"Aha, so you have not been happy out yonder where people have souls?
You probably are not eating enough: so long as one can keep on eating
regularly, there is not much the matter. In fact, I see the hunger in
your eyes, tired man."
Anavalt said:
"Let us not discuss anybody's eyes, for it is not hunger, nor
indigestion either, which drives me to the Wood of Elfhame. There is a
woman yonder, dragon, a woman whom ten years ago I married. We loved
each other then, we shared a noble dream. To-day we sleep together,
and have no dreams. To-day I go in flame-colored satin, with heralds
before me, into bright long halls where kings await my counsel, and my
advising becomes the law of cities that I have not seen. The lords of
this world accredit me with wisdom, and say that nobody is more shrewd
than Anavalt. But when at home, as if by accident, I tell my wife
about these things, she smiles, not very merrily. For my wife knows
more of the truth as to me and my powers and my achievements than I
myself would care to know: and I can no longer endure the gaze of her
forgiving eyes, and the puzzled hurt which is behind that forgiveness.
So let us not discuss anybody's eyes."
"Well, well!" the dragon returned, "if you come to that, I think it
would be more becoming for you not to discuss your married life with
strangers, especially when I have just had dinner, and am just going to
have a nap."
With that the evil worm turned round three times, his whiskers drooped,
and he coiled up snugly about the sign-post which said "Keep Out of
These Woods." He was a time-worn and tarnished dragon, as you could
see now, with no employment in the world since men had forgotten the
myth in which he used to live appallingly; so he had come, in homeless
decrepitude, to guard the Wood of Elfhame.
Anavalt thus left this inefficient and outmoded monster.
§ 39
And the tale tells how, when Anavalt had passed this inefficient and
outmoded monster, Anavalt went into the wood. He did not think of the
tilled meadows or the chests of new-minted coin or the high estate
which belonged to Anavalt in the world where people have souls. He
thought of quite other matters as he walked in a dubious place. Here to
the right of Anavalt's pathway were seen twelve in red tunics: they
had head-dresses of green, and upon their wrists were silver rings.
These twelve were alike in shape and age and loveliness: there was no
flaw in the appearance of any, there was no manner of telling one from
another. All these made a lament, with small sweet voices that followed
the course of a thin and tinkling melody: they sang of how much better
were the old times than the new; and none could know more thoroughly
than did Anavalt the reason of their grieving, but since they did
not molest him he had no need to meddle with these women's secrets
any more. So he went on: and nothing as yet opposed him; at most, a
grass-hopper started from the path, sometimes a tiny frog made way for
him.
He came to a blue bull that lay in the road, blocking it.
§ 40
The tale tells that a blue bull lay in the road, blocking it. The tale
narrates that this beast appeared more lusty and more terrible than
other bulls, telling of how all his appurtenances were larger and
seemed more prodigally ready to give life and death.
Courteous Anavalt cried out, "O Nandi, now be gracious, and permit me
to pass unhindered toward the striped windmill."
"To think," replied the bull, "that you should mistake me for Nandi!
No, tired man, the Bull of the Gods is white, and nothing of that
serene color may ever come into these woods."
And the bull nodded very gravely, shaking the blue curls that were
between his cruel horns.
"Ah, then, sir, I must entreat your forgiveness for the not unnatural
error into which I was betrayed by the majesty of your appearance."
While Anavalt was speaking, he wondered why he should be at pains to
humor an illusion so trivial as he knew this bull to be. For this of
course was just the ruler of the Kittle cattle which everywhere feed
upon the dewpools. The Queen of Elfhame, in that low estate to which
the world's redemption had brought her, could employ only the most
inexpensive of retainers, the Gods served her no longer.
"So you consider my appearance majestic! To think of that now!"
observed the flattered bull; and he luxuriously exhaled blue flames.
"Well, certainly you have a mighty civil way with you, to be coming
from that overbearing world of souls. Still, my duty is, as they say,
my duty; fine words are less filling than moonbeams: and, in short, I
do not know of any sound reason why I should let you pass toward Queen
Vae."
Anavalt answered:
"I must go to your thin mistress because among the women yonder whose
bodies were not denied to me there is one woman whom I cannot forget.
We loved each other once; we had, as I recall that radiant time, a
quaint and callow faith in our shared insanity. Then somehow I stopped
caring for these things, I turned to matters of more sensible worth.
She took no second lover, she lives alone. Her beauty and her quick
laughter are put away, she is old, and the home of no man is glad
because of her who should have been the tenderest of wives and the most
merry of mothers. When I see her there is no hatred in the brown eyes
which once were bright and roguish, but only forgiveness and a puzzled
grieving. Now there is in my mind no reason why I should think about
this woman differently from some dozens of other women who were maids
when I first knew them, but there is in my mind an unreason that will
not put away the memory of this woman's notions about me."
"Well," said the bull, yawning, "for my part, I find one heifer as good
as another; and I find, too, that in seeking Queen Vae one pretext is
as good as another pretext, especially from the mouth of such a civil
gentleman. So do you climb over my back, and go your way, to where
there are no longer two sides to everything."
Thus Anavalt passed the King of the Kittle cattle.
§ 41
Anavalt thus passed the King of the Kittle cattle, and the tale tells
how Anavalt journeyed deeper into the Wood of Elfhame. No trumpets
sounded before him as they sounded when the Anavalt who was a great
lord went about the world where people have souls: and the wonders
which Anavalt saw to this side and to that side did not disturb him,
nor he them. He came to a house of rough-hewn timber, where a black
man, clothed in a goat-skin, barked like a dog and made old gestures.
This, as Anavalt knew, was the Rago: within the house sat cross-legged,
at that very moment, the Forest-Mother, whose living is innocent of
every normal vice, and whose food is the red she-goat and men. Yet upon
the farther side of the home of perversity was to be seen a rusty nail
in the pathway, and bits of broken glass, prosaic relics which seemed
to show that men had passed this place.
So Anavalt made no reply to the obscene enticements of the Rago.
Anavalt went sturdily on, to a tree which in the stead of leaves was
overgrown with human hands: these hands had no longer any warmth in
them as they caught at and tentatively figured Anavalt, and presently
released him.
Now the path descended, among undergrowth that bore small purple
flowers with five petals. Anavalt came here upon wolves which went
along with him a little way. Running they could not be seen, but as
each wolf leaped in his running his gray body would show momentarily
among the green bushes that instantly swallowed it: and these wolves
cried hoarsely, "Janicot is dead!" But for none of these things did
Anavalt care any longer, and none of the peculiarities of Elfhame
stayed him, until his path had led further downward, and the roadway
had become dark and moist. Here were sentinels with draggled yellow
plumes, a pair of sentinels at whom Anavalt looked only once: then with
averted head he passed them, in what could not seem a merry place to
Anavalt, for in the world where people have souls he was used to mirth
and soft ease and to all such delights as men clutch desperately in the
shadow of death's clutching hand.
In this place Anavalt found also a naked boy.
§ 42
In this place Anavalt found, as the tale tells, a naked boy whose body
was horrible with leprosy: this malady had eaten away his fingers, so
that they could retain nothing, but his face was not much changed.
The leper stood knee-deep in a pile of ashes: and he demanded what
Anavalt was called nowadays.
When courteous Anavalt had answered, the leper said then:
"You are not rightly called Anavalt. But my name is still
Owner-of-the-World."
Says Anavalt, very sadly, "Even though you bar my way, ruined boy, I
must go forward to the windmill of the Elle Maid."
"And for what reason must you be creeping to this last woman? For she
will be the last,--as I forewarn you, tired man, who still pretend to
be Anavalt,--she will be the last of all, and of how many!"
Anavalt answered:
"I must go to this last love because of my first love. Once I lay under
her girdle, I was a part of the young body of my first love. She bore
me to her anguish, even then to her anguish. I cannot forget the love
that was between us. But I outgrew my childhood and all childishness:
I became, they say, the chief of Manuel's barons: and my living has
got me fine food and garments and tall servants and two castles and
a known name, and all which any reasonable mother could hope for her
son. Yet I cannot forget the love that was between us, nor our shared
faith in what was to be! To-day I visit this ancient woman now and
then, and we make friendly talk together about everything except my
wife, and our lips touch, and I go away. That is all. And it seems
strange that I was once a part of this woman,--I who have never won to
nor desired real intimacy with anyone,--and it seems strange to hear
people applauding my wisdom and high deeds of statecraft, and in all
matters acclaiming the success of Anavalt. I think that this old woman
also finds it strange. I do not know, for we can understand each other
no longer. I only know that, viewing me, there is in this old woman's
filmed eyes a sort of fondness, even now, and a puzzled grieving. I
only know that her eyes also I wish never to see any more."
"Still, still, you must be talking Œdipean riddles!" the leper
answered. "I prefer simplicity, I incline to the complex no longer. So,
very frankly, I warn you, who were Anavalt, that you are going, spent
and infatuate, toward your last illusion."
Anavalt replied:
"Rather do I flee pellmell from the illusions of others. Behind me I
am leaving the bright swords of adversaries and the more deadly malice
of out-rivalled friends and the fury of some husbands, but not because
I fear these things. Behind me I am leaving the puzzled eyes of women
that put faith in me, because I fear these unendurably."
"You should have feared them earlier, tired man," replied the other,
"in a sunlit time when I who am Owner-of-the-World would wonderfully
have helped you. Now you must go your way, as I go mine. There is one
who may, perhaps, yet bring us together once again; but now we are
parted, and you need look for no more reverses."
As he said this, the ruined boy sank slowly into the ash-heap, and so
disappeared; and Anavalt went on, through trampled ashes, into the
quiet midst of the wood. Among the bones about the striped windmill
that is supported by four pillars, the witless Elle Maid was waiting.
§ 43
The witless Elle Maid was waiting there, as the tale tells, among much
human wreckage. She rose and cried:
"Now you are very welcome, Sir Anavalt. But what will you give Maid
Vae?"