And found him angry — angry with his tears,
And with his fate that was a reason for them: 2400
“Could I have died with Modred on my soul,
And had the King lived on, then had I lived
On with him; and this played-out world of ours
Might not be for the dead.”
“A played-out world, 2405
Although that world be ours, had best be dead,”
Said Lancelot: “There are worlds enough to follow.
‘Another Camelot and another King,’
Bedivere said. And where is Bedivere now?
And Camelot?” 2410
“There is no Camelot,”
Bors answered. “Are we going back to France,
Or are we to tent here and feed our souls
On memories and on ruins till even our souls
Are dead? Or are we to set free for sport 2415
An idle army for what comes of it?”
“Be idle till you hear from me again,
Or for a fortnight. Then, if you have no word,
Go back; and I may follow you alone,
In my own time, in my own way.” 2420
“Your way
Of late, I fear, has been too much your own;
But what has been, has been, and I say nothing.
For there is more than men at work in this;
And I have not your eyes to find the Light, 2425
Here in the dark — though some day I may see it.”
“We shall all see it, Bors,” Lancelot said,
With his eyes on the earth. He said no more.
Then with a sad farewell, he rode away,
Somewhere into the west. He knew not where. 2430
“We shall all see it, Bors,” he said again.
Over and over he said it, still as he rode,
And rode, away to the west, he knew not where,
Until at last he smiled unhappily
At the vain sound of it. “Once I had gone 2435
Where the Light guided me, but the Queen came,
And then there was no Light. We shall all see—”
He bit the words off short, snapping his teeth,
And rode on with his memories before him,
Before him and behind. They were a cloud 2440
For no Light now to pierce. They were a cloud
Made out of what was gone; and what was gone
Had now another lure than once it had,
Before it went so far away from him —
To Camelot. And there was no Camelot now — 2445
Now that no Queen was there, all white and gold,
Under an oaktree with another sunlight
Sifting itself in silence on her glory
Through the dark leaves above her where she sat,
Smiling at what she feared, and fearing least 2450
What most there was to fear. Ages ago
That must have been; for a king’s world had faded
Since then, and a king with it. Ages ago,
And yesterday, surely it must have been
That he had held her moaning in the firelight 2455
And heard the roaring down of that long rain,
As if to wash away the walls that held them
Then for that hour together. Ages ago,
And always, it had been that he had seen her,
As now she was, floating along before him, 2460
Too far to touch and too fair not to follow,
Even though to touch her were to die. He closed
His eyes, only to see what he had seen
When they were open; and he found it nearer,
Seeing nothing now but the still white and gold 2465
In a wide field of sable, smiling at him,
But with a smile not hers until today —
A smile to drive no votary from the world
To find the Light. “She is not what it is
That I see now,” he said: “No woman alive 2470
And out of hell was ever like that to me.
What have I done to her since I have lost her?
What have I done to change her? No, it is I —
I who have changed. She is not one who changes.
The Light came, and I did not follow it; 2475
Then she came, knowing not what thing she did,
And she it was I followed. The gods play
Like that, sometimes; and when the gods are playing,
Great men are not so great as the great gods
Had led them once to dream. I see her now 2480
Where now she is alone. We are all alone,
We that are left; and if I look too long
Into her eyes… I shall not look too long.
Yet look I must. Into the west, they say,
She went for refuge. I see nuns around her; 2485
But she, with so much history tenanting
Her eyes, and all that gold over her eyes,
Were not yet, I should augur, out of them.
If I do ill to see her, then may God
Forgive me one more trespass. I would leave 2490
The world and not the shadow of it behind me.”
Time brought his weary search to a dusty end
One afternoon in Almesbury, where he left,
With a glad sigh, his horse in an innyard;
And while he ate his food and drank his wine, 2495
Thrushes, indifferent in their loyalty
To Arthur dead and to Pan never dead,
Sang as if all were now as all had been.
Lancelot heard them till his thoughts came back
To freeze his heart again under the flood 2500
Of all his icy fears. What should he find?
And what if he should not find anything?
“Words, after all,” he said, “are only words;
And I have heard so many in these few days
That half my wits are sick.” 2505
He found the queen,
But she was not the Queen of white and gold
That he had seen before him for so long.
There was no gold; there was no gold anywhere.
The black hood, and the white face under it, 2510
And the blue frightened eyes, were all he saw —
Until he saw more black, and then more white.
Black was a foreign foe to Guinevere;
And in the glimmering stillness where he found her
Now, it was death; and she Alcestis-like, 2515
Had waited unaware for the one hand
Availing, so he thought, that would have torn
Off and away the last fell shred of doom
That was destroying and dishonoring
All the world held of beauty. His eyes burned 2520
With a sad anger as he gazed at hers
That shone with a sad pity. “No,” she said;
“You have not come for this. We are done with this.
For there are no queens here; there is a Mother.
The Queen that was is only a child now, 2525
And you are strong. Remember you are strong,
And that your fingers hurt when they forget
How strong they are.”
He let her go from him
And while he gazed around him, he frowned hard 2530
And long at the cold walls: “Is this the end
Of Arthur’s kingdom and of Camelot?” —
She told him with a motion of her shoulders
All that she knew of Camelot or of kingdoms;
And then said: “We are told of other States 2535
Where there are palaces, if we should need them,
That are not made with hands. I thought you knew.”
Dumb, like a man twice banished, Lancelot
Stood gazing down upon the cold stone floor;
And she, demurely, with a calm regard 2540
That he met once and parried, stood apart,
&nbs
p; Appraising him with eyes that were no longer
Those he had seen when first they had seen his.
They were kind eyes, but they were not the eyes
Of his desire; and they were not the eyes 2545
That he had followed all the way from Dover.
“I feared the Light was leading you,” she said,
“So far by now from any place like this
That I should have your memory, but no more.
Might not that way have been the wiser way? 2550
There is no Arthur now, no Modred now, —
No Guinevere.” She paused, and her voice wandered
Away from her own name: “There is nothing now
That I can see between you and the Light
That I have dimmed so long. If you forgive me, 2555
And I believe you do — though I know all
That I have cost, when I was worth so little —
There is no hazard that I see between you
And all you sought so long, and would have found
Had I not always hindered you. Forgive me — 2560
I could not let you go. God pity men
When women love too much — and women more.”
He scowled and with an iron shrug he said:
“Yes, there is that between me and the light.”
He glared at her black hood as if to seize it; 2565
Their eyes met, and she smiled: “No, Lancelot;
We are going by two roads to the same end;
Or let us hope, at least, what knowledge hides,
And so believe it. We are going somewhere.
Why the new world is not for you and me, 2570
I cannot say; but only one was ours.
I think we must have lived in our one world
All that earth had for us. You are good to me,
Coming to find me here for the last time;
For I should have been lonely many a night, 2575
Not knowing if you cared. I do know now;
And there is not much else for me to know
That earth may tell me. I found in the Tower,
With Modred watching me, that all you said
That rainy night was true. There was time there 2580
To find out everything. There were long days,
And there were nights that I should not have said
God would have made a woman to endure.
I wonder if a woman lives who knows
All she may do.” 2585
“I wonder if one woman
Knows one thing she may do,” Lancelot said,
With a sad passion shining out of him
While he gazed on her beauty, palled with black
That hurt him like a sword. The full blue eyes 2590
And the white face were there, and the red lips
Were there, but there was no gold anywhere.
“What have you done with your gold hair?” he said;
“I saw it shining all the way from Dover,
But here I do not see it. Shall I see it?” — 2595
Faintly again she smiled: “Yes, you may see it
All the way back to Dover; but not here.
There’s not much of it here, and what there is
Is not for you to see.”
“Well, if not here,” 2600
He said at last, in a low voice that shook,
“Is there no other place left in the world?”
“There is not even the world left, Lancelot,
For you and me.”
“There is France left,” he said. 2605
His face flushed like a boy’s, but he stood firm
As a peak in the sea and waited.
“How many lives
Must a man have in one to make him happy?”
She asked, with a wan smile of recollection 2610
That only made the black that was around
Her calm face more funereal: “Was it you,
Or was it Gawaine who said once to me,
‘We cannot make one world of two, nor may we
Count one life more than one. Could we go back 2615
To the old garden’… Was it you who said it,
Or was it Bors? He was always saying something.
It may have been Bors.” She was not looking then
At Lancelot; she was looking at her fingers
In her old way, as to be sure again 2620
How many of them she had.
He looked at her,
Without the power to smile, and for the time
Forgot that he was Lancelot: “Is it fair
For you to drag that back, out of its grave, 2625
And hold it up like this for the small feast
Of a small pride?”
“Yes, fair enough for a woman,”
Guinevere said, not seeing his eyes. “How long
Do you conceive the Queen of the Christian world 2630
Would hide herself in France…”
“Why do you pause?
I said it; I remember when I said it;
And it was not today. Why in the name
Of grief should we hide anywhere? Bells and banners 2635
Are not for our occasion, but in France
There may be sights and silences more fair
Than pageants. There are seas of difference
Between this land and France, albeit to cross them
Were no immortal voyage, had you an eye 2640
For France that you had once.”
“I have no eye
Today for France, I shall have none tomorrow;
And you will have no eye for France tomorrow.
Fatigue and loneliness, and your poor dream 2645
Of what I was, have led you to forget.
When you have had your time to think and see
A little more, then you will see as I do;
And if you see France, I shall not be there,
Save as a memory there. We are done, you and I, 2650
With what we were. ‘Could we go back again,
The fruit that we should find’ — but you know best
What we should find. I am sorry for what I said;
But a light word, though it cut one we love,
May save ourselves the pain of a worse wound. 2655
We are all women. When you see one woman —
When you see me — before you in your fancy,
See me all white and gold, as I was once.
I shall not harm you then; I shall not come
Between you and the Gleam that you must follow, 2660
Whether you will or not. There is no place
For me but where I am; there is no place
For you save where it is that you are going.
If I knew everything as I know that,
I should know more than Merlin, who knew all, 2665
And long ago, that we are to know now.
What more he knew he may not then have told
The King, or anyone, — maybe not even himself;
Though Vivian may know something by this time
That he has told her. Have you wished, I wonder, 2670
That I was more like Vivian, or Isolt?
The dark ones are more devious and more famous,
And men fall down more numerously before them —
Although I think more men get up again,
And go away again, than away from us. 2675
If I were dark, I might say otherwise.
Try to be glad, even if you are sorry,
That I was not born dark; for I was not.
For me there was no dark until it came
When the King came, and with his heavy shadow 2680
Put out the sun that you made shine again
Before I was to die. So I forgive
The faggots; I can do no more than that —
For you, or God.” She looked away from him
And in the casement saw the sunshine dying: 2685
When the bell rings, it rings for you to go,
But not for me to go. It rings for me
To stay — and pray. I, who have not prayed much,
May as well pray now. I have not what you have 2690
To make me see, though I shall have, sometime,
A new light of my own. I saw in the Tower,
When all was darkest and I may have dreamed,
A light that gave to men the eyes of Time
To read themselves in silence. Then it faded, 2695
And the men faded. I was there alone.
I shall not have what you have, or much else —
In this place. I shall see in other places
What is not here. I shall not be alone.
And I shall tell myself that you are seeing 2700
All that I cannot see. For the time now,
What most I see is that I had no choice,
And that you came to me. How many years
Of purgatory shall I pay God for saying
This to you here?” Her words came slowly out, 2705
And her mouth shook.
He took her two small hands
That were so pale and empty, and so cold:
“Poor child, I said too much and heard too little
Of what I said. But when I found you here, 2710
So different, so alone, I would have given
My soul to be a chattel and a gage
For dicing fiends to play for, could so doing
Have brought one summer back.”
“When they are gone,” 2715
She said, with grateful sadness in her eyes,
“We do not bring them back, or buy them back,
Even with our souls. I see now it is best
We do not buy them back, even with our souls.”
A slow and hollow bell began to sound 2720
Somewhere above them, and the world became
For Lancelot one wan face — Guinevere’s face.
“When the bell rings, it rings for you to go,”
She said; “and you are going… I am not.
Think of me always as I used to be, 2725
All white and gold — for that was what you called me.
You may see gold again when you are gone;
And I shall not be there.” — He drew her nearer
To kiss the quivering lips that were before him
For the last time. “No, not again,” she said; 2730
“I might forget that I am not alone …
I shall not see you in this world again,
Works of Edwin Arlington Robinson Page 40