
Speak, if you be not like the rest, hawk-mad.
Where can I get me harbourage for the night?
And arms, arms, arms to fight my enemy? Speak!” At this the armourer, turning all amazed And seeing one so gay in purple silks.
Came forward with the helmet yet in hand And answer’d, “Pardon me, O stranger knight;
We hold a tourney here to-morrow morn,
And there is scantly time for half the work.
Arms ? truth ! I know not : all are wanted here. Harbourage? truth, good truth, I know not, save,
It may be, at Earl Yniol’s, o’er the bridge Yonder.” He spoke and fell to work again.
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Then rode Geraint, a little spleenful yet, Across the bridge that spann’d the dry ravine. There musing sat the hoary-headed Earl (His dress a suit of fray’d magnificence.
Once fit for feasts of ceremony), and said : “Whither, fair son?” to whom Geraint replied, “O friend, I seek a harbourage for the night.” Then Yniol, “ Enter therefore and partake The slender entertainment of a house Once rich, now poor, but ever open-door’d.” “Thanks, venerable friend,” replied Geraint;
“So that you do not serve me sparrow-hawks For supper, I will enter, I will eat With all the passion of a twelve hours’ fast.” Then sigh’d and smiled the hoary-headed Earl, And answer’d, “Graver cause than yours is mine To curse this hedgerow thief, the sparrow-hawk : But in, go in ; for save yourself desire it.
We will not touch upon him ev’n in jest.”
Then rode Geraint into the castle court.
His charger trampling many a prickly star Of sprouted thistle on the broken stones.
He look’d and saw that all was ruinous.
Here stood a shatter’d archway plumed with fern And here had fall’n a great part of a tower, Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff. And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers : And high above a piece of turret stair.
Worn by the feet that now were silent, wound Bare to the sun, and monstrous ivy-stems
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Claspt the grey walls with hairy-fibred arms,
And suck’d the joining of the stones, and look’d A knot, beneath, of snakes, aloft, a grove.
And while he waited in the castle court.
The voice of Enid, Yniol’s daughter, rang Clear thro’ the open casement of the hall.
Singing ; and as the sweet voice of a bird.
Heard by the lander in a lonely isle.
Moves him to think what kind of bird it is That sings so delicately clear, and make Conjecture of the plumage and the form ;
So the sweet voice of Enid moved Geraint;
And made him like a man abroad at morn
When first the liquid note beloved of men
Comes flying over many a windy wave
To Britain, and in April suddenly
Breaks from a coppice gemm’d with green and red,
And he suspends his converse with a friend.
Or it may be the labour of his hands.
To think or say, “ There is the nightingale; ”
So fared it with Geraint, who thought and said, “Here, by God’s grace, is the one voice for me.”
It chanced the song that Enid sang was one Of Fortune and her wheel, and Enid sang :
“ Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud ;
Turn thy wild wheel thro’ sunshine, storm, and cloud; Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
“Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown; With that wild wheel we go not up or down ;
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.
“Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands;
Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands ;
For man is man and master of his fate.
“Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd ;
Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud ;
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.”
“Hark, by the bird’s song you may learn the nest,” Said Yniol ; “Enter quickly.” Entering then,
Right o’er a mount of newly-fallen stones.
The dusky-rafter’d many-cobweb’d hall.
He found an ancient dame in dim brocade ;
And near her, like a blossom vermeil-white,
That lightly breaks a faded flower-sheath.
Moved the fair Enid, all in faded silk.
Her daughter. In a moment thought Geraint,
“Here by God’s rood is the one maid for me.”
But none spake word except the hoary Earl :
“Enid, the good knight’s horse stands in the court ;
Take him to stall, and give him corn, and then Go to the town and buy us flesh and wine ;
And we will make us merry as we may.
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.”
He spake: the Prince, as Enid past him, fain To follow, strode a stride, but Yniol caught
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
His purple scarf, and held, and said, “Forbear!
Rest ! the good house, though ruin’d, O my son. Endures not that her guest should serve himself.” And reverencing the custom of the house,
Geraint, from utter courtesy, forbore.
So Enid took his charger to the stall ;
And after went her way across the bridge.
And reach’d the town, and while the Prince and Earl Yet spoke together, came again with one,
A youth, that following with a costrel bore The means of goodly welcome, flesh and wine.
And Enid brought sweet cakes to make them cheer, And in her veil enfolded, manchet bread.
And then, because their hall must also serve For kitchen, boil’d the flesh, and spread the board, And stood behind, and waited on the three.
And seeing her so sweet and serviceable,
Geraint had longing in him evermore To stoop and kiss the tender little thumb.
That crost the trencher as she laid it down :
But after all had eaten, then Geraint,
For now the wine made summer in his veins,
Let his eye rove in following, or rest On Enid, at her lowly handmaid-work,
Now here, now there, about the dusky hall;
Then suddenly addrest the hoary Earl :
“ Fair Host and Earl, I pray your courtesy ;
This sparrow-hawk, what is he, tell me of him.
His name ? but no, good faith, I will not have it :
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'4'
IDYLLS OF THE KING
For if he be the knight whom late I saw Ride into that new fortress by your town,
White from the mason’s hand, then have I sworn From his own lips to have it — I am Geraint Of Devon — for this morning when the Queen Sent her own maiden to demand the name.
His dwarf, a vicious under-shapen thing.
Struck at her with his whip, and she return’d Indignant to the Queen ; and then I swore That I would track this caitiff to his hold.
And fight and break his pride, and have it of him.
And all unarm’d I rode, and thought to find Arms in your town, where all the men are mad ;
They take the rustic murmur of their bourg For the great wave that echoes round the world ;
They would not hear me speak : but if you know Where I can light on arms, or if yourself Should have them, tell me, seeing I have sworn That I will break his pride and learn his name.
Avenging this great insult done the Queen.”
HEN cried Earl Yniol, “ Art thou he indeed Geraint, a name far-sounded among men For noble deeds? and truly I, when first I saw you moving by me on the bridge. Felt you were somewhat, yea and by your state
And presence might have guess’d you one of those That eat in Arthur’s hall at Gamelot.
Nor speak I now from foolish flattery ;
For this dear child hath often heard me praise
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Your feats of arms, and often when I paused Hath ask’d again, and ever loved to hear ;
So grateful is the noise of noble deeds To noble hearts who see but acts of wrong :
0 never yet had woman such a pair Of suitors as this maiden ; first Limours,
A creature wholly given to brawls and wine.
Drunk even when he woo’d ; and be he dead
1 know not, but he past to the wild land.
The second was your foe the sparrow-hawk,
My curse, my nephew — I will not let his name Slip from my lips if I can help it — he.
When I that knew him fierce and turbulent Refused her to him, then his pride awoke ;
And since the proud man often is the mean,
He sow’d a slander in the common ear.
Affirming that his father left him gold.
And in my charge, which was not render’d to him ; Bribed with large promises the men who served About my person, the more easily Because my means were somewhat broken into Thro’ open doors and hospitality ;
Raised my own town against me in the night Before my Enid’s birthday, sack’d my house ;
From mine own earldom foully ousted me ;
Built that new fort to overawe my friends.
For truly there are those who love me yet ;
And keeps me in this ruinous castle here.
Where doubtless he would put me soon to death, But that his pride too much despises me :
And I myself sometimes despise myself ;
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
For I have let men be, and have their way ;
Am much too gentle, have not used my power :
Nor know I whether I be very base Or very manful, whether very wise Or very foolish ; only this I know.
That whatsoever evil happen to me,
I seem to suffer nothing heart or limb,
But can endure it all most patiently.”
“Well said, true heart,” replied Geraint, “but arms: That if, as I suppose, your nephew fights In next day’s tourney I may break his pride.”
D Yniol answered, “Arms, indeed, but old And rusty, old and rusty. Prince Geraint, Are mine, and therefore at your asking, yours.
But in this tournament can no man tilt. Except the lady he loves best be there. Two forks are fixt into the meadow ground.
And over these is laid a silver wand.
And over that is placed the sparrow-hawk,
The prize of beauty for the fairest there.
And this, what knight soever be in field Lays claims to for the lady at his side.
And tilts with my good nephew thereupon.
Who being apt at arms and big of bone Has ever won it for the lady with him.
And toppling over all antagonism
Has earn’d himself the name of sparrow-hawk.
But you, that have no lady, cannot fight.”
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
To whom Geraint with eyes all bright replied,
Leaning a little toward him, “Your leave!
Let me lay lance in rest, O noble host.
For this dear child, because I never saw,
Tho’ having seen all beauties of our time,
Nor can see elsewhere, anything so fair.
And if I fall her name will yet remain Untarnish’d as before ; but if I live,
So aid me Heaven when at mine uttermost,
As I will make her truly my true wife.”
Then, howsoever patient, Yniol’s heart Danced in his bosom, seeing better days.
And looking round he saw not Enid there,
(Who hearing her own name had slipt away)
But that old dame, to whom full tenderly And fondling all her hand in his he said,
“ Mother, a maiden is a tender thing,
And best by her that bore her understood.
Go thou to rest, but ere thou go to rest
Tell her, and prove her heart toward the Prince.”
O spake the kindly-hearted Earl, and she
With frequent smile and nod departing found. Half disarray’d as to her rest, the girl ;
Whom first she kiss’d on either cheek, and then On either shining shoulder laid a hand.
And kept her off and gazed upon her face. And told her all their converse in the hall.
Proving her heart; but never light and shade Coursed one another more on open ground
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Beneath a troubled heaven, than red and pale Across the face of Enid hearing her ;
While slowly falling as a scale that falls,
When weight is added only grain by grain,
Sank her sweet head upon her gentle breast ;
Nor did she lift an eye nor speak a word.
Rapt in the fear and in the wonder of it ;
So moving without answer to her rest She found no rest, and ever fail’d to draw The quiet night into her blood, but lay Contemplating her own unworthiness ;
And when the pale and bloodless east began To quicken to the sun, arose, and raised Her mother too, and hand in hand they moved Down to the meadow where the jousts were held. And waited there for Yniol and Geraint.
And thither came the twain, and when Geraint Beheld her first in field awaiting him.
He felt, were she the prize of bodily force.
Himself beyond the rest pushing could move The chair of Idris. Yniol’s rusted arms Were on his princely person, but thro’ these Princelike his bearing shone ; and errant knights And ladies came, and by and by the town Flow’d in, and settling circled all the lists.
And there they fixt the forks into the ground.
And over these they placed a silver wand And over that a golden sparrow-hawk.
Then Yniol’s nephew, after trumpet blown.
Spake to the lady with him and proclaim’d,
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
“ Advance and take as fairest of the fair,
For I these two years past have won it for thee,
The prize of beauty.” Loudly spake the Prince, “Forbear: there is a worthier,” and the knight With some surprise and thrice as much disdain Turn’d, and beheld the four, and all his face Glow’d like the heart of a great fire at Yule,
So burnt he was with passion, crying out,
“Do battle for it then,” no more; and thrice They clash’d together, and thrice they brake their spears. Then each, dishorsed and drawing, lash’d at each So often and with such blows, that all the crowd Wonder’d, and now and then from distant walls There came a clapping as of phantom hands.
So twice they fought, and twice they breathed, and still The dew of their great labour, and the blood Of their strong bodies, flowing, drain’d their force.
But either ’s force was match’d till Yniol’s cry, “Remember that great insult done the Queen,”
Increased Geraint’s, who heaved his blade aloft.
And crack’d the helmet thro’, and bit the bone,
And fell’d him, and set foot upon his breast.
And said, “Thy name?” To whom the fallen man Made answer, groaning, “ Edyrn, son of Nudd!
Ashamed am I that I should tell it thee.
My pride is broken : men have seen my fall. ”
“Then, Edyrn, son of Nudd,” replied Geraint,
“These two things shalt thou do, or else thou diest.
First, thou thyself, thy lady, and thy dwarf,
Shalt ride to Arthur’s court, and being there.
Grave pardon for that insult done the Queen,
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And shalt abide her judgement on it ; next,
Thou shalt give back their earldom to thy kin.
These two things shalt thou do, or thou shalt die.”
And Edyrn answer’d, “These things will I do,
For I have never yet been overthrown.
And thou hast overthrown me, and my pride Is broken down, for Enid sees my fall ! ”
And rising up, he rode to Arthur’s court,
And there the Queen forgave him easily.
And being young, he changed himself, and grew To hate the sin that seem’d so like his own Of Modred, Arthur’s nephew, and fell at last In the great battle fighting for the king.
UT when the third day from the hunting-morn Made a low splendour in the world, and wings Moved in her ivy, Enid, for she lay With her fair head in the dim-yellow light. Among the dancing shadows of the birds.
Woke and bethought her of her promise given No later than last eve to Prince Geraint —
So bent he seem’d on going the third day.
He would not leave her till her promise given —
To ride with him this morning to the court.
And there be made known to the stately Queen,
And there be wedded with all ceremony.
At this she cast her eyes upon her dress.
And thought it never yet had look’d so mean.
For as a leaf in mid-November is
To what it was in mid-October, seem’d
The dress that now she look’d on to the dress
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
She look’d on ere the coming of Geraint.
And still she look’d, and still the terror grew Of that strange bright and dreadful thing, a court. All staring at her in her faded silk :
And softly to her own sweet heart she said :
“This noble Prince who won our earldom back. So splendid in his acts and his attire.
Sweet Heaven, how much I shall discredit him ! Would he could tarry with us here awhile!
But being so beholden to the Prince,
It were but little grace in any of us.
Bent as he seem’d on going this third day.
To seek a second favour at his hands.
Yet if he could but tarry a day or two.
Myself would work eye dim, and finger lame,
Far liefer than so much discredit him.”
And Enid fell in longing for a dress All branch’d and flower’d with gold, a costly gift Of her good mother, given her on the night Before her birthday, three sad years ago.
That night of fire, when Edyrn sack’d their house, And scatter’d all they had to all the winds :
For while the mother show’d it, and the two Were turning and admiring it, the work To both appear’d so costly, rose a cry That Edyrn’s men were on them, and they fled With little save the jewels they had on.
Which being sold and sold had bought them bread : And Edyrn’s men had caught them in their flight,
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And placed them in this ruin ; and she wish’d The Prince had found her in her ancient home ;
Then let her fancy flit across the past.
And roam the goodly places that she knew :
And last bethought her how she used to watch,
Near that old home, a pool of golden carp ;
And one was patch’d and blurr’d and lustreless Among his burnish’d brethren of the pool ;
And half asleep she made comparison Of that and these to her own faded self And the gay court, and fell asleep again;
And dreamt herself was such a faded form Among her burnish’d sisters of the pool ;
But this was in the garden of a king ;
And tho’ she lay dark in the pool, she knew That all was bright ; that all about were birds Of sunny plume in gilded trellis-work ;
That all the turf was rich in plots that look’d Each like a garnet or a turkis in it ;
And lords and ladies of the high court went In silver tissue talking things of state ;
And children of the king in cloth of gold Glanced at the doors or gambol’d down the walks ; And while she thought “they will not see me,” came A stately queen whose name was Guinevere,
And all the children in their cloth of gold Ran to her, crying, “ If we have fish at all Let them be gold ; and charge the gardeners now To pick the faded creature from the pool,
And cast it on the mixen that it die.”
And therewithal one came and seized on her,
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And Enid started waking, with her heart All overshadow’d by the foolish dream,
And lo ! it was her mother grasping her To get her well awake ; and in her hand A suit of bright apparel, which she laid Flat on the couch, and spoke exultingly :
“ See here, my child, how fresh the colours look,
How fast they hold like colours of a shell That keeps the wear and polish of the wave.
Why not? it never yet was worn, I trow:
Look on it, child, and tell me if you know it.”
ND Enid look’d, but all confused at first,
Gould scarce divide it from her foolish dream • Then suddenly she knew it and rejoiced.
And answer’d, ‘‘Yea, I know it; your good gift,
So sadly lost on that unhappy night ;
Your own good gift!” ‘‘Yea, surely,” said the dame,
“ And gladly given again this happy morn.
For when the jousts were ended yesterday.
Went Yniol through the town, and everywhere He found the sack and plunder of the house All scatter’d thro’ the houses of the town ;
And gave command that all which once was ours,
Should now be ours again : and yester-eve.
While you were talking sweetly with your Prince,
Game one with this and laid it in my hand.
For love or fear, or seeking favour of us.
Because we have our earldom back again.
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And yester-eve I would not tell you of it,
But kept it for a sweet surprise at morn.
Yea, truly is it not a sweet surprise?
For I myself unwillingly have worn My faded suit, as you, my child, have yours.
And howsoever patient, Yniol his.
Ah, dear, he took me from a goodly house.
With store of rich apparel, sumptuous fare.
And page, and maid, and squire, and seneschal.
And pastime both of hawk and hound, and all That appertains to noble maintenance.
Yea, and he brought me to a goodly house ;
But since our fortune slipt from sun to shade.
And all thro’ that young traitor, cruel need Constrain’d us, but a better time has come ;
So clothe yourself in this, that better fits Our mended fortunes and a Prince’s bride :
For tho’ you won the prize of fairest fair.
And tho’ I heard him call you fairest fair,
Let never maiden think, however fair.
She is not fairer in new clothes than old.
And should some great court-lady say, the Prince Hath pick’d a ragged-robin from the hedge.
And like a madman brought her to the court.
Then were you shamed, and, worse, might shame the Prince To whom we are beholden ; but I know.
When my dear child is set forth at her best.
That neither court nor country, tho’ they sought
Thro’ all the provinces like those of old
That lighted on Queen Esther, has her match.”
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
ERE ceased the kindly mother out of breath ; And Enid listen’d brightening as she lay ; Then, as the white and glittering star of morn Parts from a bank of snow, and by and by Slips into golden cloud, the maiden rose.
And left her maiden couch, and robed herself. Help’d by the mother’s careful hand and eye.
Without a mirror, in the gorgeous gown ;
Who, after, turn’d her daughter round, and said.
She never yet had seen her half so fair ;
And call’d her like that maiden in the tale.
Whom Gwydion made by glamour out of flowers,
And sweeter than the bride of Gassivelaun,
Flur, for whose love the Roman Caesar first Invaded Britain, “but we beat him back.
As this great Prince invaded us, and we.
Not beat him back, but welcomed him with joy.
And I can scarcely ride with you to court.
For old am I, and rough the ways and wild ;
But Yniol goes, and I full oft shall dream I see my princess as I see her now.
Clothed with my gift and gay among the gay.”
But while the women thus rejoiced, Geraint Woke where he slept in the high hall, and call’d For Enid, and when Yniol made report Of that good mother making Enid gay In such apparel as might well beseem His princess, or indeed the stately Queen,
He answer’d: “Earl, entreat her by my love.
Albeit I give no reason but my wish,
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
That she ride with me in her faded silk.”
Yniol with that hard message went ; it fell,
Like flaws in summer laying lusty corn :
For Enid, all abash’d she knew not why,
Dared not to glance at her good mother’s face,
But silently, in all obedience.
Her mother silent too, nor helping her.
Laid from her limbs the costly broider’d gift.
And robed them in her ancient suit again And so descended. Never man rejoiced More than Geraint to greet her thus attired ;
And glancing all at once as keenly at her,
As careful robins eye the delver’s toil.
Made her cheek burn and either eyelid fall.
But rested with her sweet face satisfied ;
Then seeing cloud upon the mother’s brow.
Her by both hands he caught, and sweetly said,
“O my new mother, be not wroth or grieved At your new son, for my petition to her.
When late I left Gaerleon, our great Queen,
In words whose echo lasts, they were so sweet. Made promise, that whatever bride I brought. Herself would clothe her like the sun in He’aven. Thereafter, when I reach’d this ruin’d hold. Beholding one so bright in dark estate,
I vow’d that could I gain her, our kind Queen,
No hand but hers, should make your Enid burst Sunlike from cloud — and likewise thought perhaps, That service done so graciously would bind The two together ; for I wish the two
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
To love each other : how should Enid find A nobler friend ? Another thought I had ;
I came among you here so suddenly,
That tho’ her gentle presence at the lists
Might well have served for proof that I was loved,
I doubted whether filial tenderness.
Or easy nature, did not let itself Be moulded by your wishes for her weal ;
Or whether some false sense in her own self Of my contrasting brightness, overbore Her fancy dwelling in this dusky hall ;
And such a sense might make her long for court And all its dangerous glories: and I thought That could I someway prove such force in her Link’d with such love for me, that at a word (No reason given her) she could cast aside A splendour dear to women, new to her,
And therefore dearer ; or if not so new.
Yet therefore tenfold dearer by the power
Of intermitted custom ; then I felt
That I could rest, a rock in ebbs and flows,
Fixt on her faith. Now, therefore, I do rest,
A prophet certain of my prophecy.
That never shadow of mistrust can cross Between us. Grant me pardon for my thoughts ;
And for my strange petition I will make Amends hereafter by some gaudy-day.
When your fair child shall wear your costly gift Beside your own warm hearth, with, on her knees, Who knows? another gift of the high God,
Which, maybe, shall have learned to lisp you thanks.”
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
He spoke : the mother smiled, but half in tears,
Then brought a mantle down and wrapt her in it.
And claspt and kiss’d her, and they rode away.
OW thrice that morning Guinevere had climb’d The giant tower, from whose high crest, they say,
Men saw the goodly hills of Somerset,
And white sails flying on the yellow sea :
But not to goodly hill or yellow sea Look’d the fair Queen, but up the vale of Usk,
By the flat meadow, till she saw them come ;
And then descending met them at the gates.
Embraced her with all welcome as a friend.
And did her honour as the Prince’s bride,
And clothed her for her bridals like the sun ;
And all that week was old Caerleon gay.
For by the hands of Dubric, the high saint.
They twain were wedded with all ceremony.
And this was on the last year’s Whitsuntide.
But Enid ever kept the faded silk.
Remembering how first he came on her,
Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it,
And all her foolish fears about the dress.
And all his journey toward her, as himself Had told her, and their coming to the court.
And now this morning when he said to her,
“Put on your worst and meanest dress,” she found And took it, and array’d herself therein.
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
O purblind race of miserable men,
How many among us at this very hour Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves,
By taking true for false, or false for true ;
Here, thro’ the feeble twilight of this world Groping, how many, until we pass and reach That other, where we see as we are seen !
O fared it with Geraint, who issuing forth That morning, when they both had got to horse.
Perhaps because he loved her passionately, And felt that tempest brooding round his heart,
Which, if he spoke at all, would break perforce Upon a head so dear in thunder, said :
“Not at my side. I charge you ride before,
Ever a good way on before ; and this I charge you, on your duty as a wife.
Whatever happens, not to speak to me.
No, not a word!” and Enid was aghast;
And forth they rode, but scarce three paces on.
When crying out “ Effeminate as I am,
I will not fight my way with gilded arms,
All shall be iron ; ” he loosed a mighty purse,
Hung at his belt, and hurl’d it toward the squire.
So the last sight that Enid had of home Was all the marble threshold flashing, strown With gold and scatter’d coinage, and the squire Chafing his shoulder : then he cried again,
“To the wilds!” and Enid leading down the tracks
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Yniol’s rusted arms
Were on his princely person, but thro’ these Princelike his bearing shone.
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Thro’ which he bade her lead him on, they past The marches, and by bandit-haunted holds.
Grey swamps and pools, waste places of the hern. And wildernesses, perilous paths, they rode :
Round was their pace at first, but slacken’d soon:
A stranger meeting them had surely thought They rode so slowly and they look’d so pale,
That each had suffer’d some exceeding wrong.
For he was ever saying to himself,
“ O I that wasted time to tend upon her.
To compass her with sweet observances,
To dress her beautifully and keep her true” —
And there he broke the sentence in his heart
Abruptly, as a man upon his tongue
May break it, when his passion masters him.
And she was ever praying the sweet heavens To save her dear lord whole from any wound.
And ever in her mind she cast about For that unnoticed failing in herself,
Which made him look so cloudy and so cold ;
Till the great plover’s human whistle amazed Her heart, and glancing round the waste she fear’d In every wavering brake an ambuscade.
Then thought again, “If there be such in me,
I might amend it by the grace of Heaven,
If he would only speak and tell me of it.”
But when the fourth part of the day was gone, Then Enid was aware of three tall knights On horseback, wholly arm’d, behind a rock In shadow, waiting for them, caitiffs all ;
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And heard one crying to his fellow, “ Look,
Here comes a laggard hanging down his head,
Who seems no bolder than a beaten hound;
Gome, we will slay him and will have his horse And armour, and his damsel shall be ours.”
Then Enid ponder’d in her heart, and said:
“I will go back a little to my lord.
And I will tell him all their caitiff talk ;
For, be he wroth even to slaying me.
Far liefer by his dear hand had I die.
Than that my lord should suffer loss or shame.”
Then she went back some paces of return. Met his full frown timidly firm, and said :
“ My lord, I saw three bandits by the rock Waiting to fall on you, and heard them boast That they would slay you, and possess your horse And armour, and your damsel should be theirs.”
He made a wrathful answer. “Did I wish Your warning or your silence? one command I laid upon you, not to speak to me,
And thus you keep it! Well then, look — for now. Whether you wish me victory or defeat.
Long for my life, or hunger for my death. Yourself shall see my vigour is not lost.”
Then Enid waited pale and sorrowful,
And down upon him bare the bandit three.
And at the midmost charging. Prince Geraint
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Drave the long spear a cubit thro* his breast And out beyond; and then against his brace Of comrades, each of whom had broken on him A lance that splinter’d like an icicle,
Swung from his brand a windy buffet out Once, twice, to right, to left, and stunn’d the twain Or slew them, and dismounting like a man That skins the wild beast after slaying him,
Stript from the three dead wolves of woman born The three gay suits of armour which they wore. And let the bodies lie, but bound the suits Of armour on their horses, each on each.
And tied the bridle-reins of all the three Together, and said to her, “ Drive them on Before you;” and she drove them thro* the waste.
E follow’d nearer : ruth began to work Against his anger in him, while he watch’d The being he loved best in all the world, With difficulty in mild obedience Driving them on : he fain had spoken to her, And loosed in words of sudden fire the wrath And smoulder’d wrong that burnt him all within ;
But evermore it seem’d an easier thing At once without remorse to strike her dead,
Than to cry “Halt,” and to her own bright face Accuse her of the least immodesty :
And thus tongue-tied, it made him wroth the more That she could speak whom his own ear had heard Call herself false : and suffering thus he made Minutes an age : but in scarce longer time
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Than at Gaerleon the full-tided Usk,
Before he turn to fall seaward again,
Pauses, did Enid, keeping watch, behold In the first shallow shade of a deep wood.
Before a gloom of stubborn-shafted oaks.
Three other horsemen waiting, wholly arm’d.
Whereof one seem’d far larger than her lord.
And shook her pulses, crying, ‘ ‘ Look, a prize !
Three horses and three goodly suits of arms.
And all in charge of whom? a girl : set on.”
“ Nay,” said the second, “yonder comes a knight.”
The third, “A craven; how he hangs his head.”
The giant answer’d merrily, ‘Yea, but one?
Wait here, and when he passes fall upon him.”
D Enid ponder’d in her heart and said, “ I will abide the coming of my lord. And I will tell him all their villany.
My lord is weary with the fight before. And they will fall upon him unawares.
I needs must disobey him for his good ; How should I dare obey him to his harm?
Needs must I speak, and tho’ he kill me for it,
I save a life dearer to me-than mine.”
And she abode his coming, and said to him With timid firmness, “Have I leave to speak?”
He said, “You take it, speaking,” and she spoke.
“There lurk three villains yonder in the wood. And each of them is wholly arm’d, and one
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Is larger-limb’d than you are, and they say That they will fall upon you while you pass.”
To which he flung a wrathful answer back :
“ And if there were an hundred in the wood,
And every man were larger-limb’d than I,
And all at once should sally out upon me,
I swear it would not ruffle me so much As you that not obey me. Stand aside.
And if I fall, cleave to the better man.”
And Enid stood aside to wait the event.
Not dare to watch the combat, only breathe Short fits of prayer, at every stroke a breath.
And he, she dreaded most, bare down upon him. Aim’d at the helm, his lance err’d ; but Geraint’s,
A little in the late encounter strain’d,
Struck thro’ the bulky bandit’s corslet home,
And then brake short, and down his enemy roll’d, And there lay still ; as he that tells the tale.
Saw once a great piece of a promontory,
That had a sapling growing on it, slip
From the long shore-clifTs windy walls to the beach.
And there lie still, and yet the sapling grew :
So lay the man transfixt. His craven pair Of comrades, making slowlier at the Prince,
When now they saw their bulwark fallen, stood ;
On whom the victor, to confound them more,
Spurr’d with his terrible war-cry ; for as one.
That listens near a torrent mountain-brook.
All thro’ the crash of the near cataract hears
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
The drumming thunder of the huger fall At distance were the soldiers wont to hear His voice in battle, and be kindled by it,
And foemen scared, like that false pair who turn’d Flying, but, overtaken, died the death Themselves had wrought on many an innocent.
Thereon Geraint, dismounting, pick’d the lance That pleased him best, and drew from those dead wolves Their three gay suits of armour, each from each.
And bound them on their horses, each on each.
And tied the bridle-reins of all the three Together, and said to her, “ Drive them on Before you,” and she drove them thro’ the wood.
He follow’d nearer still : the pain she had To keep them in the wild ways of the wood.
Two sets of three laden with jingling arms.
Together, served a little to disedge
The sharpness of that pain about her heart :
And they themselves, like creatures gently born But into bad hands fall’n, and now so long By bandits groom’d, prick’d their light ears, and felt Her low firm voice and tender government.
So thro’ the green gloom of the wood they past,
And issuing under open heavens beheld A little town with towers, upon a rock.
And close beneath, a meadow gemlike chased In the brown wild, and mowers mowing in it :
And down a rocky pathway from the place
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
There came a fair-hair’d youth, that in his hand Bare victual for the mowers : and Geraint Had ruth again on Enid looking pale :
Then, moving downward to the meadow ground. He, when the fair-hair’d youth came by him, said, “ Friend, let her eat ; the damsel is so faint.” “Yea, willingly,” replied the youth; “and you, My lord, eat also, tho’ the fare is coarse.
And only meet for mowers ; ” then set down His basket, and dismounting on the sward They let the horses graze, and ate themselves. And Enid took a little delicately.
Less having stomach for it than desire To close with her lord’s pleasure ; but Geraint Ate all the mowers’ victuals unawares.
And when he found all empty, was amazed ;
And “ Boy,” said he, “I have eaten all, but take A horse and arms for guerdon; choose the best.” He, reddening in extremity of delight,
“My lord, you overpay me fifty-fold.”
“You will be all the wealthier,” cried the Prince. “ I take it as free gift, then, ’ said the boy,
“Not guerdon; for myself can easily.
While your good damsel rests, return, and fetch Fresh victual for these mowers of our Earl ;
For these are his, and all the field is his.
And I myself am his ; and I will tell him How great a man you are ; he loves to know When men of mark are in his territory :
And he will have you to his palace here,
And serve you costlier than with mowers’ fare.”
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Then said Geraint, “ I wish no better fare :
I never ate with angrier appetite
Than when I left your mowers dinnerless.
And into no Earl’s palace will I go.
I know, God knows, too much of palaces !
And if he want me, let him come to me.
But hire us some fair chamber for the night.
And stalling for the horses, and return With victual for these men, and let us know.”
“Yea, my kind lord,” said the glad youth, and went,
Held his head high, and thought himself a knight.
And up the rocky pathway disappear’d.
Leading the horse, and they were left alone.
UT when the Prince had brought his errant eyes Home from the rock, sideways he let them glance
At Enid, where she droopt : his own false doom.
That shadow of mistrust should never cross Betwixt them, came upon him, and he sigh’d ;
Then with another humorous ruth remark’d The lusty mowers labouring dinnerless.
And watch’d the sun blaze on the turning scythe,
And after nodded sleepily in the heat.
But she, remembering her old ruin’d hall,
And all the windy clamour of the daws About her hollow’ turret, pluck’d the grass There growing longest by the meadow’s edge,
And into many a listless annulet,
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‘77he\) rode so slowly and they lookd so pale.
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Now over, now beneath her marriage ring,
Wove and unwove it, till the boy return’d And told them of a chamber, and they went ; Where, after saying to her, “If you will.
Gall for the woman of the house,” to which She answer’d, ‘ ‘ Thanks, my lord ; ” the two remain Apart by all the chamber’s width, and mute As creatures voiceless thro’ the fault of birth,
Or two wild men supporters of a shield.
Painted, who stare at open space, nor glance The one at other, parted by the shield.
On a sudden, many a voice along the street. And heel against the pavement echoing, burst Their drowse ; and either started while the door. Push’d from without, drave backward to the wall, And midmost of a rout of roisterers.
Femininely fair and dissolutely pale.
Her suitor in old years before Geraint,
Enter’d, the wild lord of the place, Limours.
He moving up with pliant courtliness.
Greeted Geraint full face, but stealthily.
In the mid-warmth of welcome and graspt hand. Found Enid with the corner of his eye.
And knew her sitting sad and solitary.
Then cried Geraint for wine and goodly cheer To feed the sudden guest, and sumptuously According to his fashion, bade the host Call in what men soever were his friends.
And feast with these in honour of their earl ; “And care not for the cost; the cost is mine.”
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And wine and food were brought, and Earl Limours Drank till he jested with all ease, and told Free tales, and took the word and play’d upon it,
And made it of two colours ; for his talk,
When wine and free companions kindled him.
Was wont to glance and sparkle like a gem Of fifty facets ; thus he moved the Prince To laughter and his comrades to applause.
Then, when the Prince was merry, ask’d Limours, “Your leave, my lord, to cross the room, and speak To your good damsel there who sits apart.
And seems so lonely?” “My free leave,” he said;
“Get her to speak: she does not speak to me.”
Then rose Limours and looking at his feet,
Like him who tries the bridge he fears may fail,
Grost and came near, lifted adoring eyes,
Bow’d at her side and utter’d whisperingly :
“ Enid, the pilot star of my lone life,
Enid, my early and my only love,
Enid, the loss of whom has turn’d me wild —
What chance is this? how is it I see you here?
You are in my power at last, are in my power.
Yet fear me not : I call mine own self wild,
But keep a touch of sweet civility Here in the heart of waste and wilderness.
I thought, but that your father came between.
In former days you saw me favourably.
And if it were so do not keep it back :
Make me a little happier : let me know it :
Owe you me nothing for a life half-lost ?
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Yea, yea, the whole dear debt of all you are.
And, Enid, you and he, I see it with joy —
You sit apart, you do not speak to him.
You come with no attendance, page or maid,
To serve you — does he love you as of old?
For, call it lovers' quarrels, yet I know
Tho’ men may bicker with the things they love.
They would not make them laughable in all eyes,
Not while they loved them ; and your wretched dress, A wretched insult on you, dumbly speaks Your story, that this man loves you no more.
Your beauty is no beauty to him now :
A common chance — right well I know it — pall’d —
For I know men : nor will you win him back.
For the man’s love once gone never returns.
But here is one who loves you as of old ;
With more exceeding passion than of old :
Good, speak the word : my followers ring him round : He sits unarm’d; I hold a finger up;
They understand : no ; I do not mean blood :
Nor need you look so scared at what I say :
My malice is no deeper than a moat.
No stronger than a wall : there is the keep ;
He shall not cross us more ; speak but the word :
Or speak it not ; but then by Him that made me The one true lover which you ever had,
I will make use of all the power I have.
O pardon me ! the madness of that hour.
When first I parted from you, moves me yet.”
At this the tender sound of his own voice
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And sweet self-pity, or the fancy of it,
Made his eye moist ; but Enid fear’d his eyes,
Moist as they were, wine-heated from the feast ;
And answer’d with such craft as women use,
Guilty or guiltless, to stave off a chance That breaks upon them perilously, and said :
“Earl, if you love me as in former years,
And do not practise on me, come with morn.
And snatch me from him as by violence;
Leave me to-night : I am weary to the death.”
Low at leave-taking, with his brandish’d plume Brushing his instep, bow’d the all-amorous Earl,
And the stout Prince bade him a loud good-night.
He moving homeward babbled to his men,
How Enid never loved a man but him.
Nor cared a broken egg-shell for her lord.
UT Enid left alone with Prince Geraint, Debating his command of silence given, And that she now perforce must violate it, Held commune with herself, and while she held
He fell asleep, and Enid had no heart To wake him, but hung o’er him, wholly pleased To find him yet unwounded after fight.
And hear him breathing low and equally.
Anon she rose, and stepping lightly, heap’d The pieces of his armour in one place.
All to be there against a sudden need ;
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Then dozed awhile herself, but overtoil’d By that day’s grief and travel, evermore Seem’d catching at a rootless thorn, and then Went slipping down horrible precipices,
And strongly striking out her limbs awoke ;
Then thought she heard the wild Earl at the door, With all his rout of random followers,
Sound on a dreadful trumpet, summoning her; Which was the red cock shouting to the light.
As the grey dawn stole o’er the dewy world.
And glimmer’d on his armour in the room.
And once again she rose to look at it.
But touch’d it unawares: jangling, the casque Fell, and he started up and stared at her.
Then breaking his command of silence given,
She told him all that Earl Limours had said,
Except the passage that he loved her not ;
Nor left untold the craft herself had used ;
But ended with apology so sweet.
Low-spoken, and of so few words, and seem’d So justified by that necessity.
That tho’ he thought “ was it for him she wept In Devon?” he but gave a wrathful groan,
Saying, “Your sweet faces make good fellows fools And traitors. Gall the host and bid him bring Charger and palfrey.” So she glided out Among the heavy breathings of the house.
And like a household Spirit at the walls Beat, till she woke the sleepers, and return’d ;
Then tending her rough lord, tho’ all unask’d.
In silence, did him service as a squire ;
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Till issuing arm’d he found the host and cried,
“Thy reckoning, friend?” and ere he learnt it, “Take Five horses and their armours ; ” and the host, Suddenly honest, answer’d in amaze,
“ My lord, I scarce have spent the worth of one ! ”
“You will be all the wealthier,” said the Prince,
And then to Enid, “Forward! and to-day I charge you, Enid, more especially.
What thing soever you may hear, or see.
Or fancy (tho’ I count it of small use To charge you) that you speak not, but obey.”
And Enid answer’d, “Yea, my lord, I know Your wish, and would obey; but riding first,
I hear the violent threats you do not hear,
I see the danger which you cannot see :
Then not to give you warning, that seems hard ; Almost beyond me : yet I would obey.”
“Yea so,” said he, “do it: be not too wise; Seeing that you are wedded to a man,
Not quite mismated with a yawning clown.
But one with arms to guard his head and yours.
With eyes to find you out however far.
And ears to hear you even in his dreams.”
With that he turn’d and look’d as keenly at her As careful robins eye the delver’s toil ;
And that within her, which a wanton fool.
Or hasty judger would have call’d her guilt,
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Made her cheek burn and either eyelid fall.
And Geraint look’d and was not satisfied.
HEN forward by a way which, beaten broad, Led from the territory of false Limours To the waste earldom of another earl,
Doorm, whom his shaking vassals call’d the Bull, Went Enid with her sullen follower on.
Once she look’d back, and when she saw him ride More near by many a rood than yestermorn.
It wellnigh made her cheerful ; till Geraint Waving an angry hand as who should say “You watch me,” sadden’d all her heart again.
But while the sun yet beat a dewy blade.
The sound of many a heavily-galloping hoof Smote on her ear, and turning round she saw Dust, and the points of lances bicker in it.
Then not to disobey her lord’s behest.
And yet to give him warning, for he rode As if he heard not, moving back she held Her finger up, and pointed to the dust.
At which the warrior in his obstinacy,
Because she kept the letter of his word.
Was in a manner pleased, and turning, stood.
And in the moment after, wild Limours,
Borne on a black horse, like a thunder-cloud Whose skirts are loosen’d by the breaking storm.
Half ridden off with by the thing he rode.
And all in passion uttering a dry shriek.
Dash’d on Geraint, who closed with him, and bore Down by the length of lance and arm beyond
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The crupper, and so left him stunn’d or dead,
And overthrew the next that follow’d him.
And blindly rush’d on all the rout behind.
But at the flash and motion of the man They vanish’d panic-stricken, like a shoal Of darting fish, that on a summer morn Adown the crystal dykes at Gamelot Gome slipping o’er their shadows on the sand.
But if a man who stands upon the brink But lift a shining hand against the sun.
There is not left the twinkle of a fin Betwixt the cressy islets white in flower ;
So, scared but at the motion of the man.
Fled all the boon companions of the Earl,
And left him lying in the public way ;
So vanish friendships only made in wine.
Then like a stormy sunlight smiled Geraint, Who saw the chargers of the two that fell Start from their fallen lords, and wildly fly,
Mixt with the flyers. “Horse and man,” he said, “ All of one mind and all right-honest friends ! Not a hoof left : and I methinks till now Was honest — paid with horses and with arms ;
I cannot steal or plunder, no nor beg :
And so what say you, shall we strip him there Your lover? has your palfrey heart enough To bear his armour? shall we fast, or dine?
No? — then do you, being right honest, pray That we may meet the horsemen of Earl Doorm, I too would still be honest. ” Thus he said :
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And sadly gazing on her bridle-reins,
And answering not one word, she led the way.
But as a man to whom a dreadful loss Falls in a far land and he knows it not.
But coming back he learns it, and the loss So pains him that he sickens nigh to death ;
So fared it with Geraint, who being prick’d In combat with the follower of Limours,
Bled underneath his armour secretly.
And so rode on, nor told his gentle wife What ail’d him, hardly knowing it himself.
Till his eye darken’d and his helmet wagg’d ;
And at a sudden swerving of the road,
Tho’ happily down on a bank of grass.
The Prince, without a word, from his horse fell.
And Enid heard the clashing of his fall.
Suddenly came, and at his side all pale Dismounting, loosed the fastenings of his arms.
Nor let her true hand falter, nor blue eye Moisten, till she had lighted on his wound.
And tearing off her veil of faded silk
Had bared her forehead to the blistering sun,
And swathed the hurt that drain’d her dear lord’s life. Then after all was done that hand could do.
She rested, and her desolation came Upon her, and she wept beside the way.
And many past, but none regarded her,
For in that realm of lawless turbulence,
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A woman weeping for her murder’d mate Was cared as much for as a summer shower :
One took him for a victim of Earl Doorm,
Nor dared to waste a perilous pity on him ;
Another hurrying past, a man-at-arms,
Rode on a mission to the bandit Earl ;
Half whistling and half singing a coarse song.
He drove the dust against her veilless eyes :
Another, flying from the wrath of Doorm
Before an ever-fancied arrow, made
The long way smoke beneath him in his fear ;
At which her palfrey whinnying lifted heel.
And scour’d into the coppices and was lost.
While the great charger stood, grieved like a man.
But at the point of noon the huge Earl Doorm, Broad-faced with under-fringe of russet beard.
Bound on a foray, rolling eyes of prey.
Came riding with a hundred lances up ;
But ere he came, like one that hails a ship,
Cried out with a big voice, “What, is he dead?” “No, no, not dead ! ” she answer’d in all haste.
“ Would some of your kind people take him up,
And bear him hence out of this cruel sun :
Most sure am I, quite sure, he is not dead.”
Then said Earl Doorm: “Well, if he be not dead. Why wail you for him thus? you seem a child.
And be he dead, I count you for a fool ;
Your wailing will not quicken him : dead or not.
You mar a comely face with idiot tears.
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Yet, since the face is comely — some of you, Here, take him up, and bear him to our hall : And if he live, we will have him of our band ; And if he die, why earth has earth enough To hide him. See ye take the charger too,
A noble one.”
E spake, and past away.
But left two brawny spearmen, who advanced, Each growling like a dog, when his good bone Seems to be pluck’d at by the village boys Who love to vex him eating, and he fears To lose his bone, and lays his foot upon it. Gnawing and growling : so the ruffians growl’d.
Fearing to lose, and all for a dead man.
Their chance of booty from the morning’s raid ;
Yet raised and laid him on a litter-bier.
Such as they brought upon their forays out For those that might be wounded ; laid him on it All in the hollow of his shield, and took And bore him to the naked hall of Doorm,
(His gentle charger following him unled)
And cast him and the bier in which he lay Down on an oaken settle in the hall.
And then departed, hot in haste to join Their luckier mates, but growling as before.
And cursing their lost time, and the dead man,
And their own Earl, and their own souls, and her.
They might as well have blest her : she was deaf To blessing or to cursing save from one.
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So for long hours sat Enid by her lord,
There in the naked hall, propping his head.
And chafing his pale hands, and calling to him.
And at the last he waken’d from his swoon.
And found his own dear bride propping his head. And chafing his faint hands, and calling to him ;
And felt the warm tears falling on his face ;
And said to his own heart, “She weeps for me;” And yet lay still, and feign’d himself as dead.
That he might prove her to the uttermost.
And say to his own heart “She weeps for me.”
But in the falling afternoon return’d The huge Earl Doorm with plunder to the hall.
His lusty spearmen followed him with noise :
Each hurling down a heap of things that rang Against the pavement, cast his lance aside.
And doflF’d his helm : and then there flutter’d in. Half-bold, half-frighted, with dilated eyes,
A tribe of women, dress’d in many hues,
And mingled with the spearmen : and Earl Doorm Struck with a knife’s haft hard against the board. And call’d for flesh and wine to feed his spears.
And men brought in whole hogs and quarter beeves. And all the hall was dim with steam of flesh :
And none spake word, but all sat down at once.
And ate with tumult in the naked hall.
Feeding like horses when you hear them feed ;
Till Enid shrank far back into herself,
To shun the wild ways of the lawless tribe.
But when Earl Doorm had eaten all he would,
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He roll’d his eyes about the hall, and found A damsel drooping in a corner of it.
Then he remember’d her, and how she wept ;
And out of her there came a power upon him ;
An rising on the sudden he said, “ Eat!
I never yet beheld a thing so pale.
God’s curse, it makes me mad to see you weep.
Eat ! Look yourself. Good luck had your good man. For were I dead who is it would weep for me?
Sweet lady, never since I first drew breath Have I beheld a lily like yourself.
And so there lived some colour in your cheek,
There is not one among my gentlewomen Were fit to wear your slipper for a glove.
But listen to me, and by me be ruled.
And I will do the thing I have not done.
For you shall share my earldom with me, girl,
And we will live like two birds in one nest.
And I will fetch you forage from all fields,
For I compel all creatures to my will.”
E spoke : the brawny spearman let his cheek Bulge with the unswallow’d piece, and turning stared ;
While some, whose souls the old serpent long had drawn
Down, as the worm draws in the wither’d leaf And makes it earth, hiss’d each at other’s ear What shall not be recorded — women they.
Women, or what had been those gracious things,
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But now desired the humbling of their best,
Y ea, would have help’d him to it : and all at once They hated her, who took no thought of them.
But answer’d in low voice, her meek head yet Drooping, “ I pray you of your courtesy.
He being as he is, to let me be.”
She spake so low he hardly heard her speak,
But like a mighty patron, satisfied With what himself had done so graciously.
Assumed that she had thank’d him, adding, “Yea,
Eat and be glad, for I account you mine.”
She answer’d meekly, “How should I be glad Henceforth in all the world at anything.
Until my lord arise and look upon me?”
Here the huge Earl cried out upon her talk.
As all but empty heart and weariness And sickly nothing ; suddenly seized on her.
And bare her by main violence to the board.
And thrust the dish before her, crying, “ Eat.”
“No, no,” said Enid, vext, “I will not eat.
Till yonder man upon the bier arise,
And eat with me.” “Drink, then,” he answer’d. “Here!” (And fill’d a horn with wine and held it to her,)
“Lo! I, myself, when flush’d with fight, or hot,
God’s curse, with anger — often I myself.
Before I well have drunken, scarce can eat :
Drink therefore and the wine will change your will.”
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“Not so,” she cried, “by Heaven, I will not drink. Till my dear lord arise and bid me do it.
And drink with me ; and if he rise no more,
I will not look at wine until I die.”
At this he turn’d all red and paced his hall.
Now gnaw’d his under, now his upper lip.
And coming up close to her, said at last :
“Girl, for I see you scorn my courtesies.
Take warning : yonder man is surely dead ;
And I compel all creatures to my will.
Not eat nor drink ? And wherefore wail for one.
Who put your beauty to this flout and scorn By dressing it in rags ? Amazed am I,
Beholding how you butt against my wish.
That I forbear you thus : cross me no more.
At least put off to please me this poor gown.
This silken rag, this beggar-woman’s weed :
I love that beauty should go beautifully :
For see you not my gentlewomen here.
How gay, how suited to the house of one.
Who loves that beauty should go beautifully !
Rise therefore ; robe yourself in this : obey.”
He spoke, and one among his gentlewomen Display’d a splendid silk of foreign loom,
Where like a shoaling sea the lovely blue Play’d into green, and thicker down the front With jewels than the sward with drops of dew.
When all night long a cloud clings to the hill,
And with the dawn ascending lets the day
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Strike where it clung : so thickly shone the gems.
But Enid answer’d, harder to be moved Than hardest tyrants in their day of power,
With life-long injuries burning unavenged.
And now their hour has come ; and Enid said :
“ In this poor gown my dear lord found me first.
And loved me serving in my father’s hall :
In this poor gown I rode with him to court.
And there the Queen array’d me like the sun :
In this poor gown he bade me clothe myself.
When now we rode upon this fatal quest Of honour, where no honour can be gain’d :
And this poor gown I will not cast aside Until himself arise a living man.
And bid me cast it. I have griefs enough :
Pray you be gentle, pray you let me be :
I never loved, can never love but him :
Yea, God, I pray you of your gentleness.
He being as he is, to let me be.”
HEN strode the brute Earl up and down his hall.
And took his russet beard between his teeth ; Last, coming up quite close, and in his mood Crying, “I count it of no more avail.
Dame, to be gentle than ungentle with you ;
Take my salute,” unknightly with flat hand.
However lightly, smote her on the cheek.
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Then Enid, in her utter helplessness,
And since she thought, “ He had not dared to do it. Except he surely knew my lord was dead,”
Sent forth a sudden sharp and bitter cry.
As of a wild thing taken in the trap.
Which sees the trapper coming thro’ the wood.
This heard Geraint, and grasping at his sword,
(It lay beside him in the hollow shield).
Made but a single bound, and with a sweep of it Shore thro’ the swarthy neck, and like a ball The russet-bearded head roll’d on the floor.
So died Earl Doorm by him he counted dead.
And all the men and women in the hall Rose when they saw the dead man rise, and fled Yelling as from a spectre, and the two Were left alone together, and he said :
“ Enid, I have used you worse than that dead man Done you more wrong : we both have undergone That trouble which has left me thrice your own : Henceforward I will rather die than doubt.
And here I lay this penance on myself.
Not, tho’ mine own ears heard you yestermorn —
You thought me sleeping, but I heard you say,
I heard you say, that you were no true wife :
I swear I will not ask your meaning in it :
I do believe yourself against yourself.
And will henceforward rather die than doubt.”
And Enid could not say one tender word,
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
She felt so blunt and stupid at the heart :
She only prayed him, “ Fly, they will return And slay you ; fly, your charger is without.
My palfrey lost.” “Then, Enid, shall you ride Behind me.” “Yea, ’’said Enid, “let us go.”
And moving out they found the stately horse.
Who now no more a vassal to the thief.
But free to stretch his limbs in lawful fight.
Neigh’d with all gladness as they came, and stoop’d With a low whinny toward the pair: and she Kiss’d the white star upon his noble front.
Glad also ; then Geraint upon the horse Mounted, and reach’d a hand, and on his foot She set her own and climb’d ; he turn’d his face And kiss’d her climbing, and she cast her arms About him, and at once they rode away.
ND never yet. since high in Paradise O’er the four rivers the first roses blew.
Game purer pleasure unto mortal kind Than lived thro’ her, who in that perilous hour Put hand to hand beneath her husband’s heart, And felt him hers again : she did not weep. But o’er her meek eyes came a happy mist Like that which kept the heart of Eden green Before the useful trouble of the rain :
Yet not so misty were her meek blue eyes As not to see before them on the path.
Right in the gateway of the bandit hold,
A knight of Arthur’s court, who laid his lance In rest, and made as if to fall upon him.
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Then, fearing for his hurt and loss of blood.
She, with her mind all full of what had chanced, Shriek’d to the stranger, “ Slay not a dead man ! ”
“ The voice of Enid,” said the knight ; but she. Beholding it was Edyrn son of Nudd,
Was moved so much the more, and shriek’d again,
‘*0 cousin, slay not him who gave you life.”
And Edyrn moving frankly forward spake :
My lord Geraint, I greet you with all love ;
I took you for a bandit knight of Doorm ;
And fear not, Enid, I should fall upon him.
Who love you. Prince, with something of the love Wherewith we love the Heaven that chastens us.
For once, when I was up so high in pride That I was halfway down the slope to Hell,
By overthrowing me you threw me higher.
Now, made a knight of Arthur’s Table Round,
And since I knew this Earl, when I myself Was half a bandit in my lawless hour,
I come the mouthpiece of our King to Doorm (The King is close behind me) bidding him Disband himself, and scatter all his powers.
Submit, and hear the judgement of the King.”
“He hears the judgement of the King of Kings,” Cried the wan Prince ; ‘ ‘ and lo the powers of Doorm Are scatter’d,” and he pointed to the field.
Where, huddled here and there on mound and knoll. Were men and women staring and aghast.
While some yet fled ; and then he plainlier told How the huge Earl lay slain within his hall.
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But when the knight besought him, “Follow me, Prince, to the camp, and in the King’s own ear Speak what has chanced ; you surely have endured Strange chances here alone that other flush’d,
And hung his head, and halted in reply.
Fearing the mild face of the blameless King,
And after madness acted question ask’d :
Till Edyrn crying, “If you will not go To Arthur, then will Arthur come to you.”
“ Enough,” he said, “I follow,” and they went.
But Enid in their going had two fears.
One from the bandit scatter’d in the field,
And one from Edyrn. Every now and then When Edyrn rein’d his charger at her side,
She shrank a little. In a hollow land,
From which old fires have broken, men may fear Fresh fire and ruin. He, perceiving, said :
“Fair and dear cousin, you that most had cause To fear me, fear no longer, I am changed.
Yourself were first the blameless cause to make My nature’s prideful sparkle in the blood Break into furious flame ; being repulsed By Yniol and yourself, I schemed and wrought Until I overturn’d him ; then set up (With one main purpose ever at my heart)
My haughty jousts, and took a paramour ;
Did her mock-honour as the fairest fair,
And, toppling over all antagonism.
So wax’d in pride, that I believed myself Unconquerable, for I was wellnigh mad :
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And, but for my main purpose in these jousts,
I should have slain your father, seized yourself.
I lived in hope that sometime you would come To these my lists with him whom best you loved ; And there, poor cousin, with your meek blue eyes. The truest eyes that ever answer’d Heaven,
Behold me overturn and trample on him.
Then, had you cried, or knelt, or pray’d to me,
I should not less have kill’d him. And you came, — But once you came, — and with your own true eyes Beheld the man you loved (I speak as one Speaks of a service done him) overthrow My proud self, and my purpose three years old.
And set his foot upon me, and give me life.
There was I broken down ; there was I saved :
Tho’ thence I rode all-shamed, hating the life He gave me, meaning to be rid of it.
And all the penance the Queen laid upon me Was but to rest awhile within her court ;
Where first as sullen as a beast new-caged.
And waiting to be treated like a wolf.
Because I knew my deeds were known, I found. Instead of scornful pity or pure scorn.
Such fine reserve and noble reticence.
Manners so kind, yet stately, such a grace Of tenderest courtesy, that I began To glance behind me at my former life.
And find that it had been the wolPs indeed :
And oft I talk’d with Dubric, the high saint.
Who, with mild heat of holy oratory.
Subdued me somewhat to that gentleness,
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Which, when it weds with manhood, makes a man.
And you were often there about the Queen,
But saw me not, or mark’d not if you saw ;
Nor did I care or dare to speak with you.
But kept myself aloof till I was changed ;
And fear not, cousin; I am changed indeed.”
E spoke, and Enid easily believed.
Like simple noble natures, credulous Of what they long for, good in friend or foe.
There most in those who most have done them ill.
And when they reach’d the camp the King himself Advanced to greet them, and beholding her Tho’ pale, yet happy, ask’d her not a word.
But went apart with Edyrn, whom he held In converse for a little, and return’d,
And, gravely smiling, lifted her from horse.
And kiss’d her with all pureness, brother-like,
And show’d an empty tent allotted her.
And glancing for a minute, till he saw her Pass into it, turn’d to the Prince, and said :
“Prince, when of late you pray’d me for my leave To move to your own land, and there defend Your marches, I was prick’d with some reproof.
As one that let foul wrong stagnate and be,
By having look’d too much thro’ alien eyes.
And wrought too long with delegated hands.
Not used mine own : but now behold me come
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To cleanse this common sewer of all my realm,
With Edyrn and with others : have you look’d At Edyrn ? have you seen how nobly changed ?
This work of his is great and wonderful.
His very face with change of heart is changed.
The world will not believe a man repents :
And this wise world of ours is mainly right.
Full seldom does a man repent, or use Both grace and will to pick the vicious quitch Of blood and custom wholly out of him.
And make all clean, and plant himself afresh.
Edyrn has done it, weeding all his heart As I will weed this land before I go.
I, therefore, made him of our Table Round,
Not rashly, but have proved him everyway One of our noblest, our most valorous.
Sanest and most obedient : and indeed This work of Edyrn wrought upon himself After a life of violence, seems to me A thousand-fold more great and wonderful Than if some knight of mine, risking his life.
My subject with my subjects under him.
Should make an onslaught single on a realm Of robbers, tho’ he slew them one by one,
And were himself nigh wounded to the death.”
So spake the King ; low bow’d the Prince, and felt His work was neither great nor wonderful.
And past to Enid’s tent ; and thither came The King’s own leech to look into his hurt ;
And Enid tended on him there ; and there
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Her constant motion round him, and the breath Of her sweet tendance hovering over him,
Fill’d all the genial courses of his blood With deeper and with ever deeper love,
As the south-west that blowing Bala lake Fills all the sacred Dee. So past the days.
But while Geraint lay healing of his hurt.
The blameless King went forth and cast his eyes On whom his father Uther left in charge Long since, to guard the justice of the King :
He look’d and found them wanting ; and as now Men weed the white horse on the Berkshire hills To keep him bright and clean as heretofore.
He rooted out the slothful officer
Or guilty, which for bribe had wink’d at wrong.
And in their chairs set up a stronger race With hearts and hands, and sent a thousand men To till the wastes, and moving everywhere Clear’d the dark places and let in the law.
And broke the bandit holds and cleansed the land.
HEN, when Geraint was whole again, they past With Arthur to Gaerleon upon Usk.
There the great Queen once more embraced her friend.
And clothed her in apparel like the day.
And tho’ Geraint could never take again That comfort from their converse which he took Before the Queen’s fair name was breathed upon.
He rested well content that all was well.
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,/lncl many past, but none regarded her.
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Thence after tarrying for a space they rode,
And fifty knights rode with them to the shores Of Severn, and they past to their own land.
And there he kept the justice of the King So vigorously yet mildly, that all hearts Applauded, and the spiteful whisper died :
And being ever foremost in the chase,
And victor at the tilt and tournament.
They call’d him the great Prince and man of men. But Enid, whom her ladies loved to call Enid the Fair, a grateful people named Enid the Good ; and in their halls arose The cry of children, Enids and Geraints Of times to be; nor did he doubt her more But rested in her fealty, till he crown’d A happy life with a fair death, and fell Against the heathen of the Northern Sea In battle, fighting for the blameless King.
63
K
VIVIEN
w
VIVIEN
A storm was coming, but the winds were still, And in the wild woods of Broceliande,
Before an oak, so hollow, huge and old It look’d a tower of ruin’d masonwork,
At Merlin’s feet the wily Vivien lay.
HE wily Vivien stole from Arthur’s court :
She hated all the knights, and heard in thought Their lavish comment when her name was named.
For once, when Arthur walking all alone,
Vext at a rumour rife about the Queen,
Had met her, Vivien, being greeted fair.
Would fain have wrought upon his cloudy mood With reverent eyes mock-loyal, shaken voice,
And flutter’d adoration, and at last With dark sweet hints of some who prized him more Than who should prize him most ; at which the King Had gazed upon her blankly and gone by :
But one had watch’d, and had not held his peace :
It made the laughter of an afternoon
67
IDYLLS OF THE KING
That Vivien should attempt the blameless King. And after that, she set herself to gain Him, the most famous man of all those times, Merlin, who knew the range of all their arts, Had built the King his havens, ships, and halls. Was also Bard, and knew the starry heavens; The people called him Wizard ; whom at first She play’d about with slight and sprightly talk. And vivid smiles, and faintly-venom’d points Of slander, glancing here and grazing there ;
And yielding to his kindlier moods, the Seer Would watch her at her petulance, and play, Ev’n when they seem’d unlovable, and laugh As those that watch a kitten ; thus he grew Tolerant of what he half disdain’d, and she. Perceiving that she was but half disdain’d.
Began to break her sports with graver fits.
Turn red or pale, would often when they met Sigh fully, or all-silent gaze upon him With such a fixt devotion, that the old man, Tho’ doubtful, felt the flattery, and at times Would flatter his own wish in age for love.
And half believe her true : for thus at times He waver’d ; but that other clung to him,
Fixt in her will, and so the seasons went.
Then fell upon him a great melancholy ;
And leaving Arthur’s court he gain’d the beach : There found a little boat, and stept into it ;
And Vivien follow’d, but he mark’d her not.
She took the helm and he the sail ; the boat Drave with a sudden wind across the deeps,
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And touching Breton sands, they disembark’d.
And then she followed Merlin all the way,
Ev’n to the wild woods of Broceliande.
For Merlin once had told her of a charm.
The which if any wrought on any one With woven paces and with waving arms.
The man so wrought on ever seem’d to lie Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower.
From which was no escape for evermore ;
And none could find that man for evermore.
Nor could he see but him who wrought the charm
Coming and going, and he lay as dead
And lost to life and use and name and fame.
And Vivien ever sought to work the charm Upon the great Enchanter of the Time,
As fancying that her glory would be great According to his greatness whom she quench’d.
HERE lay she all her length and kiss’d his feet. As if in deepest reverence and in love.
A twist of gold was round her hair; a robe Of samite without price, that more exprest Than hid her, clung about her lissome limbs. In colour like the satin-shining palm On sallows in the windy gleams of March :
And while she kiss’d them, crying, “Trample me,
Dear feet, that I have follow’d thro’ the world,
And I will pay you worship; tread me down And I will kiss you for it ; ” he was mute :
So dark a forethought roll’d about his brain.
As on a dull day in an Ocean cave
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
The blind wave feeling round his long sea-hall In silence : wherefore, when she lifted up A face of sad appeal, and spake and said,
“O Merlin, do you love me?” and again,
‘ ‘ O Merlin, do you love me ? ” and once more, “Great Master, do you love me?” he was mute. And lissome Vivien, holding by his heel.
Writhed toward him, slided up his knee and sat, Behind his ankle twined her hollow feet Together, curved an arm about his neck.
Clung like a snake ; and letting her left hand Droop from his mighty shoulder, as a leaf.
Made with her right a comb of pearl to part The lists of such a beard as youth gone out Had left in ashes : then he spoke and said.
Not looking at her, ** Who are wise in love Love most, say least,” and Vivien answer’d quick, “I saw the little elf-god eyeless once In Arthur’s arras hall at Gamelot :
But neither eyes nor tongue — O stupid child !
Yet you are wise who say it; let me think Silence is wisdom : I am silent then And ask no kiss ; ” then adding all at once,
“And lo, I clothe myself with wisdom,” drew The vast and shaggy mantle of his beard Across her neck and bosom to her knee.
And call’d herself a gilded summer fly Caught in a great old tyrant spider’s web.
Who meant to eat her up in that wild wood Without one word. So Vivien call’d herself.
But rather seem’d a lovely baleful star
70
y]t which the King
Had gazed upon her blankh gone by.
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Veil’d in grey vapour ; till he sadly smiled :
“To what request for what strange boon,” he said,
“Are these your pretty tricks and fooleries,
O Vivien, the preamble? yet my thanks.
For these have broken up my melancholy. ”
ND Vivien answer’d smiling saucily,
‘ ‘ What, O my Master, have you found your voice ?
I bid the stranger welcome. Thanks at last ! But yesterday you never open’d lip.
Except indeed to drink : no cup had we :
In mine own lady palms I cull’d the spring That gather’d trickling dropwise from the cleft.
And made a pretty cup of both my hands And offer’d you it kneeling : then you drank And knew no more, nor gave me one poor word ;
O, no more thanks than might a goat have given With no more sign of reverence than a beard.
And when we halted at that other well.
And I was faint to swooning, and you lay Foot-gilt with all the blossom-dust of those Deep meadows we had traversed, did you know That Vivien bathed your feet before her own?
And yet no thanks : and all thro’ this wild wood And all this morning when I fondled you :
Boon, yes, there was a boon, one not so strange- —
How had I wrong’d you? surely you are wise.
But such a silence is more wise than kind.”
And Merlin lock’d his hand in hers and said :
71
IDYLLS OF THE KING
“ O, did you never lie upon the shore,
And watch the curl’d white of the coming wave Glass’d in the slippery sand before it breaks ? Ev’n such a wave, but not so pleasurable.
Dark in the glass of some presageful mood.
Had I for three days seen, ready to fall.
And then I rose and fled from Arthur’s court To break the mood. You follow’d me unask’d ; And when I look’d, and saw you following still. My mind involved yourself the nearest thing In that mind-mist : for shall I tell you truth ?
You seem’d that wave about to break upon me And sweep me from my hold upon the world. My use and name and fame. Your pardon, child. Your pretty sports have brighten’d all again.
And ask your boon, for boon I owe you thrice. Once for wrong done you by confusion, next For thanks it seems till now neglected, last For these your dainty gambols : wherefore ask ; And take this boon so strange and not so strange.
And Vivien answer’d, smiling mournfully ;
“ O not so strange as my long asking it.
Nor yet so strange as you yourself are strange. Nor half so strange as that dark mood of yours.
I ever fear’d you were not wholly mine ;
And see, yourself have own’d you did me wrong. The people call you prophet : let it be ;
But not of those that can expound themselves. Take Vivien for expounder ; she will call That three-days-long presageful gloom of yours
72
IDYLLS OF THE KING
No presage, but the same mistrustful mood That makes you seem less noble than yourself, Whenever I have ask’d this very boon.
Now ask’d again : for see you not, dear love.
That such a mood as that, which lately gloom’d Your fancy when you saw me following you.
Must make me fear still more you are not mine. Must make me yearn still more to prove you mine. And make me wish still more to learn this charm Of woven paces and of waving hands.
As proof of trust. O Merlin, teach it me.
The charm so taught will charm us both to rest. For, grant me some slight power upon your fate,
I, feeling that you felt me worthy trust.
Should rest and let you rest, knowing you mine. And therefore be as great as you are named.
Not muffled round with selfish reticence.
How hard you look and how denyingly !
O, if you think this wickedness in me.
That I should prove it on you unawares.
To make you lose your use and name and fame. That makes me most indignant ; then our bond Had best be loosed for ever : but think or not.
By Heaven that hears I tell you the clean truth As clean as blood of babes, as white as milk :
O Merlin, may this earth, if ever I,
If these unwitty wandering wits of mine,
Ev’n in the jumbled rubbish of a dream.
Have tript on such conjectural treachery —
May this hard earth cleave to the Nadir hell Down, down, and close again, and nip me flat,
73
IDYLLS OF THE KING
If I be such a traitress. Yield my boon,
Till which I scarce can yield you all I am ;
And grant my re-reiterated wish,
The great proof of your love : because I think.
However wise, you hardly know me yet.”
D Merlin loosed his hand from hers and said, “I never was less wise, however wise,
Too curious Vivien, tho’ you talk of trust, Than when I told you first of such a charm. Yea, if you talk of trust I tell you this,
Too much I trusted, when I told you that. And stirr’d this vice in you which ruin’d man Thro’ woman the first hour ; for howsoe’er In children a great curiousness be well.
Who have to learn themselves and all the world.
In you, that are no child, for still I find Your face is practised, when I spell the lines,
I call it, well, — I will not call it vice:
But since you name yourself the summer fly,
I well could wish a cobweb for the gnat.
That settles, beaten back, and beaten back Settles, till one could yield for weariness :
But since I will not yield to give you power Upon my life and use and name and fame.
Why will you never ask some other boon ?
Yea, by God’s rood, I trusted you too much.”
And Vivien, like the tenderest-hearted maid That ever bided tryst at village stile.
Made answer, either eyelid wet with tears :
74
IDYLLS OF THE KING
“Nay, master, be not wrathful with your maid, Caress her : let her feel herself forgiven Who feels no heart to ask another boon.
I think you hardly know the tender rhyme Of ‘trust me not at all or all in all.’
I heard the great Sir Lancelot sing it once,
And it shall answer for me. Listen to it.
‘ In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours. Faith and unfaith can ne’er be equal powers : Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.
‘ It is the little rift within the lute.
That by and by will make the music mute,
And ever widening slowly silence all.
‘The little rift within the lover’s lute,
Or little pitted speck in garner’d fruit.
That rotting inward slowly moulders all.
‘ It is not worth the keeping : let it go :
But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no.
And trust me not at all or all in all.’
O master, do you love my tender rhyme?”
And Merlin look’d and half believed her true, So tender was her voice, so fair her face.
So sweetly gleam’d her eyes behind her tears Like sunlight on the plain behind a shower :
And yet he answer’d half indignantly.
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
“Far other was the song that once I heard By this huge oak, sung nearly where we sit :
For here we met, some ten or twelve of us.
To chase a creature that was current then In these wild woods, the hart with golden horns.
It was the time when first the question rose About the founding of a Table Round,
That was to be, for love of God and men And noble deeds, the flower of all the world.
And each incited each to noble deeds.
And while we waited, one, the youngest of us.
We could not keep him silent, out he flash’d.
And into such a song, such fire for fame.
Such trumpet-blowings in it, coming down To such a stern and iron-clashing close.
That when he stopt we long’d to hurl together. And should have done it; but the beauteous beast Scared by the noise upstarted at our feet,
And like a silver shadow slipt away
Thro’ the dim land ; and all day long we rode
Thro’ the dim land against a rushing wind.
That glorious roundel echoing in our ears.
And chased the flashes of his golden horns Until they vanished by the fairy well That laughs at iron — as our warriors did —
Where children cast their pins and nails, and cry, ‘Laugh, little well,’ but touch it with a sword.
It buzzes wildly round the point ; and there We lost him : such a noble song was that.
But, Vivien, when you sang me that sweet rhyme, I felt as tho’ you knew this cursed charm,
76
IDYLLS OF THE KING
Were proving it on me, and that I lay And felt them slowly ebbing, name and fame.”
And Vivien answer’d smiling mournfully :
“O, mine have ebb’d away for evermore.
And all thro’ following you to this wild wood.
Because I saw you sad, to comfort you.
Lo now, what hearts have men ! they never mount As high as woman in her selfless mood.
And touching fame, howe’er you scorn my song.
Take one verse more — the lady speaks it — this :
‘ My name, once mine, now thine, is closelier mine, For fame, could fame be mine, that fame were thine.
And shame, could shame be thine, that shame were mine. So trust me not at all or all in all.’
“Says she not well? and there is more — this rhyme Is like the fair pearl-necklace of the Queen,
That burst in dancing, and the pearls were spilt ;
Some lost, some stolen, some as relics kept.
But nevermore the same two sister pearls Ran down the silken thread to kiss each other On her white neck — so is it with this rhyme :
It lives dispersedly in many hands.
And every minstrel sings it diflferently ;
Yet is there one true line, the pearl of pearls ;
‘ Man dreams of Fame while woman wakes to Love. ’ True : Love, tho’ Love were of the grossest, carves A portion from the solid present, eats And uses, careless of the rest ; but Fame,
77
IDYLLS OF THE KING
The Fame that follows death is nothing to us ;
And what is Fame in life but half-disfame,
And counterchanged with darkness ? you yourself Know well that Envy calls you Devil’s son,
And since you seem the Master of all Art,
They fain would make you Master of all Vice.”
ND Merlin lock’d his hand in hers and said,
“ I once was looking for a magic weed.
And found a fair young squire who sat alone, Had carved himself a knightly shield of wood. And then was painting on it fancied arms. Azure, an Eagle rising or, the Sun In dexter chief; the scroll ‘I follow fame.’
And speaking not, but leaning over him,
I took his brush and blotted out the bird,
And made a Gardener putting in a graff,
With this for motto, ‘Rather use than fame.’
Y ou should have seen him blush ; but afterwards He made a stalwart knight. O Vivien,
For you, methinks you think you love me well ;
For me, I love you somewhat ; rest : and Love Should have some rest and pleasure in himself,
Not ever be too curious for a boon.
Too prurient for a proof against the grain Of him you say you love ; but Fame with men.
Being but ampler means to serve mankind.
Should have small rest or pleasure in herself.
But work as vassal to the larger love.
That dwarfs the petty love of one to one.
Use gave me Fame at first, and Fame again
78
O master, do you love my tender rhyme ?
Page 75
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Increasing gave me use. Lo, there my boon !
What other ? for men sought to prove me vile, Because I wish’d to give them greater minds :
And then did Envy call me Devil’s son :
The sick weak beast seeking to help herselt By striking at her better, miss’d, and brought Her own claw back, and wounded her own heart. Sweet were the days when I was all unknown.
But when my name was lifted up, the storm Broke on the mountain and I cared not for it.
Right well know I that Fame is half-disfame.
Yet needs must work my work. That other fame, To one at least, who hath not children, vague.
The cackle of the unborn about the grave,
I cared not for it : a single misty star.
Which is the second in a line of stars That seem a sword beneath a belt of three,
I never gazed upon it but I dreamt Of some vast charm concluded in that star To make fame nothing. Wherefore, if I fear. Giving you power upon me thro’ this charm.
That you might play me falsely, having power.
However well you think you love me now
(As sons of kings loving in pupilage
Have turn’d to tyrants when they came to power),
I rather dread the loss of use than fame ;
If you — and not so much from wickedness.
As some wild turn of anger, or a mood Of overstrain’d affection, it may be.
To keep me all to your own self, or else A sudden spurt of woman’s jealousy, —
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M
IDYLLS OF THE KING
Should try this charm on whom you say you love.”
And Vivien answer’d smiling as in wrath,
“ Have I not sworn ? I am not trusted. Good I Well, hide it, hide it ; I shall find it out ;
And being found take heed of Vivien.
A woman and not trusted, doubtless I Might feel some sudden turn of anger born Of your misfaith ; and your fine epithet Is accurate too, for this full love of mine Without the full heart back may merit well Your term of overstrain’d. So used as I,
My daily wonder is, I love at all.
And as to woman’s jealousy, O whv not ?
0 to what end, except a jealous one.
And one to make me jealous if I love.
Was this fair charm invented by yourself?
1 well believe that all about this world You cage a buxom captive here and there.
Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower From which is no escape for evermore ”
HEN the great Master merrily answered her : “Full many a love in loving youth was mine, I needed then no charm to keep them mine But youth and love ; and that full heart of yours
Whereof you prattle, may now assure you mine; So live uncharm’d. For those who wrought it first.
The wrist is parted from the hand that waved,
The feet unmortised from their ankle-bones
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Who paced it, ages back : but will you hear The legend as in guerdon for your rhyme?
“There lived a king in the most Eastern East, Less old than I, yet older, for my blood Hath earnest in it of far springs to be.
A tawny pirate anchor’d in his port.
Whose bark had plunder’d twenty nameless isles ; And passing one, at the high peep of dawn.
He saw two cities in a thousand boats All fighting for a woman on the sea.
And pushing his black craft among them all.
He lightly scatter’d theirs and brought her off.
With loss of half his people arrow-slain ;
A maid so smooth, so white, so wonderful.
They said a light came from her when she moved : And since the pirate would not yield her up.
The King impaled him for his piracy ;
Then made her Queen : but those isle-nurtur’d eyes Waged such unwilling tho’ successful war On all the youth, they sicken’d ; councils thinn’d. And armies waned, for magnet-like she drew The rustiest iron of old fighters’ hearts ;
And beasts themselves would worship ; camels knelt Unbidden, and the brutes of mountain back That carry kings in castles, bow’d black knees Of homage, ringing with their serpent hands,
To make her smile, her golden ankle-bells.
What wonder, being jealous, that he sent His horns of proclamation out thro’ all The hundred under-kingdoms that he sway’d
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
To find a wizard who might teach the King Some charm, which being wrought upon the Queen Might keep her all his own : to such a one He promised more than ever king has given,
A league of mountain full of golden mines,
A province with a hundred miles of coast,
A palace and a princess, all for him :
But on all those who tried and fail’d, the King Pronounced a dismal sentence, meaning by it To keep the list low and pretenders back,
Or like a king, not to be trifled with —
Their heads should moulder on the city gates.
And many tried and fail’d, because the charm Of nature in her overbore their own :
And many a wizard brow bleach’d on the walls : And many weeks a troop of carrion crows Hung like a cloud above the gateway towers.”
And Vivien breaking in upon him, said :
” I sit and gather honey ; yet, methinks.
Your tongue has tript a little : ask yourself.
The lady never made unwilling war With those fine eyes : she had her pleasure in it. And made her good man jealous with good cause. And lived there neither dame nor damsel then Wroth at a lover’s loss ? were all as tame,
I mean, as noble, as their Queen was fair?
Not one to flirt a venom at her eyes.
Or pinch a murderous dust into her drink.
Or make her paler with a poison’d rose ?
Well, those were not our days : but did they find
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
A wizard? Tell me, was he like to thee?”
She ceased, and made her lithe arm round his neck Tighten, and then drew back, and let her eyes Speak for her, glowing on him, like a bride’s On her new lord, her own, the first of men.
E answer’d laughing, ‘*Nay, not like to me.
At last they found — his foragers for charms — A little glassy-headed hairless man.
Who lived alone in a great wild on grass ; Read but one book, and ever reading grew So grated down and filed away with thought. So lean his eyes were monstrous ; while the skin Clung but to crate and basket, ribs and spine.
And since he kept his mind on one sole aim.
Nor ever touch’d fierce wine, nor tasted flesh.
Nor own’d a sensual wish, to him the wall That sunders ghosts and shadow-casting men Became a crystal, and he saw them thro’ it.
And heard their voices talk behind the wall.
And learnt their elemental secrets, powers And forces ; often o’er the sun’s bright eye Drew the vast eyelid of an inky cloud.
And lash’d it at the base with slanting storm ;
Or in the noon of mist and driving rain.
When the lake whiten’d and the pinewood roar’d.
And the cairn’d mountain was a shadow, sunn’d The world to peace again : here was the man.
And so by force they dragg’d him to the King.
And then he taught the King to charm the Queen
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
In such-wise, that no man could see her more,
Nor saw she save the King, who wrought the charm, Coming and going, and she lay as dead.
And lost all use of life : but when the King Made proffer of the league of golden mines.
The province with a hundred miles of coast,
The palace and the princess, that old man Went back to his old wild, and lived on grass.
And vanish’d, and his book came down to me.”
And Vivien answer’d smiling saucily ;
“You have the book : the charm is written in it : Good : take my counsel : let me know it at once : For keep it like a puzzle chest in chest.
With each chest lock’d and padlock’d thirty-fold.
And whelm all this beneath as vast a mound As after furious battle turfs the slain On some wild down above the windy deep,
I yet should strike upon a sudden means To dig, pick, open, find and read the charm :
Then, if I tried it, who should blame me then ? ”
And smiling as a Master smiles at one That is not of his school, nor any school But that where blind and naked Ignorance Delivers brawling judgements, unashamed.
On all things all day long, he answer’d her.
** You read the book, my pretty Vivien I O aye, it is but twenty pages long.
But every page having an ample marge,
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And every marge enclosing in the midst A square of text that looks a little blot,
The text no larger than the limbs of fleas ;
And every square of text an awful charm,
Writ in a language that has long gone by.
So long, that mountains have arisen since With cities on their flanks — you read the book !
And every margin scribbled, crost, and cramm’d With comment, densest condensation, hard To mind and eye ; but the long sleepless nights Of my long life have made it easy to me.
And none can read the text, not even I ;
And none can read the comment but myself ;
And in the comment did I And the charm.
O, the results are simple ; a mere child Might use it to the harm of any one.
And never could undo it : ask no more :
For tho’ you should not prove it upon me.
But keep that oath you swore, you might, perchance. Assay it on some one of the Table Round,
And all because you dream they babble of you.”
And Vivien, frowning in true anger, said :
What dare the full-fed liars say of me ?
They ride abroad redressing human wrongs !
They sit with knife in meat and wine in horn.
They bound to holy vows of chastity !
Were I not woman, I could tell a tale.
But you are man, you well can understand The shame that cannot be explain’d for shame.
Not one of all the drove should touch me: swine!”
85
IDYLLS OF THE KING
Then answer’d Merlin careless of her words,
“You breathe but accusation vast and vague,
Spleen-born, I think, and proofless. If you know.
Set up the charge you know, to stand or fall ! ”
And Vivien answer’d frowning wrathfully ;
“ O aye, what say ye to Sir Valence, him Whose kinsman left him watcher o’er his wife And two fair babes, and went to distant lands ;
Was one year gone, and on returning found Not two but three : there lay the reckling, one But one hour old ! What said the happy sire ?
A seven-months’ babe had been a truer gift.
Those twelve sweet moons confused his fatherhood.”
HEN answer’d Merlin, “Nay, I know the tale. Sir Valence wedded with an outland dame : Some cause had kept him sunder’d from his wife :
One child they had : it lived with her : she died :
His kinsman travelling on his own affair
Was charged by Valence to bring home the child.
He brought, not found it therefore : take the truth.”
“O aye,” said Vivien, “overtrue a tale.
What say ye then to sweet Sir Sagramore,
That ardent man? “to pluck the flower in season;”
So says the song, “I trow it is no treason.”
O Master, shall we call him overquick To crop his own sweet rose before the hour?”
86
cTV^or sau) she save the King, who wrought the charm.
Page 84
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And Merlin answer’d, “ Overquick are you To catch a loathly plume fall’n from the wing Of that foul bird of rapine whose whole prey Is man’s good name : he never wrong’d his bride. I know the tale. An angry gust of wind Puff’d out his torch among the myriad-room’d And many-corridor’d complexities Of Arthur’s palace : then he found a door And darkling felt the sculptured ornament That wreathen round it made it seem his own ; And wearied out made for the couch and slept,
A stainless man beside a stainless maid ;
And either slept, nor knew of other there ;
Till the high dawn piercing the royal rose In Arthur’s casement glimmer’d chastely down. Blushing upon them blushing, and at once He rose without a word and parted from her : But when the thing was blazed about the court, The brute world howling forced them into bonds, And as it chanced they are happy, being pure.”
“O aye,” said Vivien, “that were likely too. What say ye then to fair Sir Percivale And of the horrid foulness that he wrought.
The saintly youth, the spotless lamb of Christ,
Or some black wether of St. Satan’s fold.
What, in the precincts of the chapel-yard,
Among the knightly brasses of the graves.
And by the cold Hie Jacets of the dead!”
And Merlin answer’d careless of her charge,
87
N
IDYLLS OF THE KING
“A sober man is Percivale and pure ;
But once in life was fluster’d with new wine,
Then paced for coolness in the chapel-yard ;
Where one of Satan’s shepherdesses caught And meant to stamp him with her master’s mark; And that he sinn’d is not believable ;
For, look upon his face ! — but if he sinn’d.
The sin that practice burns into the blood.
And not the one dark hour which brings remorse. Will brand us, after, of whose fold we be :
Or else were he, the holy King, whose hymns Are chanted in the minster, worse than all.
But is your spleen froth’d out, or have ye more ? ”
And Vivien answer’d frowning yet in wrath :
‘ ‘ O aye ; what say ye to Sir Lancelot, friend ? Traitor or true? that commerce with the Queen,
I ask you, is it clamour’d by the child.
Or whisper’d in the corner? do you know it?”
To which he answer’d sadly, “Yea, I know it. Sir Lancelot went ambassador, at first.
To fetch her, and she took him for the King;
So fixt her fancy on him : let him be.
But have you no one word of loyal praise For Arthur, blameless King and stainless man?”
She answer’d with a low and chuckling laugh : “Him? is he man at all, who knows and winks? Sees what his fair bride is and does, and winks ? By which the good King means to blind himself,
88
IDYLLS OF THE KING
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 name such manhood earns, Could call him the main cause of all their crime; Yea, were he not crown’d 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 poach’d 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 noblest 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 will’d.
He dragg’d his eyebrow bushes down, and made A snowy penthouse for his hollow eyes.
And mutter’d in himself, “Tell her the charm 1 So, if she had it, would she rail on me To snare the next, and if she have it not,
89
IDYLLS OF THE KING
So will she rail. What did the wanton say ?
‘ Not mount as high we scarce can sink as low : For men at most diflfer as Heaven and earth,
But women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell.
I know the Table Round, my friends of old ;
All brave, and many generous, and some chaste.
I think she cloaks the wounds of loss with lies ;
I do believe she tempted them and fail’d.
She is so bitter : for fine plots may fail,
Tho’ harlots paint their talk as well as face With colours of the heart that are not theirs.
I will not let her know : nine tithes of times Face-flatterers and backbiters are the same.
And they, sweet soul, that most impute a crime Are pronest 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 godlike head crown'd 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 hoary fell And many-winter’d fleece of throat and chin.
90
IDYLLS OF THE KING
But Vivien, gathering somewhat of his mood,
And hearing ‘ ‘ harlot ” mutter’d 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,
Flash’d the hare-grinning skeleton of death I White was her cheek ; sharp breaths of anger puff’d Her fairy nostril out ; her hand half-clench’d 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 stabb’d 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 lavish’d 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 call’d her what he call’d 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 :
“ Stabb’d through the heart’s affections to the heart ! Seeth’d like the kid in its own mother’s milk !
Kill’d with a word worse than a life of blows !
91
IDYLLS OF THE KING
I thought that he was gentle, being great :
0 God, that I had loved a smaller man !
1 should have found in him a greater heart.
O, I, that flattering my true passion, 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 worship — I am answer’d, and henceforth The course of life that seem’d 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,
Kill’d with inutterable unkindliness.”
E paused, she turn’d away, she hung her head. The snake of gold slid from her hair, the braid
Slipt and uncoil’d 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 :
Gall’d her to shelter in the hollow oak,
“Gome 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-essay’d, by tenderest-touching terms
92
IDYLLS OF THE KING
To sleek her ruffled peace of mind, in vain.
At last she let herself be conquer’d by him,
And as the cageling newly flown returns,
The seeming-injured simple-hearted thing Game 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 shielding arm.
But she dislink’d herself at once and rose.
Her arms upon her breast across, and stood A virtuous gentlewoman deeply wrong’d.
Upright and flush’d before him : then she said :
“ There must be now no passages of love Betwixt us twain henceforward evermore.
Since, if I be what I am grossly call’d.
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 ask’d it once — could make me stay — That proof of trust — so often ask’d in vain !
How justly, after that vile term of yours,
I find with grief! I might believe you then.
Who knows? once more. O, what was once to me Mere matter of the fancy, now has grown The vast necessity of heart and life.
Farewell ; think kindly of me, for I fear My fate or fault, omitting gayer youth For one so old, must be to love you still.
93
IDYLLS OF THE KING
But ere I leave you let me swear once more That if I schemed against your 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 thro* the gloom.
But Vivien, fearing Heaven had heard her oath.
And dazzled by the livid-flickering fork.
And deafen’d with the stammering cracks and claps That follow’d, flying back and crying out,
“ O Merlin, tho’ you do not love me, save.
Yet save me!” clung to him and hugg’d him close; And call’d him dear protector in her fright.
Nor yet forgot her practice in her fright.
But wrought upon his mood and hugg’d him close.
The pale blood of the wizard at her touch Took gayer colours, like an opal warm’d.
She blamed herself for telling hearsay tales :
She shook from fear, and for her fault she wept Of petulancy ; she call’d him lord and liege.
Her seer, her bard, her silver star of eve.
Her God, her Merlin, the one passionate love Of her whole life ; and ever overhead Bellow’d the tempest, and the rotten branch Snapt in the rushing of the river-rain
94
And in the hollow oak he lay as dead,
And lost to life and use and name and fame.
Page 95
IDYLLS OF THE KING
Above them ; and in change of glare and gloom Her eyes and neck glittering went and came ;
Till now the storm, its burst of passion 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, overtalk’d 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 echo’d “fool.**
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ELAINE
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ELAINE
LAINE the fair, Elaine the lovable,
Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat,
High in her chamber up a tower to the east Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot ;
Which first she placed where morning’s earliest ray
Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam ;
Then fearing rust or soilure fashion’d for it A case of silk, and braided thereupon All the devices blazon’d on the shield 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, climb’d That eastern tower, and entering barr’d her door,
Stript oflf the case, and read the naked shield.
Now guess’d 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;
99
IDYLLS OF THE KING
That ten years back ; this dealt him at Gaerlyle ;
That at Caerleon ; this at Camelot :
And ah, God’s mercy, what a stroke was there!
And here a thrust that might have kill’d, but God Broke the strong lance, and roll’d his enemy down,
And saved him : so she lived in fantasy.
How came the lily maid by that good shield Of Lancelot, she that knew not ev’n his name ?
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt For the great diamond in the diamond jousts.
Which Arthur had ordain’d, and by that name Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.
For Arthur when none knew from whence he came Long ere the people chose him for their King,
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse,
Had found a glen, grey 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 abhorr’d :
And there they lay till all their bones were bleach’d, And lichen’d 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 pass
All in a misty moonshine, unawares
Had trodden that crown’d skeleton, and the skull
100
IDYLLS OF THE KING
Brake from the nape, and from the skull the crown Roll’d into light, and turning on its rims Fled like a glittering rivulet to the tarn:
And down the shingly scaur he plunged, and caught.
And set it on his head, and in his heart
Heard murmurs, “Lo, thou likewise shalt be King.”
'HEREAFTER, when a King, he had the gems Pluck’d from the crown, and show’d 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 God 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 la^
And larged, Arthur, holding then his court Hard on the river nigh the place which now Is this world’s huge^, let proclaim a jou^
At Camelot, and when the time drew nigh
101
IDYLLS OF THE KING
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, “you know it.” “Then will you miss,” he answer’d, “the great deeds Of Lancelot, and his prowess in the lists,
A sight you 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 yearn’d 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 you 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 you so wise? you were not once so wise.
My Queen, that summer when you loved me first.
Then of the crowd you took no more account Than of the myriad cricket of the mead.
When its own voice clings to each blade of grass.
102
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
And every voice is nothing. As to knights,
Them surely can I silence with all ease.
But now my loyal worship is allow’d Of all men: many a bard, without offence.
Has link’d 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 passionate 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 to-day There gleam’d a vague suspicion in his eyes :
Some meddling rogue has tamper’d 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 you know, save by the bond. And therefore hear my words : go to the jousts : The tiny-trumpeting gnat can break our dream
X03
IDYLLS OF THE KING
When sweetest ; and the vermin voices here May buzz so loud — we scorn them, but they sting.”
Then answer’d Lancelot, the chief of knights :
“And with what face, after my pretext made.
Shall I appear. O Queen, at Gamelot, I Before a King who honours his own word.
As if it were his God’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.
You 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.”
HEN 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 show’d the rarer foot. And there among the solitary downs.
Full often lost in fancy, lost his way ;
Till as he traced a faintly-shadow’d track.
That all in loops and links among the dales
104
IDYLLS OF THE KING
Ran to the Castle of Astolat, he saw
Fired from the west, far on a hill the towers.
Thither he made and wound the gateway horn.
Then came an old, dumb, myriad-wrinkled man, Who let him into lodging and disarm’d.
And Lancelot marvell’d 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 Approach’d them : then the Lord of Astolat :
“ Whence comest thou, my guest, and by what name Livest 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 answer’d Lancelot, the chief of knights :
” Known am I, and of Arthur’s hall, and known. What I by mere mischance have brought, my shield. But since I go to joust as one unknown At Gamelot for the diamond, ask me not.
Hereafter you shall know me — and the shield —
I pray you lend me one, if such you have.
Blank, or at least with some device not mine.”
Then said the Lord of Astolat, “ Here is Torre’
105
IDYLLS OF THE KING
Hurt in his first tilt was my son, Sir Torre.
And so, God wot, his shield is blank enough.
His you can have.” Then added plain Sir Torre, “Yea, since I cannot use it, you may have it.” Here laugh’d the father, saying, “Fie, Sir Churl, Is that an answer for a noble knight?
Allow him ; but Lavaine, my younger here.
He is so full of lustihood, he will ride.
Joust for it, and win, and bring it in an hour And set it in this damsel’s golden hair.
To make her thrice as wilful as before.”
“Nay, father, nay, good father, shame me not Before this noble knight,” said young Lavaine,
“ For nothing. Surely I but play’d on Torre :
He seem’d so sullen, vext he could not go :
A jest, no more : for, knight, the maiden dreamt That someone put this diamond in her hand.
And that it was too slippery to be held.
And slipt and fell into some pool or stream,
The castle-well, belike ; and then I said That if I went and if I fought and won it (But all was jest and joke among ourselves).
Then must she keep it safelier. All was jest. But, father, give me leave, an’ if he will.
To ride to Gamelot with this noble knight :
Win shall I not, but do my best to win :
Young as I am, yet would I do my best.”
“So you will grace me,” answer’d Lancelot, Smiling a moment, “with your fellowship
106
IDYLLS OF THE KING
O’er these waste downs whereon I lost myself,
Then were I glad of you as guide and friend ;
And you shall win this diamond, — as I hear It is a fair large diamond, — if you may.
And yield it to this maiden, if you will.”
“A fair large diamond,” added plain Sir Torre,
“Such be for queens, and not for simple maids.”
Then she, who held her eyes upon the ground,
Elaine, and heard her name so tost about.
Flush’d slightly at the slight disparagement Before the stranger knight, who, looking at her.
Full courtly, yet not falsely, thus return’d :
“ If what is fair be but for what is fair.
And only queens are to be counted so.
Rash were my judgement then, who deem this maid Might wear as fair a jewel as is on earth.
Not violating the bond of like to like.”
E spoke and ceased : the lily maid Elaine,
Won by the mellow voice before she look’d. Lifted her eyes, and read his lineaments.
The great and guilty love he bare the Queen, In battle with the love he bare his lord,
Had marr’d his face, and mark’d it ere his time. Another sinning on such heights with one.
The flower of all the west and all the world.
Had been the sleeker for it : but in him His mood was often like a fiend, and rose And drove him into wastes and solitudes For agony, who was yet a living soul.
Marr’d as he was, he seem’d the goodliest man
107
IDYLLS OF THE KING
That ever among ladies ate in hall,
And noblest, when she lifted up her eyes.
However marr’d, of more than twice her years.
Seam’d with an ancient swordcut on the cheek.
And bruised and bronzed, she lifted up her eyes And loved him, with that love which was her doom.
Then the great knight, the darling of the court, Loved of the loveliest, into that rude hall Stept with all grace, and not with half disdain Hid under grace, as in a smaller time.
But kindly man moving among his kind :
Whom they with meats and vintage of their best And talk and minstrel melody entertain’d.
And much they ask’d of court and Table Round,
And ever well and readily answer’d he :
But Lancelot, when they glanced at Guinevere, Suddenly speaking of the wordless man.
Heard from the Baron that, ten years before,
The Heathen caught and reft him of his tongue.
“He learnt and warn’d me of their fierce design Against my house, and him they caught and maim’d ; But I, my sons and little daughter fled From bonds or death, and dwelt among the woods By the great river in a boatman’s hut.
Dull days were those, till our good Arthur broke The Pagan yet once more on Badon hill.”
“O there, great lord, doubtless,” Lavaine said, rapt By all the sweet and sudden passion of youth Toward greatness in its elder, “you have fought.
108
IDYLLS OF THE KING
O tell US — for we live apart you know —
Of Arthur’s glorious wars.” And Lancelot spoke And answer’d him at full, as having been With Arthur in the fight which all day long Rang by the white mouth of the violent Glem ;
And in the four wild battles by the shore Of Duglas ; that on Bassa ; then the war That thunder’d in and out the gloomy skirts Of Gelidon the forest ; and again By castle Gurnion, where the glorious King Had on his cuirass worn our Lady’s Head,
Carved of one emerald, centr’d in a sun Of silver rays, that lighten’d as he breathed ;
And at Gaerleon had he help’d his lord.
When the strong neighings of the wild White Horse Set every gilded parapet shuddering ;
And up in Agned-Gathregonion too.
And down the waste sand-shores of Trath Treroit, Where many a heathen fell ; “ and on the mount Of Badon I myself beheld the King Charge at the head of all his Table Round,
And all his legions crying Christ and him.
And break them ; and I saw him, after, stand High on a heap of slain, from spur to plume Red as the rising sun with heathen blood.
And seeing me, with a great voice he cried ‘ They are broken, they are broken ! ’ for the King, However mild he seems at home, nor cares For triumph in our mimic wars, the jousts —
For if his own knight cast him down, he laughs Saying, his knights are better men than he —
109
IDYLLS OF THE KING
Yet in this heathen war the fire of God Fills him : I never saw his like : there lives No greater leader.”
While he utter’d this,
Low to her own heart said the lily maid,
“ Save your great self, fair lord ; ” and when he fell From talk of war to traits of pleasantry —
Being mirthful he, but in a stately kind —
She still took note that when the living smile Died from his lips, across him came a cloud Of melancholy severe, from which again.
Whenever in her hovering to and fro The lily maid had striven to make him cheer, There brake a sudden beaming tenderness Of manners and of nature : and she thought That all was nature, all, perchance, for her.
And all night long his face before her lived.
As when a painter, poring on a face.
Divinely thro* all hindrance finds the man Behind it, and so paints him that his face.
The shape and colour of a mind and life.
Lives for his children, ever at its best And fullest ; so the face before her lived. Dark-splendid, speaking in the silence, full Of noble things, and held her from her sleep.
Till rathe she rose, half-cheated in the thought She needs must bid farewell to sweet Lavaine.
First as in fear, step after step, she stole Down the long tower-stairs, hesitating ;
Anon, she heard Sir Lancelot cry in the court, “This shield, my friend, where is it?” and Lavaine
no
en to her tower she climb'd, and took the shield, ere kept it, and so lived in fantasy.
Page 112
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
Past inward, as she came from out the tower.
There to his proud horse Lancelot turn’d, and smooth’d The glossy shoulder, humming to himself.
Half-envious of the flattering hand, she drew Nearer and stood. He look'd, and more amazed Than if seven men had set upon him, saw The maiden standing in the dewy light.
He had not dream 'd she was so beautiful.
Then came on him a sort of sacred fear.
For silent, tho’ he greeted her, she stood Rapt on his face as if it were a God’s.
Suddenly flash’d on her a wild desire.
That he should wear her favour at the tilt.
She braved a riotous heart in asking for it.
“Fair lord, whose name I know not — noble it is,
I well believe, the noblest — will you wear My favour at this tourney?” “ Nay,” said he,
“Fair lady, since I never yet have worn Favour of any lady in the lists.
Such is my wont, as those, who know me, know.”
“Yea, so,” she answer’d; “ then in wearing mine Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble lord.
That those who know should know you.” And he turn’d Her counsel up and down within his mind.
And found it true, and answer’d, “ True, my child.
Well, I will wear it : fetch it out to me :
What is it ? ” and she told him ‘ ‘ A red sleeve Broider’d with pearls,” and brought it : then he bound Her token on his helmet, with a smile.
Saying, “ I never yet have done so much For any maiden living,” and the blood
111
<5
IDYLLS OF THE KING
Sprang to her face and fill’d her with delight ;
But left her all the paler, when Lavaine Returning brought the yet-unblazon’d shield,
His brother’s ; which he gave to Lancelot,
Who parted with his own to fair Elaine ;
“Do me this grace, my child, to have my shield In keeping till I come.” “A grace to me,”
She answer’d, “twice to-day. I am your Squire,” Whereat Lavaine said, laughing, “Lily maid.
For fear our people call you lily maid In earnest, let me bring your colour back ;
Once, twice, and thrice : now get you hence to bed So kiss’d her, and Sir Lancelot his own hand.
And thus they moved away : she stay’d a minute. Then made a sudden step to the gate, and there — Her bright hair blown about the serious face Yet rosy kindled with her brother’s kiss —
Paused in the gateway, standing by the shield In silence, while she watch’d their arms far-oflf Sparkle, until they dipt below the downs.
Then to her tower she climb’d, and took the shield. There kept it, and so lived in fantasy.
Meanwhile the new companions past away Far o’er the long backs of the bushless downs.
To where Sir Lancelot knew there lived a knight Not far from Gamelot, now for forty years A hermit, who had pray’d, labour’d and pray’d And ever labouring had scoop’d himself In the white rock a chapel and a hall On massive columns, like a shorecliff cave,
112
IDYLLS OF THE KING
And cells and chambers : all were fair and dry ;
The green light from the meadows underneath Struck up and lived along the milky roofs ;
And in the meadows tremulous aspen-trees And poplars made a noise of falling showers.
And thither wending there that night they bode.
when the next day broke from underground, And shot red fire and shadows thro’ the cave, They rose, heard mass, broke fast, and rode away :
Then Lancelot saying, “Hear, but hold my name
Hidden, you ride with Lancelot of the Lake,”
Abash’d Lavaine, whose instant reverence,
Dearer to true young hearts than their own praise,
But left him leave to stammer, ** Is it indeed ? ”
And after muttering, ” The great Lancelot,”
At last he got his breath and answer'd, “One,
One have I seen — that other, our liege lord.
The dread Pendragon, Britain’s King of kings,
Of whom the people talk mysteriously,
He will be there — then were I stricken blind That minute, I might say that I had seen.”
So spake Lavaine, and when they reach’d the lists By Gamelot in the meadow, let his eyes Run thro’ the peopled gallery which half round Lay like a rainbow fall’n upon the grass.
Until they found the clear-faced King, who sat Robed in red samite, easily to be known,
113
IDYLLS OF THE KING
Since to his crown the golden dragon clung,
And down his robe the dragon writhed in gold,
And from the carven-work behind him crept Two dragons gilded, sloping down to make Arms for his chair, while all the rest of them Thro’ knots and loops and folds innumerable Fled ever thro’ the woodwork, till they found The new design wherein they lost themselves.
Yet with all ease, so tender was the work;
And, in the costly canopy o’er him set.
Blazed the last diamond of the nameless king.
HEN Lancelot answer’d young Lavaine and said,
“Me you call great: mine is the firmer seat, The truer lance : but there is many a youth Now crescent, who will come to all I am And overcome it ; and in me there dwells No greatness, save it be some far-oflf touch Of greatness to know well I am not great :
There is the man.’’ And Lavaine gaped upon him
As on a thing miraculous, and anon
The trumpets blew ; and then did either side.
They that assail’d, and they that held the lists.
Set lance in rest, strike spur, suddenly move.
Meet in the midst, and there so furiously Shock, that a man far-oflf might well perceive,
If any man that day were left afield.
The hard earth shake, and a low thunder of arms.
And Lancelot bode a little, till he saw Which were the weaker ; then he hurl’d into it
114
IDYLLS OF THE KING
Against the stronger : little need to speak Of Lancelot in his glory : King, duke, earl,
Count, baron — whom he smote, he overthrew.
But in the field were Lancelot’s kith and kin.
Ranged with the Table Round that held the lists Strong men, and wrathful that a stranger knight Should do and almost overdo the deeds Of Lancelot ; and one said to the other, ‘ ‘ Lo I What is he ? I do not mean the force alone.
The grace and versatility of the man —
Is it not Lancelot ? ” “ When has Lancelot worn
Favour of any lady in the lists ?
Not such his wont, as we, that know him, know.”
“How then? who then?” a fury seized on them,
A fiery family passion for the name Of Lancelot, and a glory one with theirs.
They couch’d their spears and prick’d their steeds, and thus. Their plumes driv’n backward by the wind they made In moving, all together down upon him Bare, as a wild wave in the wide North Sea, Green-glimmering toward the summit, bears, with all Its stormy crests that smoke against the skies,
Down on a bark, and overbears the bark.
And him that helms it, so they overbore Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear Down-glancing lamed the charger, and a spear Prick’d sharply his own cuirass, and the head Pierced thro’ his side and there snapt, and remain’d.
Then Sir Lavaine did well and worshipfully ;
115
IDYLLS OF THE KING
He bore a knight of old repute to the earth,
And brought his horse to Lancelot where he lay.
He up the side, sweating with agony, got.
But thought to do while he might yet endure.
And being lustily holpen by the rest.
His party, — tho’ it seemed half-miracle
To those he fought with — drave his kith and kin,
And all the Table Round that held the lists.
Back to the barrier; then the heralds blew Proclaiming his the prize, who wore the sleeve Of scarlet, and the pearls; and all the knights.
His party, cried “ Advance, and take your prize The diamond;” but he answer’d, “Diamond me No diamonds! for God’s love, a little air!
Prize me no prizes, for my prize is death!
Hence will I, and I charge you, follow me not.”
He spoke, and vanish’d suddenly from the field With young Lavaine into the poplar grove.
There from his charger down he slid, and sat. Gasping to Sir Lavaine, “Draw the lance-head:” “Ah my sweet lord Sir Lancelot,” said Lavaine,
“I dread me, if I draw it, you will die.”
But he, “ I die already with it : draw —
Draw,” — and Lavaine drew, and that other gave A marvellous great shriek and ghastly groan.
And half his blood burst forth, and down he sank For the pure pain, and wholly swoon’d away.
Then came the hermit out and bare him in,
There stanch’d his wound ; and there, in daily doubt Whether to live or die, for many a week
116
IDYLLS OF THE KING
Hid from the wide world’s rumour by the grove Of poplars with their noise of falling showers,
And ever-tremulous aspen-trees, he lay.
But on that day when Lancelot fled the lists.
His party, knights of utmost North and West,
Lords of waste marches, kings of desolate isles.
Game round their great Pendragon, saying to him,
“ Lo, Sire, our knight thro’ whom we won the day Hath gone sore wounded, and hath left his prize Untaken, crying that his prize is death.”
“Heaven hinder,” said the King, “that such an one, So great a knight as we have seen to-day —
He seem’d to me another Lancelot —
Yea, twenty times I thought him Lancelot —
He must not pass uncared for. Gawain, rise.
My nephew, and ride forth and find the knight. Wounded and wearied needs must he be near.
I charge you that you get at once to horse.
And, knights and kings, there breathes not one of you Will deem this prize of ours is rashly given :
His prowess was too wondrous. We will do him No customary honour ; since the knight Came not to us, of us to claim the prize.
Ourselves will send it after. Wherefore take This diamond, and deliver it, and return.
And bring us what he is, and how he fares.
And cease not from your quest until you find.”
So saying, from the carven flower above.
To which it made a restless heart, he took,
117
IDYLLS OF THE KING
And gave, the diamond : then from where he sat At Arthur’s right, with smiling face arose,
With smiling face and frowning heart, a Prince In the mid might and flourish of his May,
Gawain, surnamed The Courteous, fair and strong.
And after Lancelot, Tristram, and Geraint And Lamorack, a good knight, but therewithal Sir Modred’s brother, of a crafty house.
Nor often loyal to his word, and now Wroth that the King’s command to sally forth In quest of whom he knew not, made him leave The banquet, and concourse of knights and kings.
O all in wrath he got to horse and went ;
While Arthur to the banquet, dark in mood. Past, thinking, “Is it Lancelot who has come Despite the wound he spake of, all for gain Of glory, and has added wound to wound.
And ridd’n away to die?” So fear’d the King, And, after two days’ tarriance there, return’d.
Then when he saw the Queen, embracing ask’d,
“Love, are you yet so sick?” “Nay, Lord,” she said.
“And where is Lancelot?” Then the Queen amazed,
“Was he not with you? won he not your prize?”
“Nay, but one like him.” “Why that like was he.”
And when the King demanded how she knew.
Said, “Lord, no sooner had you parted from us.
Than Lancelot told me of a common talk That men went down before his spear at a touch But knowing he was Lancelot ; his great name Conquer’d ; and therefore would he hide his name
118
Bui to be with you still, to see your face,
'^o serve you, and to follow you thro’ the world.
Page 130
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IDYLLS OF THE KING
From all men, ev’n the King, and to this end Had made the pretext of a hindering wound,
That he might joust unknown of all, and learn If his old prowess were in aught decay’d :
And added, ‘our true Arthur, when he learns.
Will well allow my pretext, as for gain Of purer glory.*”
Then replied the King :
“Far lovelier in our Lancelot had it been,
In lieu of idly dallying with the truth.
To have trusted me as he has trusted you.
Surely his King and most familiar friend Might well have kept his secret. True, indeed.
Albeit I know my knights fantastical.
So fine a fear in our large Lancelot
Must needs have moved my laughter : now remains
But little cause for laughter : his own kin —
111 news, my Queen, for all who love him, these !
His kith and kin, not knowing, set upon him ;
So that he went sore wounded from the field :
Yet good news too : for goodly hopes are mine That Lancelot is no more a lonely heart.
He wore, against his wont, upon his helm A sleeve of scarlet, broidered with great pearls.
Some gentle maiden’s gift.”
“Yea, lord,” she said,
“Your hopes are mine,” and saying that she choked. And sharply turn’d about to hide her face.
Moved to her chamber, and there flung herself Down on the great King’s couch, and writhed upon it. And clench’d her fingers till they bit the palm,
119
IDYLLS OF THE KING
And shriek’d out “Traitor” to the unhearing wall.
Then flash’d into wild tears, and rose again,
And moved about her palace, proud and pale.
Gawain the while thro* all the region round Rode with his diamond, wearied of the quest.
Touch’d at all points, except the poplar grove.
And came at last, tho’ late, to Astolat :
Whom glittering in enamell’d arms the maid Glanced at, and cried ” What news from Gamelot, lord ? What of the knight with the red sleeve?” “He won.” “I knew it,” she said. “But parted from the jousts Hurt in the side,” whereat she caught her breath ;
Thro’ her own side she felt the sharp lance go ;
Thereon she smote her hand : wellnigh she swoon’d : And, while he gazed wonderingly at her, came The lord of Astolat out, to whom the Prince Reported who he was, and on what quest Sent, that he bore the prize and could not find The victor, but had ridden wildly round To seek him, and was wearied of the search.
To whom the lord of Astolat, “Bide with us.
And ride no longer wildly, noble Prince !
Here was the knight, and here he left a shield ;
This will he send or come for: furthermore Our son is with him ; we shall hear anon,
Needs must we hear.” To this the courteous Prince Accorded with his wonted courtesy,
Courtesy with a touch of traitor in it.
And stay’d ; and cast his eyes on fair Elaine :
Where could be found face daintier ? then her shape
120
IDYLLS OF THE KING
From forehead down to foot perfect — again From foot to forehead exquisitely turn’d :
“Well — if I bide, lo ! this wild flower for me I”
And oft they met among the golden yews,
And there he set himself to play upon her With sallying wit, free flashes from a height Above her, graces of the court, and songs.
Sighs, and slow smiles, and garden eloquence And amorous adulation, till the maid Rebell’d against it, saying to him, “ Prince,
O loyal nephew of our noble King,
Why ask you not to see the shield he left.
Whence you might learn his name ? Why slight your King, And lose the quest he sent you on, and prove No surer than our falcon yesterday.
Who lost the hern we slipt him at, and went To all the winds?” “Nay, by mine head,” said he,
“I lose it, as we lose the lark in heaven,
O damsel, in the light of your blue eyes :
But an’ you will it let me see the shield.”
And when the shield was brought, and Gawain saw Sir Lancelot’s azure lions, crown’d with gold.
Ramp in the field, he smote his thigh, and mock’d ;
“Right was the King! our Lancelot! that true man!” “And right was I,” she answer’d merrily, “I,
Who dream’d my knight the greatest knight of all.”
“And if / dream’d,” said Gawain, “that you love This greatest knight, your pardon ! lo, you know it !
Speak therefore : shall I waste myself in vain ? ”
Full simple was her answer, “ What know I ?
My brethren have been all my fellowship,
121
IDYLLS OF THE KING
And I, when often they have talk’d of love,
Wish’d it had been my mother, for they talk’d, Meseem’d, of what they knew not ; so myself —
I know not if I know what true love is.
But if I know, then, if I love not him,
Methinks there is none other that I can love.”
“Yea, by God’s death,” said he, “you love him well. But would not, knew you what all others know.
And whom he loves.” “So be it,” cried Elaine,
And lifted her fair face and moved away :
But he pursued her, calling “Stay a little!
One golden minute’s grace : he wore your sleeve : Would he break faith with one I may not name ? Must our true man change like a leaf at last ?
Nay — like enough : why then, far be it from me To cross our mighty Lancelot in his loves !
And, damsel, for I deem you know full well Where your great knight is hidden, let me leave My quest with you ; the diamond also : here !
For if you love, it will be sweet to give it ;
And if he love, it will be sweet to have it From your own hand ; and whether he love or not, A diamond is a diamond. Fare you well A thousand times ! — a thousand times farewell !
Yet, if he love, and his love hold, we two May meet at court hereafter : there, I think,
So you will learn the courtesies of the court.
We two shall know each other.”
Then he gave.
And slightly kiss’d the hand to which he gave,
The diamond, and all wearied of the quest
122
IDYLLS OF THE KING
Leapt on his horse, and carolling as he went A true-love ballad, lightly rode away.
HENCE to the court he past ; there told the King
What the King knew, “ Sir Lancelot is the knight.”
And added, “Sire, my liege, so much I learnt; But fail’d to find him tho’ I rode all round The region : but I lighted on the maid Whose sleeve he wore ; she loves him ; and to her,
Deeming our courtesy is‘ the truest law,
I gave the diamond : she will render it ;
For by mine head she knows his hiding-place.”
The seldom-frowning King frown’d, and replied,
“Too courteous truly! you shall go no more On quest of mine, seeing that you forget Obedience is the courtesy due to kings.”
He spake and parted. Wroth but all in awe.
For twenty strokes of the blood, without a word.
Linger’d that other, staring after him ;
Then shook his hair, strode off, and buzz’d abroad About the maid of Astolat, and her love.
All ears were prick’d at once, all tongues were loosed :
“The maid of Astolat loves Sir Lancelot,
Sir Lancelot loves the maid of Astolat.”
Some read the King’s face, some the Queen’s, and all Had marvel what the maid might be, but most Predoom’d her as unworthy. One old dame
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Came suddenly on the Queen with the sharp news.
She, that had heard the noise of it before,
But sorrowing Lancelot should have stoop’d so low, Marr’d her friend’s point with pale tranquillity.
So ran the tale like fire about the court,
Fire in dry stubble a nine days* wonder flared;
Till ev’n the knights at banquet twice or thrice Forgot to drink to Lancelot and the Queen,
And pledging Lancelot and the lily maid Smiled at each other, while the Queen who sat With lips severely placid felt the knot Climb in her throat, and with her feet unseen Crush’d the wild passion out against the floor Beneath the banquet, where the meats became As wormwood, and she hated all who pledged.
But far away the maid in Astolat,
Her guiltless rival, she that ever kept The one-day-seen Sir Lancelot in her heart.
Crept to her father, while he mused alone.
Sat on his knee, stroked his grey face and said,
“ Father, you call me wilful, and the fault Is yours who let me have my will, and now.
Sweet father, will you let me lose my wits?”
“Nay,” said he, “surely.” “Wherefore, let me hence,” She answer’d, “and find out our dear Lavaine.”
“You will not lose your wits for dear Lavaine :
Bide,” answer’d he: “we needs must hear anon Of him, and of that other.” “ Aye,” she said,
“ And of that other, for I needs must hence And find that other, wheresoe’er he be,
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And with mine own hand give his diamond to him, Lest I be found as faithless in the quest As yon proud Prince who left the quest to me. Sweet father, I behold him in my dreams Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself. Death-pale, for lack of gentle maiden’s aid.
The gentler-born the maiden, the more bound,
My father, to be sweet and serviceable To noble knights in sickness, as you know.
When these have worn their tokens : let me hence, I pray you.” Then her father nodding said,
“ Aye, aye, the diamond : wit you well, my child. Right fain were I to learn this knight were whole. Being our greatest : yea, and you must give it — And sure I think this fruit is hung too high For any mouth to gape for save a queen’s —
Nay, I mean nothing : so then, get you gone.
Being so very wilful you must go.”
IGHTLY, her suit allow’d, she slipt away. And while she made her ready for her ride, Her father’s latest word humm’d in her ear, “Being so very wilful you must go,”
And changed itself and echoed in her heart, “Being so very wilful you must die.”
But she was happy enough and shook it off.
As we shake off the bee that buzzes at us ;
And in her heart she answer’d it and said,
“ What matter, so I help him back to life ? ”
Then far away with good Sir Torre for guide Rode o’er the long backs of the bushless downs
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To Gamelot, and before the city -gates Game on her brother with a happy face Making a roan horse caper and curvet For pleasure all about a field of flowers :
Whom when she saw, “ Lavaine,” she cried, “ Lavaine, How fares my lord Sir Lancelot ? ” He amazed, “Torre and Elaine! why here? Sir Lancelot!
How know you my lord’s name is Lancelot ? ”
But when the maid had told him all her tale.
Then turn’d Sir Torre, and being in his moods Left them, and under the strange-statued gate.
Where Arthur’s wars were render’d mystically,
Past up the still rich city to his kin.
His own far blood, which dwelt at Gamelot ;
And her, Lavaine across the poplar grove Led to the caves: there first she saw the casque Of Lancelot on the wall : her scarlet sleeve,
Tho’ carved and cut, and half the pearls away.
Stream’d from it still ; and in her heart she laugh’d. Because he had not loosed it from his helm.
But meant once more perchance to tourney in it.
And when they gain’d the cell in which he slept.
His battle-writhen arms and mighty hands Lay naked on the wolfskin, and a dream Of dragging down his enemy made them move.
Then she that saw him lying unsleek, unshorn.
Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself.
Utter’d a little tender dolorous cry.
The sound not wonted in a place so still
Woke the sick knight, and while he roll’d his eyes
Yet blank from sleep, she started to him, saying,
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“Your prize the diamond sent you by the King:”
His eyes glisten’d: she fancied “Is it for me?”
And when the maid had told him all the tale Of King and Prince, the diamond sent, the quest Assign’d to her not worthy of it, she knelt Full lowly by the corners of his bed.
And laid the diamond in his open hand.
Her face was near, and as we kiss the child That does the task assign’d, he kiss’d her face.
At once she slipt like water to the floor.
“Alas,” he said, “your ride has wearied you.
Rest must you have.” “No rest for me,” she said;
“Nay, for near you, fair lord, I am at rest.”
What might she mean by that ? his large black eyes,
Yet larger thro’ his leanness, dwelt upon her.
Till all her heart’s sad secret blazed itself In the heart’s colours on her simple face ;
And Lancelot look’d and was perplext in mind,
And being weak in body said no more ;
But did not love the colour ; woman’s love,
Save one, he not regarded, and so turn’d Sighing, and feign’d a sleep until he slept.
HEN rose Elaine and glided thro’ the fields, And past beneath the wildly-sculptured gates Far up the dim rich city to her kin ;
There bode the night : but woke with dawn, and past
Down thro’ the dim rich city to the fields. Thence to the cave : so day by day she past In either twilight ghost-like to and fro
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Gliding, and every day she tended him,
And likewise many a night: and Lancelot Would, tho’ he call’d his wound a little hurt Whereof he should be quickly whole, at times Brain-feverous in his heat and agony, seem Uncourteous, even he : but the meek maid Sweetly forbore him ever, being to him Meeker than any child to a rough nurse.
Milder than any mother to a sick child.
And never woman yet, since man’s first fall.
Did kindlier unto man, but her deep love Upbore her ; till the hermit, skill’d in all The simples and the science of that time.
Told him that her fine care had saved his life. And the sick man forgot her simple blush.
Would call her friend and sister, sweet Elaine, Would listen for her coming and regret Her parting step, and held her tenderly.
And loved her with all love except the love Of man and woman when they love their best. Closest and sweetest, and had died the death In any knightly fashion for her sake.
And peradventure had he seen her first She might have made this and that other world Another world for the sick