| THE TORTURED King—seeing Merlin wholly meshed | |
| In his defection, even to indifference, | |
| And all the while attended and exalted | 755 |
| By some unfathomable obscurity | |
| Of divination, where the Grail, unseen, | |
| Broke yet the darkness where a king saw nothing— | |
| Feared now the lady Vivian more than Fate; | |
| For now he knew that Modred, Lancelot, | 760 |
| The Queen, the King, the Kingdom, and the World, | |
| Were less to Merlin, who had made him King, | |
| Than one small woman in Broceliande. | |
| Whereas the lady Vivian, seeing Merlin | |
| Acclaimed and tempted and allured again | 765 |
| To service in his old magnificence, | |
| Feared now King Arthur more than storms and robbers; | |
| For Merlin, though he knew himself immune | |
| To no least whispered little wish of hers | |
| That might afflict his ear with ecstasy, | 770 |
| Had yet sufficient of his old command | |
| Of all around him to invest an eye | |
| With quiet lightning, and a spoken word | |
| With easy thunder, so accomplishing | |
| A profit and a pastime for himself— | 775 |
| And for the lady Vivian, when her guile | |
| Outlived at intervals her graciousness; | |
| And this equipment of uncertainty, | |
| Which now had gone away with him to Britain | |
| With Dagonet, so plagued her memory | 780 |
| That soon a phantom brood of goblin doubts | |
| Inhabited his absence, which had else | |
| Been empty waiting and a few brave fears, | |
| And a few more, she knew, that were not brave, | |
| Or long to be disowned, or manageable. | 785 |
| She thought of him as he had looked at her | |
| When first he had acquainted her alarm | |
| At sight of the King’s letter with its import; | |
| And she remembered now his very words: | |
| “The King believes today as in his boyhood | 790 |
| That I am Fate,” he said; and when they parted | |
| She had not even asked him not to go; | |
| She might as well, she thought, have bid the wind | |
| Throw no more clouds across a lonely sky | |
| Between her and the moon,—so great he seemed | 795 |
| In his oppressed solemnity, and she, | |
| In her excess of wrong imagining, | |
| So trivial in an hour, and, after all | |
| A creature of a smaller consequence | |
| Than kings to Merlin, who made kings and kingdoms | 800 |
| And had them as a father; and so she feared | |
| King Arthur more than robbers while she waited | |
| For Merlin’s promise to fulfil itself, | |
| And for the rest that was to follow after: | |
| “He said he would come back, and so he will. | 805 |
| He will because he must, and he is Merlin, | |
| The master of the world—or so he was; | |
| And he is coming back again to me | |
| Because he must and I am Vivian. | |
| It’s all as easy as two added numbers: | 810 |
| Some day I’ll hear him ringing at the gate, | |
| As he rang on that morning in the spring, | |
| Ten years ago; and I shall have him then | |
| For ever. He shall never go away | |
| Though kings come walking on their hands and knees | 815 |
| To take him on their backs.” When Merlin came, | |
| She told him that, and laughed; and he said strangely: | |
| “Be glad or sorry, but no kings are coming. | |
| Not Arthur, surely; for now Arthur knows | |
| That I am less than Fate.” | 820 |
| |
| Ten years ago | |
| The King had heard, with unbelieving ears | |
| At first, what Merlin said would be the last | |
| Reiteration of his going down | |
| To find a living grave in Brittany: | 825 |
| “Buried alive I told you I should be, | |
| By love made little and by woman shorn, | |
| Like Samson, of my glory; and the time | |
| Is now at hand. I follow in the morning | |
| Where I am led. I see behind me now | 830 |
| The last of crossways, and I see before me | |
| A straight and final highway to the end | |
| Of all my divination. You are King, | |
| And in your kingdom I am what I was. | |
| Wherever I have warned you, see as far | 835 |
| As I have seen; for I have shown the worst | |
| There is to see. Require no more of me, | |
| For I can be no more than what I was.” | |
| So, on the morrow, the King said farewell; | |
| And he was never more to Merlin’s eye | 840 |
| The King than at that hour; for Merlin knew | |
| How much was going out of Arthur’s life | |
| With him, as he went southward to the sea. | |
| |
| Over the waves and into Brittany | |
| Went Merlin, to Broceliande. Gay birds | 845 |
| Were singing high to greet him all along | |
| A broad and sanded woodland avenue | |
| That led him on forever, so he thought, | |
| Until at last there was an end of it; | |
| And at the end there was a gate of iron, | 850 |
| Wrought heavily and invidiously barred. | |
| He pulled a cord that rang somewhere a bell | |
| Of many echoes, and sat down to rest, | |
| Outside the keeper’s house, upon a bench | |
| Of carven stone that might for centuries | 855 |
| Have waited there in silence to receive him. | |
| The birds were singing still; leaves flashed and swung | |
| Before him in the sunlight; a soft breeze | |
| Made intermittent whisperings around him | |
| Of love and fate and danger, and faint waves | 860 |
| Of many sweetly-stinging fragile odors | |
| Broke lightly as they touched him; cherry-boughs | |
| Above him snowed white petals down upon him, | |
| And under their slow falling Merlin smiled | |
| Contentedly, as one who contemplates | 865 |
| No longer fear, confusion, or regret, | |
| May smile at ruin or at revelation. | |
| |
| A stately fellow with a forest air | |
| Now hailed him from within, with searching words | |
| And curious looks, till Merlin’s glowing eye | 870 |
| Transfixed him and he flinched: “My compliments | |
| And homage to the lady Vivian. | |
| Say Merlin from King Arthur’s Court is here, | |
| A pilgrim and a stranger in appearance, | |
| Though in effect her friend and humble servant. | 875 |
| Convey to her my speech as I have said it, | |
| Without abbreviation or delay, | |
| And so deserve my gratitude forever.” | |
| “But Merlin?” the man stammered; “Merlin? Merlin?”— | |
| “One Merlin is enough. I know no other. | 880 |
| Now go you to the lady Vivian | |
| And bring to me her word, for I am weary.” | |
| Still smiling at the cherry-blossoms falling | |
| Down on him and around him in the sunlight, | |
| He waited, never moving, never glancing | 885 |
| This way or that, until his messenger | |
| Came jingling into vision, weighed with keys, | |
| And inly shaken with much wondering | |
| At this great wizard’s coming unannounced | |
| And unattended. When the way was open | 890 |
| The stately messenger, now bowing low | |
| In reverence and awe, bade Merlin enter; | |
| And Merlin, having entered, heard the gate | |
| Clang back behind him; and he swore no gate | |
| Like that had ever clanged in Camelot, | 895 |
| Or any other place if not in hell. | |
| “I may be dead; and this good fellow here, | |
| With all his keys,” he thought, “may be the Devil,— | |
| Though I were loath to say so, for the keys | |
| Would make him rather more akin to Peter; | 900 |
| And that’s fair reasoning for this fair weather.” | |
| |
| “The lady Vivian says you are most welcome,” | |
| Said now the stately-favored servitor, | |
| “And are to follow me. She said, ‘Say Merlin— | |
| A pilgrim and a stranger in appearance, | 905 |
| Though in effect my friend and humble servant— | |
| Is welcome for himself, and for the sound | |
| Of his great name that echoes everywhere.’”— | |
| “I like you and I like your memory,” | |
| Said Merlin, curiously, “but not your gate. | 910 |
| Why forge for this elysian wilderness | |
| A thing so vicious with unholy noise?”— | |
| “There’s a way out of every wilderness | |
| For those who dare or care enough to find it,” | |
| The guide said: and they moved along together, | 915 |
| Down shaded ways, through open ways with hedgerows. | |
| And into shade again more deep than ever, | |
| But edged anon with rays of broken sunshine | |
| In which a fountain, raining crystal music, | |
| Made faery magic of it through green leafage, | 920 |
| Till Merlin’s eyes were dim with preparation | |
| For sight now of the lady Vivian. | |
| He saw at first a bit of living green | |
| That might have been a part of all the green | |
| Around the tinkling fountain where she gazed | 925 |
| Upon the circling pool as if her thoughts | |
| Were not so much on Merlin—whose advance | |
| Betrayed through his enormity of hair | |
| The cheeks and eyes of youth—as on the fishes. | |
| But soon she turned and found him, now alone, | 930 |
| And held him while her beauty and her grace | |
| Made passing trash of empires, and his eyes | |
| Told hers of what a splendid emptiness | |
| Her tedious world had been without him in it | |
| Whose love and service were to be her school, | 935 |
| Her triumph, and her history: “This is Merlin,” | |
| She thought; “and I shall dream of him no more. | |
| And he has come, he thinks, to frighten me | |
| With beards and robes and his immortal fame; | |
| Or is it I who think so? I know not. | 940 |
| I’m frightened, sure enough, but if I show it, | |
| I’ll be no more the Vivian for whose love | |
| He tossed away his glory, or the Vivian | |
| Who saw no man alive to make her love him | |
| Till she saw Merlin once in Camelot, | 945 |
| And seeing him, saw no other. In an age | |
| That has no plan for me that I can read | |
| Without him, shall he tell me what I am, | |
| And why I am, I wonder?” While she thought, | |
| And feared the man whom her perverse negation | 950 |
| Must overcome somehow to soothe her fancy, | |
| She smiled and welcomed him; and so they stood, | |
| Each finding in the other’s eyes a gleam | |
| Of what eternity had hidden there. | |
| |
| “Are you always all in green, as you are now?” | 955 |
| Said Merlin, more employed with her complexion, | |
| Where blood and olive made wild harmony | |
| With eyes and wayward hair that were too dark | |
| For peace if they were not subordinated; | |
| “If so you are, then so you make yourself | 960 |
| A danger in a world of many dangers. | |
| If I were young, God knows if I were safe | |
| Concerning you in green, like a slim cedar, | |
| As you are now, to say my life was mine: | |
| Were you to say to me that I should end it, | 965 |
| Longevity for me were jeopardized. | |
| Have you your green on always and all over?” | |
| |
| “Come here, and I will tell you about that,” | |
| Said Vivian, leading Merlin with a laugh | |
| To an arbored seat where they made opposites: | 970 |
| “If you are Merlin—and I know you are, | |
| For I remember you in Camelot,— | |
| You know that I am Vivian, as I am; | |
| And if I go in green, why, let me go so, | |
| And say at once why you have come to me | 975 |
| Cloaked over like a monk, and with a beard | |
| As long as Jeremiah’s. I don’t like it. | |
| I’ll never like a man with hair like that | |
| While I can feed a carp with little frogs. | |
| I’m rather sure to hate you if you keep it, | 980 |
| And when I hate a man I poison him.” | |
| |
| “You’ve never fed a carp with little frogs,” | |
| Said Merlin; “I can see it in your eyes.”— | |
| “I might then, if I haven’t,” said the lady; | |
| “For I’m a savage, and I love no man | 985 |
| As I have seen him yet. I’m here alone, | |
| With some three hundred others, all of whom | |
| Are ready, I dare say, to die for me; | |
| I’m cruel and I’m cold, and I like snakes; | |
| And some have said my mother was a fairy, | 990 |
| Though I believe it not.” | |
| |
| “Why not believe it?” | |
| Said Merlin; “I believe it. I believe | |
| Also that you divine, as I had wished, | |
| In my surviving ornament of office | 995 |
| A needless imposition on your wits, | |
| If not yet on the scope of your regard. | |
| Even so, you cannot say how old I am, | |
| Or yet how young. I’m willing cheerfully | |
| To fight, left-handed, Hell’s three headed hound | 1000 |
| If you but whistle him up from where he lives; | |
| I’m cheerful and I’m fierce, and I’ve made kings; | |
| And some have said my father was the Devil, | |
| Though I believe it not. Whatever I am, | |
| I have not lived in Time until to-day.” | 1005 |
| A moment’s worth of wisdom there escaped him, | |
| But Vivian seized it, and it was not lost. | |
| |
| Embroidering doom with many levities, | |
| Till now the fountain’s crystal silver, fading, | |
| Became a splash and a mere chilliness, | 1010 |
| They mocked their fate with easy pleasantries | |
| That were too false and small to be forgotten, | |
| And with ingenious insincerities | |
| That had no repetition or revival. | |
| At last the lady Vivian arose, | 1015 |
| And with a crying of how late it was | |
| Took Merlin’s hand and led him like a child | |
| Along a dusky way between tall cones | |
| Of tight green cedars: “Am I like one of these? | |
| You said I was, though I deny it wholly.”— | 1020 |
| “Very,” said Merlin, to his bearded lips | |
| Uplifting her small fingers.—“O, that hair!” | |
| She moaned, as if in sorrow: “Must it be? | |
| Must every prophet and important wizard | |
| Be clouded so that nothing but his nose | 1025 |
| And eyes, and intimations of his ears, | |
| Are there to make us know him when we see him? | |
| Praise heaven I’m not a prophet! Are you glad?”— | |
| |
| He did not say that he was glad or sorry; | |
| For suddenly came flashing into vision | 1030 |
| A thing that was a manor and a castle, | |
| With walls and roofs that had a flaming sky. | |
| Behind them, like a sky that he remembered, | |
| And one that had from his rock-sheltered haunt | |
| Above the roofs of his forsaken city | 1035 |
| Made flame as if all Camelot were on fire. | |
| The glow brought with it a brief memory | |
| Of Arthur as he left him, and the pain | |
| That fought in Arthur’s eyes for losing him, | |
| And must have overflowed when he had vanished. | 1040 |
| But now the eyes that looked hard into his | |
| Were Vivian’s, not the King’s; and he could see, | |
| Or so he thought, a shade of sorrow in them. | |
| She took his two hands: “You are sad,” she said.— | |
| He smiled: “Your western lights bring memories | 1045 |
| Of Camelot. We all have memories— | |
| Prophets, and women who are like slim cedars; | |
| But you are wrong to say that I am sad.”— | |
| “Would you go back to Camelot?” she asked, | |
| Her fingers tightening. Merlin shook his head. | 1050 |
| “Then listen while I tell you that I’m glad,” | |
| She purred, as if assured that he would listen: | |
| “At your first warning, much too long ago, | |
| Of this quaint pilgrimage of yours to see | |
| ‘The fairest and most orgulous of ladies’— | 1055 |
| No language for a prophet, I am sure— | |
| Said I, ‘When this great Merlin comes to me, | |
| My task and avocation for some time | |
| Will be to make him willing, if I can, | |
| To teach and feed me with an ounce of wisdom.’ | 1060 |
| For I have eaten to an empty shell, | |
| After a weary feast of observation | |
| Among the glories of a tinsel world | |
| That had for me no glory till you came, | |
| A life that is no life. Would you go back | 1065 |
| To Camelot?”—Merlin shook his head again, | |
| And the two smiled together in the sunset. | |
| |
| They moved along in silence to the door, | |
| Where Merlin said: “Of your three hundred here | |
| There is but one I know, and him I favor; | 1070 |
| I mean the stately one who shakes the keys | |
| Of that most evil sounding gate of yours, | |
| Which has a clang as if it shut forever.”— | |
| “If there be need, I’ll shut the gate myself,” | |
| She said. “And you like Blaise? Then you shall have him. | 1075 |
| He was not born to serve, but serve he must, | |
| It seems, and be enamoured of my shadow. | |
| He cherishes the taint of some high folly | |
| That haunts him with a name he cannot know, | |
| And I could fear his wits are paying for it. | 1080 |
| Forgive his tongue, and humor it a little.”— | |
| “I knew another one whose name was Blaise,” | |
| He said; and she said lightly, “Well, what of it?”— | |
| “And he was nigh the learnedest of hermits; | |
| His home was far away from everywhere, | 1085 |
| And he was all alone there when he died.”— | |
| “Now be a pleasant Merlin,” Vivian said, | |
| Patting his arm, “and have no more of that; | |
| For I’ll not hear of dead men far away, | |
| Or dead men anywhere this afternoon. | 1090 |
| There’ll be a trifle in the way of supper | |
| This evening, but the dead shall not have any. | |
| Blaise and this man will tell you all there is | |
| For you to know. Then you’ll know everything.” | |
| She laughed, and vanished like a humming-bird. | 1095 |
