Читать книгу Galahad - John Erskine - Страница 12

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“Guinevere!” cried Lancelot.

She was seated in a tall chair, such as they had carried into the garden for her. He started across the room with his arms outstretched, but she made no motion to greet him. He stopped. She looked paler now than that day out-of-doors.

“I had no idea you were still so sick,” he began.

“I am quite well.”

“Guinevere—we have been parted so long—”

“It has been a long time, and we have missed you here. Arthur has told me about the tournament. Did it satisfy you?”

“No,” he said.

“I’m sorry. Why not?”

“You were not there.”

“They all say that. No, I wasn’t.”

He wondered what she meant. She leaned her head back in the chair—that trick of hers—with her eyes half closed.

“Nothing went quite right,” he said.

“I gathered as much.”

“What do you mean, Guinevere?”

She raised herself suddenly in the tall chair, and looked straight at him.

“If you fail me, our love is at an end. I think you have failed me.”

“Failed you? What are you saying?”

“You know well enough. You understand what our love means. If you go the same way as Arthur, I’ve absolutely no use for you.”

He sat down on a bench near the wall.

“Guinevere, what have I done, or haven’t done?”

“You don’t know, of course!”

“I don’t.”

“Well, for example, your encounters with Tristram and Iseult—you and Arthur waylaying them on the road and haunting them in their tent.”

“I went with the king both times. Why are you angry?”

“Would you have gone either time if you had been alone?”

“Certainly not.”

“That’s why I’m angry. Both incidents were discreditable. You did what you knew was unworthy.”

“Guinevere, I had to follow him. I’ve no wish to excuse myself at his expense, but he was resolved to go.”

“Lancelot, we had to reach this moment, sooner or later, and I’m glad we’ve got to it while we are still young. You must choose between Arthur and me. Our relation is queer enough already—you are my lover, yet you pride yourself on loyalty to him. You can’t be true to both. If you still feel our love justifies itself, then get up your courage, man, and accept its consequences. If you prefer to be loyal to Arthur—well, it was an error to begin by making love to his wife.”

“I declare, this is an unexpected greeting,” said Lancelot. “You’re not telling me all that’s in your mind. What has happened? Make love to his wife! That was not the way it began.”

“You mean I made love to you?”

“Our hearts needed no courtship,” he said. “And what are these consequences of our love which you ask me to live out, except my worship of you?”

“Those phrases are unusually good,” said Guinevere. “It’s a bad sign. In your natural moods you are not eloquent. You know why I gave myself to you. I could love only one kind of man—the kind that makes a difference in the world, who builds something, who always goes on. I once thought Arthur was that.”

“For my part,” said Lancelot, “I never admitted he wasn’t. You’ll bear me witness. I loved you for yourself, not to improve you, as you seem to have loved me, and not by way of expressing a criticism of your husband.”

“What you loved me for is of little importance now,” said Guinevere. “You two seemed to be different, but you are much alike. As well have remained unhappy with Arthur! When I found he was satisfied with himself, and couldn’t imagine a career, not even when I pointed it out, there was nothing for me to help him in. I turned to you for the chance to live. I thought I could find life through you—I could dream, you could act out the vision—together we could—even in spite of Arthur, we could bestow on him a kingdom and a name. Oh, Lancelot, do you think I’d have given myself to you if this had not been the one hope for our souls?”

“This certainly was your idea of it,” said Lancelot.

“Exactly—my idea, which you have ceased to share.”

“Why, I always came at it differently, Guinevere. I simply wanted you so much that I was false to my best friend, and I don’t like to think of it, but I’ve hoped you were finding what you talk of so much—outlet for your energies through whatever I’ve accomplished. I owe you everything. If you hadn’t loved me, I shouldn’t have done so much. I’ve tried to follow your idea. When I told you once what a yearning I had—still have, in fact—for a son to bear my name, you said that good deeds must be our children, and that even children are begotten in vain unless they grow to excel their parents. Always something higher, you said.”

“You understood me a while ago,” said Guinevere. “Why have you changed?”

“I haven’t.”

“Absurd—you know you have. You now follow Arthur into scrapes where your name and your influence are sure to be lost. If he wants to look at Iseult, why must you go too?”

“If you think he’s in love with Iseult—”

“Tristram probably thinks so, but I don’t,” said Guinevere. “Arthur is in love with nobody. He needs to be amused—he’s an absolute boy. I don’t suspect you of loving Iseult, either. That’s not the point. But when he does foolish things, you follow him and do them too. You let him decide whether your behavior shall be noble or quite insignificant.”

“Guinevere, if I hadn’t gone along that first time, Palomides or Tristram would have killed him before they found out who he was. After that I felt bound to watch him. Let me tell you this—just because I have your love—his wife’s love—I can’t stand by and let him be hurt. I must protect him even at some cost to myself, for if I didn’t, and he were killed, I’d have to consider how far I had willed his death.”

“I don’t want Arthur to die,” said Guinevere. “What are you talking about? But I, too, have a conscience. My one excuse is that through our love you became the best of living men—or so I thought. With this result, our life together might be said to have a reason, to be almost holy. Otherwise, we are only two traitors, concealing a sin, and I’ll have no more to do with you.”

“But I first tried to dissuade Arthur, and then I saved him. Wasn’t that all right?”

“You may judge by what men think of you,” said Guinevere. “They class you now with Arthur. They say you were pursuing Iseult, two vulgar gallants, and that Tristram has grown suspicious. Why should you protect Arthur from himself? You can’t, anyway. Let him be what he is. You, also, be yourself. Then the difference between you and him would be clear. Perhaps he might be shamed into wisdom. As it is, you encourage his folly.”

“If I stay in his kingdom I must obey him.”

“Did he command you to go with him to see Iseult? I dare say he didn’t. In any case you must choose. Our love, our dream of creating something—or obedience to Arthur and his self-satisfaction.”

“If he commands me, I must obey.”

“Even against your judgment?”

“Yes.”

“Then we part now. If he directs your life, I know what sort of end it will come to.”

“Not a bad one.”

“Not a great one, either. I’ll remember what I thought you could be, and pretend that’s what you still are. But I shan’t care to see you again.”

Lancelot paused a moment before he answered her.

“You expect too much of me, Guinevere—that’s the whole trouble. If you hadn’t expected too much of Arthur you would still love him. You are tired of me already—it doesn’t matter much what I do or don’t do.”

“I expected more,” she said, “than either of you lived up to, if that is expecting too much. When I married Arthur I thought he would become a great man, but—”

“He was a great man.”

“So you have remarked before. We differ, as usual. Perhaps we can agree that our love began in the hope of a career for you.”

“Guinevere, our love began because I loved you—that’s all I know. You had an idea of making something out of me, and I was afraid you might be disappointed.”

“Well, I am.”

He paused again for a moment.

“Guinevere, suppose I agree with you, essentially. After what we have thought of, a mediocre life can’t be a happy one. But you’ve shown me no way out.”

“It’s I who have failed, you mean—I haven’t inspired you. As you will.”

“You’re hasty—let me say what I mean. You advise me to stand aside while he does foolish things. But when he commands me also to do foolish things—no, I won’t say that—his commands have never been foolish. But when he commands something I’ve a reason not to wish to do—”

“Such as?”

“I needn’t give examples, Guinevere.”

“I command you to—Arthur’s wife—consider it one of his sacred commands!”

“I can’t think of an instance just now.”

“Well—I suppose you can’t. I was hoping you could. I was hoping you’d say you were unwilling to revisit King Pelles’ daughter. Arthur has just told you to do so.”

“King Pelles’ daughter?”

“Arthur knows the story, and so do I. He’s glad you have at last found some one to love. He sends you on this journey so that you may see her again.”

“That’s very far from my understanding of his orders,” said Lancelot.

“The orders are of no importance. You are on your way to visit her.”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard,” said Lancelot, “but I tell you this—I don’t love Elaine.”

“Yes, that’s the name. The story’s true.”

“If I took this seriously, it would drive me out of my mind,” said Lancelot. “Some nonsense has come to your ears, you are jealous, you blame me for being loyal to Arthur, and you say our love is at an end. Won’t you understand my side of it? The story of Elaine is unusual.”

“Oh, no.”

“But it’s perfectly innocent.”

“I prefer not to hear it.”

He stood and looked at her, but she had nothing more to say. He turned his back and walked toward the door.

“I hope you’ll continue this affair more discreetly than you’ve begun it.”

“It’s not an affair—it never will be. I’ve seen the girl but once in my life—no, twice—on my first visit to her father. I expect never to see her again.”

“You swear you will not see her on this next visit?”

“I swear.”

“Don’t, Lancelot. Save something from the wreck. Whatever else, you mustn’t be a liar. Arthur has no other purpose in sending you there than to let you see her.”

“Guinevere, so far as he has told me, so far as I’ve any right to think, he is sending me there on an errand which doesn’t concern Elaine. I shall be there only a short time, and I’ve sent word to her father that I must see him alone. She will keep to her room, no doubt.”

“Most extraordinary!” said Guinevere. “Why did you do that?”

“So far from loving the daughter, I’d rather not meet her.”

“Is she so unattractive?”

“She is attractive, I suppose.”

“Then you must be afraid of her. Do you fear you will lose your heart?”

“Well, it sounds foolish, but she’s in love with me, and since I don’t share her sentiments, I’d rather keep out of the way just now. In time she’ll get over it.”

Guinevere laughed. Then she looked at him in a long silence. “Of course I can’t express surprise that she loves you. It wouldn’t be courteous. But I do wonder how you know it so positively, after two casual meetings.”

“She told me herself.”

“What?”

“She asked me for my love—not marriage, but love. I told her it couldn’t be.”

“That was all?”

“Yes.”

“I should have expected her to say she’d have you sooner or later, in spite of everything.”

“She did say something of that sort.”

“They always do,” said Guinevere. “And frequently it turns out so. There’s a kind of man who succumbs to the appeal of women he doesn’t love. He’s exalted by the sense of his own generosity.... She will be immensely flattered by your message to her father.”

“I don’t see that.”

“Why, she’ll know you have her on your mind, and you’re afraid to meet her. You wouldn’t be afraid if you didn’t suspect your own resolution to say no.”

“It won’t come about so,” said Lancelot. “When I return you will have recovered more of your health, trifles won’t bother you, and you will have ceased to believe evil of me. I’ll tell you all that happened, on this visit as well as the first, and you’ll see there’s no occasion to be jealous.”

“When you come back I shall not listen to your history—we shan’t meet. No, Lancelot, we part here. If you go on this errand to King Pelles, I will never speak to you again. And if you annoy me by arguments or pleas, I will ask Arthur to send you out of the kingdom. Lancelot, decline this compromising visit, if you still love me—explain to Arthur what you have just told me. If he can’t see the point, refuse to undertake any further adventures which you know will be unworthy! Unworthy of you, or—it might occur to you—of me.”

“I told Arthur I’d do as he asked, and I’ve already sent that message to King Pelles.”

“Arthur can find some one else. He doesn’t depend on his best knight for small errands.”

“But, Guinevere, you say Elaine will be flattered by my letter to her father. How much more will she think of my staying away altogether!”

“If you stay away,” said Guinevere, “it won’t matter what she thinks. But now do what you like.”

“Guinevere,” he said, “if you were not very tired, if you were quite yourself, you wouldn’t take such a tone.”

“If you still loved me, the tone would not be needed.”

“Guinevere—”

“Well?”

“If you force me to choose between obeying you and obeying Arthur in matters which you consider insignificant—”

“This is not an insignificant matter.”

“Then in any matter. If I must choose between your orders and his, I obey the king. He has commanded this errand, and I shall go, though it happens to be quite against my own wish. I have told you nothing but the truth.”

Guinevere stood up and faced him, her eyes blazing. She bowed slightly and waved him to the door.

“Until you send for me, I shall not return,” he said. “But you will send—you will repent this unreasonable mood. At the first word from you I will come. I love you only—and always.”

She looked at him steadily till he had left the room. Then her strength went out of her, and she fell back, limp and pale, in the tall chair. Lady Anglides came in.

“Sir Lancelot prays to see you for a moment more.”

“I will not see him, not now, nor again, ever,” said the queen. She did not open her eyes.

“Madam,” said Anglides, “he is standing at the outer door, with considerable company.”

“Give him my message clearly,” said Guinevere, “before them all.”