At Cameliard the young Duke of Logreus spent most of his time in the
company of Guenevere, whose father made no objection overtly.
Gogyrvan had his promised talk with Jurgen.
"I lament that Dame Yolande dealt over-thriftily with you," the King
said, first of all: "for I estimated you two would be as spark and
tinder, kindling between you an amorous conflagration to burn up all
this nonsense about my daughter."
"Thrift, sir," said Jurgen, discreetly, "is a proverbial virtue, and
fires may not consume true love."
"That is the truth," Gogyrvan admitted, "whoever says it." And he
sighed.
Then for a while he sat in nodding meditation. Tonight the old King
wore a disreputably rusty gown of black stuff, with fur about the
neck and sleeves of it, and his scant white hair was covered by a
very shabby black cap. So he huddled over a small fire in a large
stone fireplace carved with shields; beside him was white wine and
red, which stayed untasted while Gogyrvan meditated upon things that
fretted him.
"Now, then!" says Gogyrvan Gawr: "this marriage with the high King
of the Britons must go forward, of course. That was settled last
year, when Arthur and his devil-mongers, the Lady of the Lake and
Merlin Ambrosius, were at some pains to rescue me at Carohaise. I
estimate that Arthur's ambassadors, probably the devil-mongers
themselves, will come for my daughter before June is out. Meanwhile,
you two have youth and love for playthings, and it is spring."
"What is the season of the year to me," groaned Jurgen, "when I
reflect that within a week or so the lady of my heart will be borne
away from me forever? How can I be happy, when all the while I know
the long years of misery and vain regret are near at hand?"
"You are saying that," observed the King, "in part because you drank
too much last night, and in part because you think it is expected of
you. For in point of fact, you are as happy as anyone is permitted
to be in this world, through the simple reason that you are young.
Misery, as you employ the word, I consider to be a poetical trophe:
but I can assure you that the moment you are no longer young the
years of vain regret will begin, either way."
"That is true," said Jurgen, heartily.
"How do you know? Now then, put it I were insane enough to marry my
daughter to a mere duke, you would grow damnably tired of her: I can
assure you of that also, for in disposition Guenevere is her sainted
mother all over again. She is nice looking, of course, because in
that she takes after my side of the family: but, between ourselves,
she is not particularly intelligent, and she will always be making
eyes at some man or another. To-day it appears to be your turn to
serve as her target, in a fine glittering shirt of which the like
was never seen in Glathion. I deplore, but even so I cannot deny,
your rights as the champion who rescued her: and I must bid you make
the most of that turn."
"Meanwhile, it occurs to me, sir, that it is unusual to betroth your
daughter to one man, and permit her to go freely with another."
"If you insist upon it," said Gogyrvan Gawr, "I can of course lock
up the pair of you, in separate dungeons, until the wedding day.
Meanwhile, it occurs to me you should be the last commentator to
grumble."
"Why, I tell you plainly, sir, that critical persons would say you
are taking very small care of your daughter's honor."
"To that there are several answers," replied the King. "One is that
I remember my late wife as tenderly as possible, and I reflect I
have only her word for it as to Guenevere's being my daughter.
Another is that, though my daughter is a quiet and well-conducted
young woman, I never heard King Thragnar was anything of this sort."
"Oh, sir," said Jurgen, horrified, "whatever are you hinting!"
"All sorts of things, however, happen in caves, things which it is
wiser to ignore in sunlight. So I ignore: I ask no questions: my
business is to marry my daughter acceptably, and that only. Such
discoveries as may be made by her husband afterward are his affair,
not mine. This much I might tell you, Messire de Logreus, by way of
answer. But the real answer is to bid you consider this: that a
woman's honor is concerned with one thing only, and it is a thing
with which the honor of a man is not concerned at all."
"But now you talk in riddles, King, and I wonder what it is you
would have me do."
Gogyrvan grinned. "Obviously, I advise you to give thanks you were
born a man, because that sturdier sex has so much less need to
bother over breakage."
"What sort of breakage, sir?" says Jurgen.
Gogyrvan told him.
Duke Jurgen for the second time looked properly horrified. "Your
aphorisms, King, are abominable, and of a sort unlikely to quiet my
misery. However, we were speaking of your daughter, and it is she
who must be considered rather than I."
"Now I perceive that you take my meaning perfectly. Yes, in all
matters which concern my daughter I would have you lie like a
gentleman."
"Well, I am afraid, sir," said Jurgen, after a pause, "that you are
a person of somewhat degraded ideals."
"Ah, but you are young. Youth can afford ideals, being vigorous
enough to stand the hard knocks they earn their possessor. But I am
an old fellow cursed with a tender heart and tolerably keen eyes.
That combination, Messire de Logreus, is one which very often forces
me to jeer out of season, simply because I know myself to be upon
the verge of far more untimely tears."
Thus Gogyrvan replied. He was silent for a while, and he
contemplated the fire. Then he waved a shriveled hand toward the
window, and Gogyrvan began to speak, meditatively:
"Messire de Logreus, it is night in my city of Cameliard. And
somewhere one of those roofs harbors a girl whom we will call
Lynette. She has a lover--we will say he is called Sagramor. The
names do not matter. Tonight, as I speak with you, Lynette lies
motionless in the carved wide bed that formerly was her mother's.
She is thinking of Sagramor. The room is dark save where moonlight
silvers the diamond-shaped panes of ancient windows. In every corner
of the room mysterious quivering suggestions lurk."
"Ah, sire," says Jurgen, "you also are a poet!"
"Do not interrupt me, then! Lynette, I repeat, is thinking of Sagramor.
Again they sit near the lake, under an apple-tree older than Rome.
The knotted branches of the tree are upraised as in benediction:
and petals--petals, fluttering, drifting, turning,--interminable white
petals fall silently in the stillness. Neither speaks: for there is no
need. Silently he brushes a petal from the blackness of her hair, and
silently he kisses her. The lake is dusky and hard-seeming as jade.
Two lonely stars hang low in the green sky. It is droll that the chest
of a man is hairy, oh, very droll! And a bird is singing, a silvery
needle of sound moves fitfully in the stillness. Surely high Heaven
is thus quietly colored and thus strangely lovely. So at least thinks
little Lynette, lying motionless like a little mouse, in the carved
wide bed wherein Lynette was born."
"A very moving touch, that," Jurgen interpolated.
"Now, there is another sort of singing: for now the pot-house
closes, big shutters bang, feet shuffle, a drunken man hiccoughs in
his singing. It is a love-song he is murdering. He sheds
inexplicable tears as he lurches nearer and nearer to Lynette's
window, and his heart is all magnanimity, for Sagramor is
celebrating his latest conquest. Do you not think that this or
something very like this is happening to-night in my city of
Cameliard, Messire de Logreus?".
"It happens momently," said Jurgen, "everywhere. For thus is every
woman for a little while, and thus is every man for all time."
"That being a dreadful truth," continued Gogyrvan, "you may take it
as one of the many reasons why I jeer out of season in order to
stave off far more untimely tears. For this thing happens: in my
city it happens, and in my castle it happens. King or no, I am
powerless to prevent its happening. So I can but shrug and hearten
my old blood with a fresh bottle. No less, I regard the young woman,
who is quite possibly my daughter, with considerable affection: and
it would be salutary for you to remember that circumstance, Messire
de Logreus, if ever you are tempted to be candid."
Jurgen was horrified. "But with the Princess, sir, it is unthinkable
that I should not deal fairly."
King Gogyrvan continued to look at Jurgen. Gogyrvan Gawr said
nothing, and not a muscle of him moved.
"Although of course," said Jurgen, "I would, in simple justice to
her, not ever consider volunteering any information likely to cause
pain."
"Again I perceive," said Gogyrvan, "that you understand me. Yet I
did not speak of my daughter only, but of everybody."
"How then, sir, would you have me deal with everybody?"
"Why, I can but repeat my words," says Gogyrvan, very patiently: "I
would have you lie like a gentleman. And now be off with you, for I
am going to sleep. I shall not be wide awake again until my daughter
is safely married. And that is absolutely all I can do for you."
"Do you think this is reputable conduct, King?"
"Oh, no!" says Gogyrvan, surprised. "It is what we call
philanthropy."
14.