Merlin and Vivien

Merlin and Vivien

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Merlin's Forest

France

Merlin and Vivien

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

And in the wild woods of Broceliande,

Before an oak, so hollow, huge and old

It looked a tower of ivied masonwork,

At Merlin's feet the wily Vivien lay.

For he that always bare in bitter grudge

The slights of Arthur and his Table, Mark

The Cornish King, had heard a wandering voice,

A minstrel of Caerlon by strong storm

Blown into shelter at Tintagil, say

That out of naked knightlike purity

Sir Lancelot worshipt no unmarried girl

But the great Queen herself, fought in her name,

Sware by her--vows like theirs, that high in heaven

Love most, but neither marry, nor are given

In marriage, angels of our Lord's report.

He ceased, and then--for Vivien sweetly said

(She sat beside the banquet nearest Mark),

'And is the fair example followed, Sir,

In Arthur's household?'--answered innocently:

'Ay, by some few--ay, truly--youths that hold

It more beseems the perfect virgin knight

To worship woman as true wife beyond

All hopes of gaining, than as maiden girl.

They place their pride in Lancelot and the Queen.

So passionate for an utter purity

Beyond the limit of their bond, are these,

For Arthur bound them not to singleness.

Brave hearts and clean! and yet--God guide them--young.'

Then Mark was half in heart to hurl his cup

Straight at the speaker, but forbore: he rose

To leave the hall, and, Vivien following him,

Turned to her: 'Here are snakes within the grass;

And you methinks, O Vivien, save ye fear

The monkish manhood, and the mask of pure

Worn by this court, can stir them till they sting.'

And Vivien answered, smiling scornfully,

'Why fear? because that fostered at THY court

I savour of thy--virtues? fear them? no.

As Love, if Love is perfect, casts out fear,

So Hate, if Hate is perfect, casts out fear.

My father died in battle against the King,

My mother on his corpse in open field;

She bore me there, for born from death was I

Among the dead and sown upon the wind--

And then on thee! and shown the truth betimes,

That old true filth, and bottom of the well

Where Truth is hidden. Gracious lessons thine

And maxims of the mud! "This Arthur pure!

Great Nature through the flesh herself hath made

Gives him the lie! There is no being pure,

My cherub; saith not Holy Writ the same?"--

If I were Arthur, I would have thy blood.

Thy blessing, stainless King! I bring thee back,

When I have ferreted out their burrowings,

The hearts of all this Order in mine hand--

Ay--so that fate and craft and folly close,

Perchance, one curl of Arthur's golden beard.

To me this narrow grizzled fork of thine

Is cleaner-fashioned--Well, I loved thee first,

That warps the wit.'

The Beguiling of Merlin,
by Edward Burne-Jones, 1874

Loud laughed the graceless Mark,

But Vivien, into Camelot stealing, lodged

Low in the city, and on a festal day

When Guinevere was crossing the great hall

Cast herself down, knelt to the Queen, and wailed.

'Why kneel ye there? What evil hath ye wrought?

Rise!' and the damsel bidden rise arose

And stood with folded hands and downward eyes

Of glancing corner, and all meekly said,

'None wrought, but suffered much, an orphan maid!

My father died in battle for thy King,

My mother on his corpse--in open field,

The sad sea-sounding wastes of Lyonnesse--

Poor wretch--no friend!--and now by Mark the King

For that small charm of feature mine, pursued--

If any such be mine--I fly to thee.

Save, save me thou--Woman of women--thine

The wreath of beauty, thine the crown of power,

Be thine the balm of pity, O Heaven's own white

Earth-angel, stainless bride of stainless King--

Help, for he follows! take me to thyself!

O yield me shelter for mine innocency

Among thy maidens!

Here her slow sweet eyes

Fear-tremulous, but humbly hopeful, rose

Fixt on her hearer's, while the Queen who stood

All glittering like May sunshine on May leaves

In green and gold, and plumed with green replied,

'Peace, child! of overpraise and overblame

We choose the last. Our noble Arthur, him

Ye scarce can overpraise, will hear and know.

Nay--we believe all evil of thy Mark--

Well, we shall test thee farther; but this hour

We ride a-hawking with Sir Lancelot.

He hath given us a fair falcon which he trained;

We go to prove it. Bide ye here the while.'

She past; and Vivien murmured after 'Go!

I bide the while.' Then through the portal-arch

Peering askance, and muttering broken-wise,

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As one that labours with an evil dream,

Beheld the Queen and Lancelot get to horse.

'Is that the Lancelot? goodly--ay, but gaunt:

Courteous--amends for gauntness--takes her hand--

That glance of theirs, but for the street, had been

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A clinging kiss--how hand lingers in hand!

Let go at last!--they ride away--to hawk

For waterfowl. Royaller game is mine.

For such a supersensual sensual bond

As that gray cricket chirpt of at our hearth--

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Touch flax with flame--a glance will serve--the liars!

Ah little rat that borest in the dyke

Thy hole by night to let the boundless deep

Down upon far-off cities while they dance--

Or dream--of thee they dreamed not--nor of me

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These--ay, but each of either: ride, and dream

The mortal dream that never yet was mine--

Ride, ride and dream until ye wake--to me!

Then, narrow court and lubber King, farewell!

For Lancelot will be gracious to the rat,

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And our wise Queen, if knowing that I know,

Will hate, loathe, fear--but honour me the more.'

Yet while they rode together down the plain,

Their talk was all of training, terms of art,

Diet and seeling, jesses, leash and lure.

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'She is too noble' he said 'to check at pies,

Nor will she rake: there is no baseness in her.'

Here when the Queen demanded as by chance

'Know ye the stranger woman?' 'Let her be,'

Said Lancelot and unhooded casting off

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The goodly falcon free; she towered; her bells,

Tone under tone, shrilled; and they lifted up

Their eager faces, wondering at the strength,

Boldness and royal knighthood of the bird

Who pounced her quarry and slew it. Many a time

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As once--of old--among the flowers--they rode.

But Vivien half-forgotten of the Queen

Among her damsels broidering sat, heard, watched

And whispered: through the peaceful court she crept

And whispered: then as Arthur in the highest

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Leavened the world, so Vivien in the lowest,

Arriving at a time of golden rest,

And sowing one ill hint from ear to ear,

While all the heathen lay at Arthur's feet,

And no quest came, but all was joust and play,

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Leavened his hall. They heard and let her be.

Thereafter as an enemy that has left

Death in the living waters, and withdrawn,

The wily Vivien stole from Arthur's court.

She hated all the knights, and heard in thought

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Their lavish comment when her name was named.

For once, when Arthur walking all alone,

Vext at a rumour issued from herself

Of some corruption crept among his knights,

Had met her, Vivien, being greeted fair,

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Would fain have wrought upon his cloudy mood

With reverent eyes mock-loyal, shaken voice,

And fluttered adoration, and at last

With dark sweet hints of some who prized him more

Than who should prize him most; at which the King

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Had gazed upon her blankly and gone by:

But one had watched, and had not held his peace:

It made the laughter of an afternoon

That Vivien should attempt the blameless King.

And after that, she set herself to gain

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Him, the most famous man of all those times,

Merlin, who knew the range of all their arts,

Had built the King his havens, ships, and halls,

Was also Bard, and knew the starry heavens;

The people called him Wizard; whom at first

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She played about with slight and sprightly talk,

And vivid smiles, and faintly-venomed points

Of slander, glancing here and grazing there;

And yielding to his kindlier moods, the Seer

Would watch her at her petulance, and play,

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Even when they seemed unloveable, and laugh

As those that watch a kitten; thus he grew

Tolerant of what he half disdained, and she,

Perceiving that she was but half disdained,

Began to break her sports with graver fits,

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Turn red or pale, would often when they met

Sigh fully, or all-silent gaze upon him

With such a fixt devotion, that the old man,

Though doubtful, felt the flattery, and at times

Would flatter his own wish in age for love,

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And half believe her true: for thus at times

He wavered; but that other clung to him,

Fixt in her will, and so the seasons went.

Then fell on Merlin a great melancholy;

He walked with dreams and darkness, and he found

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A doom that ever poised itself to fall,

An ever-moaning battle in the mist,

World-war of dying flesh against the life,

Death in all life and lying in all love,

The meanest having power upon the highest,

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And the high purpose broken by the worm.

So leaving Arthur's court he gained the beach;

There found a little boat, and stept into it;

And Vivien followed, but he marked her not.

She took the helm and he the sail; the boat

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Drave with a sudden wind across the deeps,

And touching Breton sands, they disembarked.

And then she followed Merlin all the way,

Even to the wild woods of Broceliande.

For Merlin once had told her of a charm,

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The which if any wrought on anyone

With woven paces and with waving arms,

The man so wrought on ever seemed to lie

Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower,

From which was no escape for evermore;

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And none could find that man for evermore,

Nor could he see but him who wrought the charm

Coming and going, and he lay as dead

And lost to life and use and name and fame.

And Vivien ever sought to work the charm

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Upon the great Enchanter of the Time,

As fancying that her glory would be great

According to his greatness whom she quenched.

There lay she all her length and kissed his feet,

As if in deepest reverence and in love.

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A twist of gold was round her hair; a robe

Of samite without price, that more exprest

Than hid her, clung about her lissome limbs,

In colour like the satin-shining palm

On sallows in the windy gleams of March:

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And while she kissed them, crying, 'Trample me,

Dear feet, that I have followed through the world,

And I will pay you worship; tread me down

And I will kiss you for it;' he was mute:

So dark a forethought rolled about his brain,

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As on a dull day in an Ocean cave

The blind wave feeling round his long sea-hall

In silence: wherefore, when she lifted up

A face of sad appeal, and spake and said,

'O Merlin, do ye love me?' and again,

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'O Merlin, do ye love me?' and once more,

'Great Master, do ye love me?' he was mute.

And lissome Vivien, holding by his heel,

Writhed toward him, slided up his knee and sat,

Behind his ankle twined her hollow feet

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Together, curved an arm about his neck,

Clung like a snake; and letting her left hand

Droop from his mighty shoulder, as a leaf,

Made with her right a comb of pearl to part

The lists of such a board as youth gone out

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Had left in ashes: then he spoke and said,

Not looking at her, 'Who are wise in love

Love most, say least,' and Vivien answered quick,

'I saw the little elf-god eyeless once

In Arthur's arras hall at Camelot:

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But neither eyes nor tongue--O stupid child!

Yet you are wise who say it; let me think

Silence is wisdom: I am silent then,

And ask no kiss;' then adding all at once,

'And lo, I clothe myself with wisdom,' drew

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The vast and shaggy mantle of his beard

Across her neck and bosom to her knee,

And called herself a gilded summer fly

Caught in a great old tyrant spider's web,

Who meant to eat her up in that wild wood

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Without one word. So Vivien called herself,

But rather seemed a lovely baleful star

Veiled in gray vapour; till he sadly smiled:

'To what request for what strange boon,' he said,

'Are these your pretty tricks and fooleries,

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O Vivien, the preamble? yet my thanks,

For these have broken up my melancholy.'

And Vivien answered smiling saucily,

'What, O my Master, have ye found your voice?

I bid the stranger welcome. Thanks at last!

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But yesterday you never opened lip,

Except indeed to drink: no cup had we:

In mine own lady palms I culled the spring

That gathered trickling dropwise from the cleft,

And made a pretty cup of both my hands

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And offered you it kneeling: then you drank

And knew no more, nor gave me one poor word;

O no more thanks than might a goat have given

With no more sign of reverence than a beard.

And when we halted at that other well,

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And I was faint to swooning, and you lay

Foot-gilt with all the blossom-dust of those

Deep meadows we had traversed, did you know

That Vivien bathed your feet before her own?

And yet no thanks: and all through this wild wood

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And all this morning when I fondled you:

Boon, ay, there was a boon, one not so strange--

How had I wronged you? surely ye are wise,

But such a silence is more wise than kind.'

And Merlin locked his hand in hers and said:

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'O did ye never lie upon the shore,

And watch the curled white of the coming wave

Glassed in the slippery sand before it breaks?

Even such a wave, but not so pleasurable,

Dark in the glass of some presageful mood,

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Had I for three days seen, ready to fall.

And then I rose and fled from Arthur's court

To break the mood. You followed me unasked;

And when I looked, and saw you following me still,

My mind involved yourself the nearest thing

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In that mind-mist: for shall I tell you truth?

You seemed that wave about to break upon me

And sweep me from my hold upon the world,

My use and name and fame. Your pardon, child.

Your pretty sports have brightened all again.

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And ask your boon, for boon I owe you thrice,

Once for wrong done you by confusion, next

For thanks it seems till now neglected, last

For these your dainty gambols: wherefore ask;

And take this boon so strange and not so strange.'

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And Vivien answered smiling mournfully:

'O not so strange as my long asking it,

Not yet so strange as you yourself are strange,

Nor half so strange as that dark mood of yours.

I ever feared ye were not wholly mine;

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And see, yourself have owned ye did me wrong.

The people call you prophet: let it be:

But not of those that can expound themselves.

Take Vivien for expounder; she will call

That three-days-long presageful gloom of yours

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No presage, but the same mistrustful mood

That makes you seem less noble than yourself,

Whenever I have asked this very boon,

Now asked again: for see you not, dear love,

That such a mood as that, which lately gloomed

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Your fancy when ye saw me following you,

Must make me fear still more you are not mine,

Must make me yearn still more to prove you mine,

And make me wish still more to learn this charm

Of woven paces and of waving hands,

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As proof of trust. O Merlin, teach it me.

The charm so taught will charm us both to rest.

For, grant me some slight power upon your fate,

I, feeling that you felt me worthy trust,

Should rest and let you rest, knowing you mine.

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And therefore be as great as ye are named,

Not muffled round with selfish reticence.

How hard you look and how denyingly!

O, if you think this wickedness in me,

That I should prove it on you unawares,

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That makes me passing wrathful; then our bond

Had best be loosed for ever: but think or not,

By Heaven that hears I tell you the clean truth,

As clean as blood of babes, as white as milk:

O Merlin, may this earth, if ever I,

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If these unwitty wandering wits of mine,

Even in the jumbled rubbish of a dream,

Have tript on such conjectural treachery--

May this hard earth cleave to the Nadir hell

Down, down, and close again, and nip me flat,

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If I be such a traitress. Yield my boon,

Till which I scarce can yield you all I am;

And grant my re-reiterated wish,

The great proof of your love: because I think,

However wise, ye hardly know me yet.'

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And Merlin loosed his hand from hers and said,

'I never was less wise, however wise,

Too curious Vivien, though you talk of trust,

Than when I told you first of such a charm.

Yea, if ye talk of trust I tell you this,

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Too much I trusted when I told you that,

And stirred this vice in you which ruined man

Through woman the first hour; for howsoe'er

In children a great curiousness be well,

Who have to learn themselves and all the world,

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In you, that are no child, for still I find

Your face is practised when I spell the lines,

I call it,--well, I will not call it vice:

But since you name yourself the summer fly,

I well could wish a cobweb for the gnat,

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That settles, beaten back, and beaten back

Settles, till one could yield for weariness:

But since I will not yield to give you power

Upon my life and use and name and fame,

Why will ye never ask some other boon?

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Yea, by God's rood, I trusted you too much.'

And Vivien, like the tenderest-hearted maid

That ever bided tryst at village stile,

Made answer, either eyelid wet with tears:

'Nay, Master, be not wrathful with your maid;

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Caress her: let her feel herself forgiven

Who feels no heart to ask another boon.

I think ye hardly know the tender rhyme

Of "trust me not at all or all in all."

I heard the great Sir Lancelot sing it once,

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And it shall answer for me. Listen to it.

"In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,

Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers:

Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

"It is the little rift within the lute,

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That by and by will make the music mute,

And ever widening slowly silence all.

"The little rift within the lover's lute

Or little pitted speck in garnered fruit,

That rotting inward slowly moulders all.

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"It is not worth the keeping: let it go:

But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no.

And trust me not at all or all in all."

O Master, do ye love my tender rhyme?'

And Merlin looked and half believed her true,

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So tender was her voice, so fair her face,

So sweetly gleamed her eyes behind her tears

Like sunlight on the plain behind a shower:

And yet he answered half indignantly:

'Far other was the song that once I heard

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By this huge oak, sung nearly where we sit:

For here we met, some ten or twelve of us,

To chase a creature that was current then

In these wild woods, the hart with golden horns.

It was the time when first the question rose