OF MERLIN’S MAGIC MIRROR
There was a certain king of old time in the land of Deheubarth, which
men now call South Wales. His name was Ryence, and he had for his
principal counsellor one Merlin, who was a great magician. This Merlin
made by his art a wonderful mirror, which was so contrived that he who
looked in it could see anything from the lowest parts of the earth to
the highest part of the heavens, if only it concerned him. If a foe
contrived any evil against him, if a friend had used any falsehood in
respect of him, there he could see it plainly set forth. This mirror
Merlin gave to the king for a protection, that if at any time an enemy
should invade his dominions, he should know of his design before tidings
could come to him from without, and so should be able to be beforehand
with him. Never had prince a more noble present, nor one more worthy of
reward, for there could be no treason within the realm or enmity without
but that it came straightway to the king’s knowledge.
Now Britomart was the daughter of King Ryence, and it chanced on a
certain day that she came into his closet, for he kept nothing secret
from her, seeing that she was his only child and the heir of his
kingdom, and there saw Merlin’s mirror. She had seen it indeed not once
or twice only, and knew its virtues. There came into her head the
thought that she might see therein the image of the man who should be
her husband. Such a thought maidens are wont to entertain, and
Britomart, being her father’s only child, and knowing that she would one
day come to the kingdom, was the more curious in this regard, nor had
she had to that time any thought of one man more than of another. So
looking into the mirror she saw a very comely knight, armed cap-à-pie.
He had the visor of his helmet up, showing a face that would strike fear
into an enemy and be loving to a friend. He was tall of stature, and
bore himself with a manly grace. For his crest he had a hound couchant,
and his armour seemed of ancient fashion, massive and strong to look at;
on it was written in old letters these words, “The Arms of Achilles
which Artegall did win.” The shield was of seven folds, and it bore an
ermilin crowned, white on a field of blue. The maiden looked and liked
well what she saw, and went her way, not knowing—such was the simplicity
of her age—that she had seen with her eyes the fate that should rule the
fortunes of her life. That keen archer Love had wounded her with his
arrow, but she knew it not. Yet from that day she began to droop. No
longer did she carry herself with princely pride. Sad and solemn was
she, and full of fancies, yet knew not why. That she ailed somewhat she
was well aware, but thought it was not love, but some passing mood of
melancholy. Such was she by day, and at night, when she laid herself
down to rest, sleep fled far from her eyes. She kept a sorrowful watch
as the hours of the night went by, and she watered her couch with her
tears; and if, when nature was worn out with these long watchings, she
fell into some brief slumber, then some fearful dreams would come and
bring with them a worse unrest.
One night her nurse, Glaucé by name, caught her in her arms as she was
leaping from her bed, and held her down by force. “Ah, my child,” she
cried, “how is it that you are in this evil plight? What is it that has
changed your cheerful mood to this sadness? Surely there is some cause
for these troubles that haunt you by night, and drive away sleep from
your eyes. And in the days when your equals in age disport themselves,
you mope in solitary corners, and have no enjoyment of your princely
life. I doubt much whether the cause be not love; yet if the love be
worthy of your race and royal birth—and that it is I seem to myself to
read by many signs and tokens—then I do swear most solemnly to help you.
Away, dear child, with your fears! Neither danger or death shall keep me
from bringing you due relief.” Then she caught the maid in her arms, and
embraced her in all tenderness, and chafed her limbs to drive away the
cold, and kissed her eyes, still entreating that she should show the
secret of her heart. For a while the maid was silent; then she said,
“Dear nurse, why should you grieve for me? Is it not enough that I must
die? Must you die also?”
“Talk not of dying,” cried the nurse; “never was wound yet for which no
salve could be found. The god who has wounded you has, I doubt not, in
his quiver another arrow for your lover’s heart.”
So they talked together; the maid would have it that there was no remedy
for her trouble; the old nurse still steadfastly affirmed that the cure
could easily be found. At last the damsel told the secret of her grief,
as it seemed to her: “Alas, dear mother,” she said, “it is no living man
whose image dwells in my heart and makes this pain; it is but the shadow
and semblance of a knight; I saw him one day in the magic mirror of the
king my father; this is the baited hook which, as some foolish fish, I
swallowed; it is this thought that brings me to my death.”
“Is this all, my daughter?” cried the nurse; “then is nothing strange or
against nature here. Why should you not set your heart on one who seemed
so worthy of your love?”
“Oh, mother,” answered the girl, “I seemed to myself like the Greek boy
of old who saw his own face in the fountain and perished miserably.”
“Nay,” cried the nurse, “he was but the lover of a shadow, and rightly
faded into a flower. But of this image which you saw, there is, be sure,
a substance somewhere, and there are arts by which it may be found. And
now, dear child, let me give you my counsel. If you can banish this
thought from your mind till the convenient time be come, then do so. If
it is too strong for you, then I vow and promise that, by one means or
another, I will find this very knight whose image you beheld.”
The maid was somewhat encouraged by these words, and slept awhile. But
on the morrow, and as the days went by, the old trouble came again, and
Glaucé, seeing that neither words nor prayers, nor strange spells of the
magic art, for such she tried, were of any avail, judged that some other
remedy must needs be found. What this remedy might be she long doubted
in herself. At last it seemed to her that he who had made the mirror,
that is to say, the wise magician Merlin, might tell her in what land
the knight of the image might dwell, for though he dwelt in farthest
Ind, yet find him she would. Forthwith these two, that is to say, Glaucé
and the maiden Britomart, disguised themselves in mean attire, that no
one might learn their purpose, and betook themselves to Maridunum,
where, in a cave which he had hollowed out for himself beneath the
earth, so as to escape from the curious eyes of men, Merlin had his
abode. When they were come to the place they stood awhile without, in
doubt and fear, whether they had done well in making so bold a venture.
At last the maid, moved by love, which is ever bold, led the way, and
Glaucé following, they stood within the cave. There they found the
magician busy on some wonderful work, for he was writing strange
characters on the ground, the spells by which he bound the spirits of
the earth to his service. He was not one whit moved at their coming, of
which, indeed, he was aware beforehand, for indeed by his art he knew
the secret thoughts of others. Nevertheless he made as though he knew
not their errand, saying: “Tell me now on what business you are come?”
Then Glaucé answered: “Blame us not, kind sir, that we have thus
disturbed you in your solitude, coming thus unbidden, but the need was
great.”
“Speak on,” said Merlin.
Then she began: “Three months have passed since this maiden here began
to sicken of some strange disease. What it is, and whence it began, I
know not; only this I know, that unless you can find some remedy she
must shortly die.”
The magician smiled at her woman’s craft, knowing well that she had in
her heart that which she would not tell. “Madam,” he said, “I take it
from what you say that this damsel has more need of the physician’s art
than of any skill of mine. They who may find a remedy for their trouble
elsewhere, do ill to have recourse to the magic art.”
The old dame was not a little disturbed by these words, but yet was
loath to show her true purpose. “Sir,” she said, “the trouble has taken
too strong a hold on this maiden’s life that the physician’s art could
work a cure. I fear me much that some bad spell has been cast upon her.
Some witch or evil spirit has done this thing; therefore it is that we
seek your help.”
When he heard these words Merlin could no more contain himself, but
laughed aloud. “Glaucé,” he said, “what avails this pretence by which
you seek to hide your purpose? And you, fair Britomart, why have you
thus disguised yourself in mean attire, as the sun hides himself behind
a cloud? You have come, by the ordering of Fate, to the very place where
you shall find the help which you need.” The maiden, hearing her name so
called, blushed a rosy red; but the nurse, not one whit dismayed, but
rather taking heart at Merlin’s words, said:
“Sir, if you know our troubles, and, indeed, what is there that you do
not know, have pity upon us, and help us in our need.”
Merlin sat silent awhile, for many thoughts were in his mind. At last he
spoke: “Most noble maid, who have learned to love in this strange
fashion, be not dismayed by this hard beginning of your life. It was no
chance look, O Britomart, in the mirror of the king your father, but the
unchanging course of the purposes of Heaven, that showed you this image.
Believe me, it is no ill-fortune that you love this noble knight. Submit
yourself, therefore, to the purposes of God, and be content to do His
will.”
Then said Glaucé: “Tell us, man of wisdom, what means she shall use,
what ways she shall take, to find this man. Or has she no need of toil,
but may sit still while her fate is fashioned for her?”
“The fates,” answered Merlin, “are firmly fixed; not the less it becomes
those whom they concern to do their own endeavour, and to be
fellow-workers with God.” Then he told Britomart the true name and
lineage of Sir Artegall, how that he was son to Gorloïs, King of
Cornwall in time past, and brother to Cador, then king of the same land.
Then he turned to Britomart and opened to her the future, how she should
be wife to Sir Artegall, and how from them would come a line of kings
who should reign with great glory. Many things that should come to pass
in after days, both good and evil, did Merlin unfold to her.