alfred tennyson-第27章

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My　greatest　hardly　will　believe　he　saw；
Another　hath　beheld　it　afar　off；
And　leaving　human　wrongs　to　right　themselves；
Cares　but　to　pass　into　the　silent　life。
And　one　hath　had　the　vision　face　to　face；
And　now　his　chair　desires　him　here　in　vain；
However　they　may　crown　him　otherwhere。

　　　'〃And　some　among　you　held；　that　if　the　King
Had　seen　the　sight　he　would　have　sworn　the　vow：
Not　easily；　seeing　that　the　King　must　guard
That　which　he　rules；　and　is　but　as　the　hind
To　whom　a　space　of　land　is　given　to　plow
Who　may　not　wander　from　the　allotted　field
Before　his　work　be　done；　but；　being　done；
Let　visions　of　the　night　or　of　the　day
Come；　as　they　will；　and　many　a　time　they　come；
Until　this　earth　he　walks　on　seems　not　earth；
This　light　that　strikes　his　eyeball　is　not　light；
This　air　that　smites　his　forehead　is　not　air
But　visionyea；　his　very　hand　and　foot　…
In　moments　when　he　feels　he　cannot　die；
And　knows　himself　no　vision　to　himself；
Nor　the　high　God　a　vision；　nor　that　One
Who　rose　again：　　ye　have　seen　what　ye　have　seen。〃

　　　'So　spake　the　King：　　I　knew　not　all　he　meant。'〃


The　closing　lines　declare；　as　far　as　the　poet　could　declare　them；
these　subjective　experiences　of　his　which；　in　a　manner　rarely
parallelled；　coloured　and　formed　his　thought　on　the　highest　things。
He　introduces　them　even　into　this　poem　on　a　topic　which；　because　of
its　sacred　associations；　he　for　long　did　not　venture　to　touch。

In　Pelleas　and　Ettarrewhich　deals　with　the　sorrows　of　one　of　the
young　knights　who　fill　up　the　gaps　left　at　the　Round　Table　by　the
mischances　of　the　Questit　would　be　difficult　to　trace　a　Celtic
original。　　For　Malory；　not　Celtic　legend；　supplied　Tennyson　with　the
germinal　idea　of　a　poem　which；　in　the　romance；　has　no　bearing　on　the
final　catastrophe。　　Pelleas；　a　King　of　the　Isles；　loves　the　beautiful
Ettarre；　〃a　great　lady；〃　and　for　her　wins　at　a　tourney　the　prize　of
the　golden　circlet。　　But　she　hates　and　despises　him；　and　Sir　Gawain
is　a　spectator　when；　as　in　the　poem；　the　felon　knights　of　Ettarre
bind　and　insult　their　conqueror；　Pelleas。　　Gawain　promises　to　win　the
love　of　Ettarre　for　Pelleas；　and；　as　in　the　poem；　borrows　his　arms
and　horse；　and　pretends　to　have　slain　him。　　But　in　place　of　turning
Ettarre's　heart　towards　Pelleas；　Gawain　becomes　her　lover；　and
Pelleas；　detecting　them　asleep；　lays　his　naked　sword　on　their　necks。
He　then　rides　home　to　die；　but　Nimue　（Vivien）；　the　Lady　of　the　Lake；
restores　him　to　health　and　sanity。　　His　fever　gone；　he　scorns
Ettarre；　who；　by　Nimue's　enchantment；　now　loves　him　as　much　as　she
had　hated　him。　　Pelleas　weds　Nimue；　and　Ettarre　dies　of　a　broken
heart。　　Tennyson；　of　course；　could　not　make　Nimue　（his　Vivien）　do
anything　benevolent。　　He　therefore　closes　his　poem　by　a　repetition　of
the　effect　in　the　case　of　Balin。　　Pelleas　is　driven　desperate　by　the
treachery　of　Gawain；　the　reported　infidelity　of　Guinevere；　and　the
general　corruption　of　the　ideal。　　A　shadow　falls　on　Lancelot　and
Guinevere；　and　Modred　sees　that　his　hour　is　drawing　nigh。　　In　spite
of　beautiful　passages　this　is　not　one　of　the　finest　of　the　Idylls；
save　for　the　study　of　the　fierce；　hateful；　and　beautiful　grande　dame；
Ettarre。　　The　narrative　does　little　to　advance　the　general　plot。　　In
the　original　of　Malory　it　has　no　connection　with　the　Lancelot　cycle；
except　as　far　as　it　reveals　the　treachery　of　Gawain；　the　gay　and
fair…spoken　〃light　of　love；〃　brother　of　the　traitor　Modred。　　A
simpler　treatment　of　the　theme　may　be　read　in　Mr　Swinburne's
beautiful　poem；　The　Tale　of　Balen。

It　is　in　The　Last　Tournament　that　Modred　finds　the　beginning　of　his
opportunity。　　The　brief　life　of　the　Ideal　has　burned　itself　out；　as
the　year；　in　its　vernal　beauty　when　Arthur　came；　is　burning　out　in
autumn。　　The　poem　is　purposely　autumnal；　with　the　autumn；　not　of
mellow　fruitfulness；　but　of　the　〃flying　gold　of　the　ruined　woodlands〃
and　the　dank　odours　of　decay。　　In　that　miserable　season　is　held　the
Tourney　of　the　Dead　Innocence；　with　the　blood…red　prize　of　rubies。
With　a　wise　touch　Tennyson　has　represented　the　Court　as　fallen　not
into　vice　only　and　crime；　but　into　positive　vulgarity　and　bad　taste。
The　Tournament　is　a　carnival　of　the　〃smart〃　and　the　third…rate。
Courtesy　is　dead；　even　Tristram　is　brutal；　and　in　Iseult　hatred　of
her　husband　is　as　powerful　as　love　of　her　lover。　　The　satire　strikes
at　England；　where　the　world　has　never　been　corrupt　with　a　good　grace。
It　is　a　passage　of　arms　neither　gentle　nor　joyous　that　Lancelot
presides　over：…


　　　〃The　sudden　trumpet　sounded　as　in　a　dream
To　ears　but　half…awaked；　then　one　low　roll
Of　Autumn　thunder；　and　the　jousts　began：
And　ever　the　wind　blew；　and　yellowing　leaf
And　gloom　and　gleam；　and　shower　and　shorn　plume
Went　down　it。　　Sighing　weariedly；　as　one
Who　sits　and　gazes　on　a　faded　fire；
When　all　the　goodlier　guests　are　past　away；
Sat　their　great　umpire；　looking　o'er　the　lists。
He　saw　the　laws　that　ruled　the　tournament
Broken；　but　spake　not；　once；　a　knight　cast　down
Before　his　throne　of　arbitration　cursed
The　dead　babe　and　the　follies　of　the　King；
And　once　the　laces　of　a　helmet　crack'd；
And　show'd　him；　like　a　vermin　in　its　hole；
Modred；　a　narrow　face：　　anon　he　heard
The　voice　that　billow'd　round　the　barriers　roar
An　ocean…sounding　welcome　to　one　knight；
But　newly…enter'd；　taller　than　the　rest；
And　armour'd　all　in　forest　green；　whereon
There　tript　a　hundred　tiny　silver　deer；
And　wearing　but　a　holly…spray　for　crest；
With　ever…scattering　berries；　and　on　shield
A　spear；　a　harp；　a　bugleTristramlate
From　overseas　in　Brittany　return'd；
And　marriage　with　a　princess　of　that　realm；
Isolt　the　WhiteSir　Tristram　of　the　Woods　…
Whom　Lancelot　knew；　had　held　sometime　with　pain
His　own　against　him；　and　now　yearn'd　to　shake
The　burthen　off　his　heart　in　one　full　shock
With　Tristram　ev'n　to　death：　　his　strong　hands　gript
And　dinted　the　gilt　dragons　right　and　left；
Until　he　groan'd　for　wrathso　many　of　those；
That　ware　their　ladies'　colours　on　the　casque；
Drew　from　before　Sir　Tristram　to　the　bounds；
And　there　with　gibes　and　flickering　mockeries
Stood；　while　he　mutter'd；　'Craven　crests！　　O　shame！
What　faith　have　these　in　whom　they　sware　to　love？
The　glory　of　our　Round　Table　is　no　more。'

　　　So　Tristram　won；　and　Lancelot　gave；　the　gems；
Not　speaking　other　word　than　'Hast　thou　won？
Art　thou　the　purest；　brother？　　See；　the　hand
Wherewith　thou　takest　this；　is　red！'　to　whom
Tristram；　half　plagued　by　Lancelot's　languorous　mood；
Made　answer；　'Ay；　but　wherefore　toss　me　this
Like　a　dry　bone　cast　to　some　hungry　hound？
Let　be　thy　fair　Queen's　fantasy。　　Strength　of　heart
And　might　of　limb；　but　mainly　use　and　skill；
Are　winners　in　this　pastime　of　our　King。
My　handbelike　the　lance　hath　dript　upon　it　…
No　blood　of　mine；　I　trow；　but　O　chief　knight；
Right　arm　of　Arthur　in　the　battlefield；
Great　brother；　thou　nor　I　have　made　the　world；
Be　happy　in　thy　fair　Queen　as　I　in　mine。'

　　　And　Tristram　round　the　gallery　made　his　horse
Caracole；　then　bow'd　his　homage；　bluntly　saying；
'Fair　damsels；　each　to　him　who　worships　each
Sole　Queen　of　Beauty　and　of　love；　behold
This　day　my　Queen　of　Beauty　is　not　here。'
And　most　of　these　were　mute；　some　anger'd；　one
Murmuring；　'All　courtesy　is　dead；'　and　one；
'The　glory　of　our　Round　Table　is　no　more。'

　　　Then　fell　thick　rain；　plume　droopt　and　mantle　clung；
And　pettish　cries　awoke；　and　the　wan　day
Went　glooming　down　in　wet　and　weariness：
But　under　her　black　brows　a　swarthy　one
Laugh'd　shrilly；　crying；　'Praise　the　patient　saints；
Our　one　white　day　of　Innocence　hath　past；
Tho'　somewhat　draggled　at　the　skirt。　　So　be　it。
The　snowdrop　only；　flowering　thro'　the　year；
Would　make　the　world　as　blank　as　Winter…tide。
Comelet　us　gladden　their　sad　eyes；　our　Queen's
And　Lancelot's；　at　this　night's　solemnity
With　all　the　kindlier　colours　of　the　field。'〃


Arthur's　last　victory　over　a　robber　knight　is　ingloriously　squalid：…


　　　〃He　ended：　　Arthur　knew　the　voice；　the　face
Wellnigh　was　helmet…hidden；　and　the　name
Went　wandering　somewhere　darkling　in　his　mind。
And　Arthur　deign'd　not　use　of　word　or　sword；
But　let　the　drunkard；　as　he　stretch'd　from　horse
To　strike　him；　overbalancing　his　bulk；