Idylls of the King
Page 13
I never loved, can never love but him:
Yea, God, I pray you of your gentleness,
710 He being as he is, to let me be.’
Then 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,
715 Dame, to be gentle than ungentle with you;
Take my salute,’ unknightly with flat hand,
However lightly, smote her on the cheek.
Then Enid, in her utter helplessness,
And since she thought, ‘He had not dared to do it,
720 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,
725 (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.
730 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;
735 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 –
740 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.’
745 And Enid could not say one tender word,
She felt so blunt and stupid at the heart:
She only pray’d him, ‘Fly, they will return
And slay you; fly, your charger is without,
My palfrey lost.’ ‘Then, Enid, shall you ride
750 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
755 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
760 And kiss’d her climbing, and she cast her arms
About him, and at once they rode away.
And never yet, since high in Paradise
O’er the four rivers the first roses blew,
Came purer pleasure unto mortal kind
765 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
770 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
775 In rest, and made as if to fall upon him.
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,
780 Beholding it was Edyrn son of Nudd,
Was moved so much the more, and shriek’d again,
‘O cousin, slay not him who gave you life.’
And Edyrn moving frankly forward spake:
‘My lord Geraint, I greet you with all love;
785 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
790 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,
795 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 judgment of the King.’
‘He hears the judgment of the King of kings,’
800 Cried the wan Prince; and ‘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
805 How the huge Earl lay slain within his hall.
But when the knight besought him, ‘Follow me,
Prince, to the camp, and in the King’s own ear
Speak what has chanced; ye surely have endured
Strange chances here alone;’ that other flush’d
810 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 ye will not go
To Arthur, then will Arthur come to you,’
815 ‘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,
820 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.
825 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
830 (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
835 Unconquerable, for I was wellnigh mad:
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;
840 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, –
845 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) ov
erthrow
My proud self, and my purpose three years old,
And set his foot upon me, and give me life.
850 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;
855 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,
860 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 wolf’s indeed:
And oft I talk’d with Dubric, the high saint,
865 Who, with mild heat of holy oratory,
Subdued me somewhat to that gentleness,
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;
870 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.’
He spoke, and Enid easily believed,
Like simple noble natures, credulous
875 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,
880 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,
885 And glancing for a minute, till he saw her
Pass into it, turn’d to the Prince, and said:
‘Prince, when of late ye pray’d me for my leave
To move to your own land, and there defend
Your marches, I was prick’d with some reproof,
890 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
To cleanse this common sewer of all my realm,
895 With Edyrn and with others: have ye look’d
At Edyrn? have ye 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:
900 And this wise world of ours is mainly right.
Full seldom doth 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.
905 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,
910 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,
915 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
920 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
Her constant motion round him, and the breath
925 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.
930 But while Geraint lay healing of his hurt,
The blameless King went forth and cast his eyes
On each of all whom Uther left in charge
Long since, to guard the justice of the King:
He look’d and found them wanting; and as now
935 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
940 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.
Then, when Geraint was whole again, they past
945 With Arthur to Caerleon 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
950 Before the Queen’s fair name was breathed upon,
He rested well content that all was well.
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.
955 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,
960 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
965 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.
Balin and Balan
Pellam the King, who held and lost with Lot
In that first war, and had his realm restored
But render’d tributary, fail’d of late
To send his tribute; wherefore Arthur call’d
5 His treasurer, one of many years, and spake,
‘Go thou with him and him and bring it to us,
Lest we should set one truer on his throne.
Man’s word is God in man.’
His Baron said
10 ‘We go but harken: there be two strange knights
Who sit near Camelot at a fountain side,
A mile beneath the forest, challenging
And overthrowing every knight who comes.
Wilt thou I undertake them as we pass,
And send them to thee?’
Arthur laugh’d upon him.
15 ‘Old friend, too old to be so young, depart,
Delay not thou for ought, but let them sit,
Until they find a lustier than themselves.’
So these departed. Early, one fair dawn,
The light-wing’d spirit of his youth return�
�d
20 On Arthur’s heart; he arm’d himself and went,
So coming to the fountain-side beheld
Balin and Balan sitting statuelike,
Brethren, to right and left the spring, that down,
From underneath a plume of lady-fern,
25 Sang, and the sand danced at the bottom of it.
And on the right of Balin Balin’s horse
Was fast beside an alder, on the left
Of Balan Balan’s near a poplartree.
‘Fair Sirs,’ said Arthur, ‘wherefore sit ye here?’
30 Balin and Balan answer’d ‘For the sake
Of glory; we be mightier men than all
In Arthur’s court; that also have we proved;
For whatsoever knight against us came
Or I or he have easily overthrown.’
35 ‘I too,’ said Arthur, ‘am of Arthur’s hall,
But rather proven in his Paynim wars
Than famous jousts; but see, or proven or not,
Whether me likewise ye can overthrow.’
And Arthur lightly smote the brethren down,
40 And lightly so return’d, and no man knew.
Then Balin rose, and Balan, and beside
The carolling water set themselves again,
And spake no word until the shadow turn’d;
When from the fringe of coppice round them burst
45 A spangled pursuivant, and crying ‘Sirs,
Rise, follow! ye be sent for by the King,’
They follow’d; whom when Arthur seeing ask’d
‘Tell me your names; why sat ye by the well?’
Balin the stillness of a minute broke
50 Saying ‘An unmelodious name to thee,
Balin, “the Savage” – that addition thine –
My brother and my better, this man here,
Balan. I smote upon the naked skull
A thrall of thine in open hall, my hand
55 Was gauntleted, half slew him; for I heard
He had spoken evil of me; thy just wrath
Sent me a three-years’ exile from thine eyes.
I have not lived my life delightsomely:
For I that did that violence to thy thrall,
60 Had often wrought some fury on myself,
Saving for Balan: those three kingless years
Have past – were wormwood-bitter to me. King,
Methought that if we sat beside the well,
And hurl’d to ground what knight soever spurr’d
65 Against us, thou would’st take me gladlier back,
And make, as ten-times worthier to be thine
Than twenty Balins, Balan knight. I have said.
No so – not all. A man of thine to-day
Abash’d us both, and brake my boast. Thy will?’