Part 5

When Merlin the next morning came again In the same pilgrim robe that he had worn While he sat waiting where the cherry-blossoms Outside the gate fell on him and around him, Grief came to Vivian at the sight of him; And like a flash of a swift ugly knife, A blinding fear came with it. "Are you going?" She said, more with her lips than with her voice; And he said, "I am going. Blaise and I Are going down together to the shore, And Blaise is coming back. For this one day Be good enough to spare him, for I like him. I tell you now, as once I told the King, That I can be no more than what I was, And I can say no more than I have said. Sometimes you told me that I spoke too long, And sent me off to wander. That was good. I go now for another wandering, And I pray God that all be well with you."

For long there was a whining in her ears Of distant wheels departing. When it ceased, She closed the gate again so quietly That Merlin could have heard no sound of it.

VII

By Merlin's Rock, where Dagonet the fool Was given through many a dying afternoon To sit and meditate on human ways And ways divine, Gawaine and Bedivere Stood silent, gazing down on Camelot. The two had risen and were going home: "It hits me sore, Gawaine," said Bedivere, "To think on all the tumult and affliction Down there, and all the noise and preparation That hums of coming death, and, if my fears Be born of reason, of what's more than death. Wherefore, I say to you again, Gawaine,-- To you--that this late hour is not too late For you to change yourself and change the King; For though the King may love me with a love More tried, and older, and more sure, may be, Than for another, for such a time as this The friend who turns him to the world again Shall have a tongue more gracious and an eye More shrewd than mine. For such a time as this The King must have a glamour to persuade him."

"The King shall have a glamour, and anon," Gawaine said, and he shot death from his eyes; "If you were King, as Arthur is--or was-- And Lancelot had carried off your Queen, And killed a score or so of your best knights-- Not mentioning my two brothers, whom he slew Unarmored and unarmed--God save your wits! Two stewards with skewers could have done as much, And you and I might now be rotting for it."

"But Lancelot's men were crowded,--they were crushed; And there was nothing for them but to strike Or die, not seeing where they struck. Think you They would have slain Gareth and Gaheris, And Tor, and all those other friends of theirs? God's mercy for the world he made, I say, And for the blood that writes the story of it. Gareth and Gaheris, Tor and Lamorak,-- All dead, with all the others that are dead! These years have made me turn to Lamorak For counsel--and now Lamorak is dead." "Why do you fling those two names in my face? 'Twas Modred made an end of Lamorak, Not I; and Lancelot now has done for Tor. I'll urge no king on after Lancelot For such a two as Tor and Lamorak: Their father killed my father, and their friend Was Lancelot, not I. I'll own my fault-- I'm living; and while I've a tongue can talk, I'll say this to the King: 'Burn Lancelot By inches till he give you back the Queen; Then hang him--drown him--or do anything To rid the world of him.' He killed my brothers, And he was once my friend. Now damn the soul Of him who killed my brothers! There you have me."

"You are a strong man, Gawaine, and your strength Goes ill where foes are. You may cleave their limbs And heads off, but you cannot damn their souls; What you may do now is to save their souls, And bodies too, and like enough your own. Remember that King Arthur is a king, And where there is a king there is a kingdom Is not the kingdom any more to you Than one brief enemy? Would you see it fall, And the King with it, for one mortal hate That burns out reason? Gawaine, you are king Today. Another day may see no king But Havoc, if you have no other word For Arthur now than hate for Lancelot. Is not the world as large as Lancelot? Is Lancelot, because one woman's eyes Are brighter when they look on him, to sluice The world with angry blood? Poor flesh! Poor flesh! And you, Gawaine,--are you so gaffed with hate You cannot leave it and so plunge away To stiller places and there see, for once, What hangs on this pernicious expedition The King in his insane forgetfulness Would undertake--with you to drum him on? Are you as mad as he and Lancelot Made ravening into one man twice as mad As either? Is the kingdom of the world, Now rocking, to go down in sound and blood And ashes and sick ruin, and for the sake Of three men and a woman? If it be so, God's mercy for the world he made, I say,-- And say again to Dagonet. Sir Fool, Your throne is empty, and you may as well Sit on it and be ruler of the world From now till supper-time."

Sir Dagonet, Appearing, made reply to Bedivere's Dry welcome with a famished look of pain, On which he built a smile: "If I were King, You, Bedivere, should be my counsellor; And we should have no more wars over women. I'll sit me down and meditate on that." Gawaine, for all his anger, laughed a little, And clapped the fool's lean shoulder; for he loved him And was with Arthur when he made him knight. Then Dagonet said on to Bedivere, As if his tongue would make a jest of sorrow: "Sometime I'll tell you what I might have done Had I been Lancelot and you King Arthur-- Each having in himself the vicious essence That now lives in the other and makes war. When all men are like you and me, my lord, When all are rational or rickety, There may be no more war. But what's here now? Lancelot loves the Queen, and he makes war Of love; the King, being bitten to the soul By love and hate that work in him together, Makes war of madness; Gawaine hates Lancelot, And he, to be in tune, makes war of hate; Modred hates everything, yet he can see With one damned illegitimate small eye His father's crown, and with another like it He sees the beauty of the Queen herself; He needs the two for his ambitious pleasure, And therefore he makes war of his ambition; And somewhere in the middle of all this There's a squeezed world that elbows for attention. Poor Merlin, buried in Broceliande! He must have had an academic eye For woman when he founded Arthur's kingdom, And in Broceliande he may be sorry. Flutes, hautboys, drums, and viols. God be with him! I'm glad they tell me there's another world, For this one's a disease without a doctor."

"No, not so bad as that," said Bedivere; "The doctor, like ourselves, may now be learning; And Merlin may have gauged his enterprise Whatever the cost he may have paid for knowing. We pass, but many are to follow us, And what they build may stay; though I believe Another age will have another Merlin, Another Camelot, and another King. Sir Dagonet, farewell."

"Farewell, Sir Knight, And you, Sir Knight: Gawaine, you have the world Now in your fingers--an uncommon toy, Albeit a small persuasion in the balance With one man's hate. I'm glad you're not a fool, For then you might be rickety, as I am, And rational as Bedivere. Farewell. I'll sit here and be king. God save the King!"

But Gawaine scowled and frowned and answered nothing As he went slowly down with Bedivere To Camelot, where Arthur's army waited The King's word for the melancholy march To Joyous Gard, where Lancelot hid the Queen And armed his host, and there was now no joy, As there was now no joy for Dagonet While he sat brooding, with his wan cheek-bones Hooked with his bony fingers: "Go, Gawaine," He mumbled: "Go your way, and drag the world Along down with you. What's a world or so To you if you can hide an ell of iron Somewhere in Lancelot, and hear him wheeze And sputter once or twice before he goes Wherever the Queen sends him? There's a man Who should have been a king, and would have been, Had he been born so. So should I have been A king, had I been born so, fool or no: King Dagonet, or Dagonet the King; King-Fool, Fool-King; 'twere not impossible. I'll meditate on that and pray for Arthur, Who made me all I am, except a fool. Now he goes mad for love, as I might go Had I been born a king and not a fool. Today I think I'd rather be a fool; Today the world is less than one scared woman-- Wherefore a field of waving men may soon Be shorn by Time's indifferent scythe, because The King is mad. The seeds of history Are small, but given a few gouts of warm blood For quickening, they sprout out wondrously And have a leaping growth whereof no man May shun such harvesting of change or death, Or life, as may fall on him to be borne. When I am still alive and rickety, And Bedivere's alive and rational-- If he come out of this, and there's a doubt,-- The King, Gawaine, Modred, and Lancelot May all be lying underneath a weight Of bloody sheaves too heavy for their shoulders, All spent, and all dishonored, and all dead; And if it come to be that this be so, And it be true that Merlin saw the truth, Such harvest were the best. Your fool sees not So far as Merlin sees: yet if he saw The truth--why then, such harvest were the best. I'll pray for Arthur; I can do no more."

"Why not for Merlin? Or do you count him, In this extreme, so foreign to salvation That prayer would be a stranger to his name?"

Poor Dagonet, with terror shaking him, Stood up and saw before him an old face Made older with an inch of silver beard, And faded eyes more eloquent of pain And ruin than all the faded eyes of age Till now had ever been, although in them There was a mystic and intrinsic peace Of one who sees where men of nearer sight See nothing. On their way to Camelot, Gawaine and Bedivere had passed him by, With lax attention for the pilgrim cloak They passed, and what it hid: yet Merlin saw Their faces, and he saw the tale was true That he had lately drawn from solemn strangers.

"Well, Dagonet, and by your leave," he said, "I'll rest my lonely relics for a while On this rock that was mine and now is yours. I favor the succession; for you know Far more than many doctors, though your doubt Is your peculiar poison. I foresaw Long since, and I have latterly been told What moves in this commotion down below To show men what it means. It means the end-- If men whose tongues had less to say to me Than had their shoulders are adept enough To know; and you may pray for me or not, Sir Friend, Sir Dagonet."

"Sir Fool, you mean," Dagonet said, and gazed on Merlin sadly: "I'll never pray again for anything, And last of all for this that you behold-- The smouldering faggot of unlovely bones That God has given to me to call Myself. When Merlin comes to Dagonet for prayer, It is indeed the end."

"And in the end Are more beginnings, Dagonet, than men Shall name or know today. It was the end Of Arthur's insubstantial majesty When to him and his knights the Grail foreshowed The quest of life that was to be the death Of many, and the slow discouraging Of many more. Or do I err in this?"

"No," Dagonet replied; "there was a Light; And Galahad, in the Siege Perilous, Alone of all on whom it fell, was calm; There was a Light wherein men saw themselves In one another as they might become-- Or so they dreamed. There was a long to-do, And Gawaine, of all forlorn ineligibles, Rose up the first, and cried more lustily Than any after him that he should find The Grail, or die for it,--though he did neither; For he came back as living and as fit For new and old iniquity as ever. Then Lancelot came back, and Bors came back,-- Like men who had seen more than men should see, And still come back. They told of Percival, Who saw too much to make of this worn life A long necessity, and of Galahad, Who died and is alive. They all saw Something. God knows the meaning or the end of it, But they saw Something. And if I've an eye, Small joy has the Queen been to Lancelot Since he came back from seeing what he saw; For though his passion hold him like hot claws, He's neither in the world nor out of it. Gawaine is king, though Arthur wears the crown; And Gawaine's hate for Lancelot is the sword That hangs by one of Merlin's fragile hairs Above the world. Were you to see the King, The frenzy that has overthrown his wisdom, Instead of him and his upheaving empire, Might have an end."

"I came to see the King," Said Merlin, like a man who labors hard And long with an importunate confession. "No, Dagonet, you cannot tell me why, Although your tongue is eager with wild hope To tell me more than I may tell myself About myself. All this that was to be Might show to man how vain it were to wreck The world for self, if it were all in vain. When I began with Arthur I could see In each bewildered man who dots the earth A moment with his days a groping thought Of an eternal will, strangely endowed With merciful illusions whereby self Becomes the will itself and each man swells In fond accordance with his agency. Now Arthur, Modred, Lancelot, and Gawaine Are swollen thoughts of this eternal will Which have no other way to find the way That leads them on to their inheritance Than by the time-infuriating flame Of a wrecked empire, lighted by the torch Of woman, who, together with the light That Galahad found, is yet to light the world."

A wan smile crept across the weary face Of Dagonet the fool: "If you knew that Before your burial in Broceliande, No wonder your eternal will accords With all your dreams of what the world requires. My master, I may say this unto you Because I am a fool, and fear no man; My fear is that I've been a groping thought That never swelled enough. You say the torch Of woman and the light that Galahad found Are some day to illuminate the world? I'll meditate on that. The world is done For me; and I have been, to make men laugh, A lean thing of no shape and many capers. I made them laugh, and I could laugh anon Myself to see them killing one another Because a woman with corn-colored hair Has pranked a man with horns. 'Twas but a flash Of chance, and Lancelot, the other day That saved this pleasing sinner from the fire That she may spread for thousands. Were she now The cinder the King willed, or were you now To see the King, the fire might yet go out; But the eternal will says otherwise. So be it; I'll assemble certain gold That I may say is mine and get myself Away from this accurst unhappy court, And in some quiet place where shepherd clowns And cowherds may have more respondent ears Than kings and kingdom-builders, I shall troll Old men to easy graves and be a child Again among the children of the earth. I'll have no more of kings, even though I loved King Arthur, who is mad, as I could love No other man save Merlin, who is dead."

"Not wholly dead, but old. Merlin is old." The wizard shivered as he spoke, and stared Away into the sunset where he saw Once more, as through a cracked and cloudy glass, A crumbling sky that held a crimson cloud Wherein there was a town of many towers All swayed and shaken, in a woman's hand This time, till out of it there spilled and flashed And tumbled, like loose jewels, town, towers, and walls, And there was nothing but a crumbling sky That made anon of black and red and ruin A wild and final rain on Camelot. He bowed, and pressed his eyes: "Now by my soul, I have seen this before--all black and red-- Like that--like that--like Vivian--black and red; Like Vivian, when her eyes looked into mine Across the cups of gold. A flute was playing-- Then all was black and red."

Another smile Crept over the wan face of Dagonet, Who shivered in his turn. "The torch of woman," He muttered, "and the light that Galahad found, Will some day save us all, as they saved Merlin. Forgive my shivering wits, but I am cold, And it will soon be dark. Will you go down With me to see the King, or will you not? If not, I go tomorrow to the shepherds. The world is mad, and I'm a groping thought Of your eternal will; the world and I Are strangers, and I'll have no more of it-- Except you go with me to see the King."

"No, Dagonet, you cannot leave me now," Said Merlin, sadly. "You and I are old; And, as you say, we fear no man. God knows I would not have the love that once you had For me be fear of me, for I am past All fearing now. But Fate may send a fly Sometimes, and he may sting us to the grave, So driven to test our faith in what we see. Are you, now I am coming to an end, As Arthur's days are coming to an end, To sting me like a fly? I do not ask Of you to say that you see what I see, Where you see nothing; nor do I require Of any man more vision than is his; Yet I could wish for you a larger part For your last entrance here than this you play Tonight of a sad insect stinging Merlin. The more you sting, the more he pities you; And you were never overfond of pity. Had you been so, I doubt if Arthur's love, Or Gawaine's, would have made of you a knight. No, Dagonet, you cannot leave me now, Nor would you if you could. You call yourself A fool, because the world and you are strangers. You are a proud man, Dagonet; you have suffered What I alone have seen. You are no fool; And surely you are not a fly to sting My love to last regret. Believe or not What I have seen, or what I say to you, But say no more to me that I am dead Because the King is mad, and you are old, And I am older. In Broceliande Time overtook me as I knew he must; And I, with a fond overplus of words, Had warned the lady Vivian already, Before these wrinkles and this hesitancy Inhibiting my joints oppressed her sight With age and dissolution. She said once That she was cold and cruel; but she meant That she was warm and kind, and over-wise For woman in a world where men see not Beyond themselves. She saw beyond them all, As I did; and she waited, as I did, The coming of a day when cherry-blossoms Were to fall down all over me like snow In springtime. I was far from Camelot That afternoon; and I am farther now From her. I see no more for me to do Than to leave her and Arthur and the world Behind me, and to pray that all be well With Vivian, whose unquiet heart is hungry For what is not, and what shall never be Without her, in a world that men are making, Knowing not how, nor caring yet to know How slowly and how grievously they do it,-- Though Vivian, in her golden shell of exile, Knows now and cares, not knowing that she cares, Nor caring that she knows. In time to be, The like of her shall have another name Than Vivian, and her laugh shall be a fire, Not shining only to consume itself With what it burns. She knows not yet the name Of what she is, for now there is no name; Some day there shall be. Time has many names, Unwritten yet, for what we say is old Because we are so young that it seems old. And this is all a part of what I saw Before you saw King Arthur. When we parted, I told her I should see the King again, And, having seen him, might go back again To see her face once more. But I shall see No more the lady Vivian. Let her love What man she may, no other love than mine Shall be an index of her memories. I fear no man who may come after me, And I see none. I see her, still in green, Beside the fountain. I shall not go back. We pay for going back; and all we get Is one more needless ounce of weary wisdom To bring away with us. If I come not, The lady Vivian will remember me, And say: 'I knew him when his heart was young, Though I have lost him now. Time called him home, And that was as it was; for much is lost Between Broceliande and Camelot.'"

He stared away into the west again, Where now no crimson cloud or phantom town Deceived his eyes. Above a living town There were gray clouds and ultimate suspense, And a cold wind was coming. Dagonet, Now crouched at Merlin's feet in his dejection, Saw multiplying lights far down below, Where lay the fevered streets. At length he felt On his lean shoulder Merlin's tragic hand And trembled, knowing that a few more days Would see the last of Arthur and the first Of Modred, whose dark patience had attained To one precarious half of what he sought: "And even the Queen herself may fall to him," Dagonet murmured.--"The Queen fall to Modred? Is that your only fear tonight?" said Merlin; "She may, but not for long."--"No, not my fear; For I fear nothing. But I wish no fate Like that for any woman the King loves, Although she be the scourge and end of him That you saw coming, as I see it now." Dagonet shook, but he would have no tears, He swore, for any king, queen, knave, or wizard-- Albeit he was a stranger among those Who laughed at him because he was a fool. "You said the truth, I cannot leave you now," He stammered, and was angry for the tears That mocked his will and choked him.