Very fair was this woman to look upon, with her shining gray eyes and
small smiling lips, a fairer woman might no man boast of having seen.
And she regarded Jurgen graciously, with her cheeks red and white, very
lovely to observe. She was clothed in a robe of flame-colored silk, and
about her neck was a collar of red gold. And she told him, quite as
though she spoke with a stranger, that she was Queen Guenevere.
"But Lancelot is turned monk, at Glastonbury: and Arthur is gone
into Avalon," says she: "and I will be your wife if you will have
me, Jurgen."
And Jurgen saw that Guenevere did not know him at all, and that even
his name to her was meaningless. There were a many ways of accounting
for this: but he put aside the unflattering explanation that she had
simply forgotten all about Jurgen, in favor of the reflection that the
Jurgen she had known was a scapegrace of twenty-one. Whereas he was
now a staid and knowledgeable pawnbroker.
And it seemed to Jurgen that he had never really loved any woman
save Guenevere, the daughter of Gogyrvan Gawr, and the pawnbroker
was troubled.
"For again you make me think myself a god," says Jurgen. "Madame
Guenevere, when man recognized himself to be Heaven's vicar upon
earth, it was to serve and to glorify and to protect you and your
radiant sisterhood that man consecrated his existence. You were
beautiful, and you were frail; you were half goddess and half
bric-à-brac. Ohimé, I recognize the call of chivalry, and my
heart-strings resound: yet, for innumerable reasons, I hesitate
to take you for my wife, and to concede myself your appointed
protector, responsible as such to Heaven. For one matter, I am not
altogether sure that I am Heaven's vicar here upon earth. Certainly
the God of Heaven said nothing to me about it, and I cannot but
suspect that Omniscience would have selected some more competent
representative."
"It is so written, Messire Jurgen."
Jurgen shrugged. "I too, in the intervals of business, have written
much that is beautiful. Very often my verses were so beautiful that
I would have given anything in the world in exchange for somewhat
less sure information as to the author's veracity. Ah, no, madame,
desire and knowledge are pressing me so sorely that, between them, I
dare not love you, and still I cannot help it!"
Then Jurgen gave a little wringing gesture with his hands. His smile
was not merry; and it seemed pitiful that Guenevere should not
remember him.
"Madame and queen," says Jurgen, "once long and long ago there was a
man who worshipped all women. To him they were one and all of
sacred, sweet intimidating beauty. He shaped sonorous rhymes of
this, in praise of the mystery and sanctity of women. Then a count's
tow-headed daughter whom he loved, with such love as it puzzles me
to think of now, was shown to him just as she was, as not even
worthy of hatred. The goddess stood revealed, unveiled, and
displaying in all things such mediocrity as he fretted to find in
himself. That was unfortunate. For he began to suspect that women,
also, are akin to their parents; and are no wiser, and no more
subtle, and no more immaculate, than the father who begot them.
Madame and queen, it is not good for any man to suspect this."
"It is certainly not the conduct of a chivalrous person, nor of an
authentic poet," says Queen Guenevere. "And yet your eyes are big
with tears."
"Hah, madame," he replied, "but it amuses me to weep for a dead man
with eyes that once were his. For he was a dear lad before he went
rampaging through the world, in the pride of his youth and in the
armor of his hurt. And songs he made for the pleasure of kings, and
sword play he made for the pleasure of men, and a whispering he made
for the pleasure of women, in places where renown was, and where he
trod boldly, giving pleasure to everybody in those fine days. But
for all his laughter, he could not understand his fellows, nor could
he love them, nor could he detect anything in aught they said or did
save their exceeding folly."
"Why, man's folly is indeed very great, Messire Jurgen, and the
doings of this world are often inexplicable: and so does it come
about that man can be saved by faith alone."
"Ah, but this boy had lost his fellows' cordial common faith in the
importance of what use they made of half-hours and months and years;
and because a jill-flirt had opened his eyes so that they saw too
much, he had lost faith in the importance of his own actions, too.
There was a little time of which the passing might be made not
unendurable; beyond gaped unpredictable darkness; and that was all
there was of certainty anywhere. Meanwhile, he had the loan of a
brain which played with ideas, and a body that went delicately down
pleasant ways. And so he was never the mate for you, dear Guenevere,
because he had not sufficient faith in anything at all, not even in
his own deductions."
Now said Queen Guenevere: "Farewell to you, then, Jurgen, for it is
I that am leaving you forever. I was to them that served me the
lovely and excellent masterwork of God: in Caerleon and Northgalis
and at Joyeuse Garde might men behold me with delight, because, men
said, to view me was to comprehend the power and kindliness of their
Creator. Very beautiful was Iseult, and the face of Luned sparkled
like a moving gem; Morgaine and Enid and Viviane and shrewd Nimuë
were lovely, too; and the comeliness of Ettarde exalted the beholder
like a proud music: these, going statelily about Arthur's hall,
seemed Heaven's finest craftsmanship until the Queen came to her
daïs, as the moon among glowing stars: men then affirmed that God in
making Guenevere had used both hands. And it is I that am leaving
you forever. My beauty was no human white and red, said they, but an
explicit sign of Heaven's might. In approaching me men thought of
God, because in me, they said, His splendor was incarnate. That
which I willed was neither right nor wrong: it was divine. This
thing it was that the knights saw in me; this surety, as to the
power and kindliness of their great Father, it was of which the
chevaliers of yesterday were conscious in beholding me, and of men's
need to be worthy of such parentage; and it is I that am leaving you
forever."
Said Jurgen: "I could not see all this in you, not quite all this,
because of a shadow that followed me. Now it is too late, and this
is a sorrowful thing which is happening. I am become as a rudderless
boat that goes from wave to wave: I am turned to unfertile dust
which a whirlwind makes coherent, and presently lets fall. And so,
farewell to you, Queen Guenevere, for it is a sorrowful thing and a
very unfair thing that is happening."
Thus he cried farewell to the daughter of Gogyrvan Gawr. And
instantly she vanished like the flame of a blown out altar-candle.
46.