The Blue Flower [9]
my hand to her lips, and answered,
"Not so, dear friend, for who can tell whether life or
death will come to the city, whether its people will remember
at last, or whether they will forget forever. Its lot is
mine, for I was born here, and here my life is rooted. But
you are of the Children of the Unquiet Heart, whose feet can
never rest until their task of errors is completed and their
lesson of wandering is learned to the end. Until then go
forth, and do not forget that I shall remember always."
Behind her quiet voice I heard the silent call that
compels us, and passed down the street as one walking in a
dream. At the place where the path turned aside to the ruined
vineyards I looked back. The low sunset made a circle of
golden rays about her head and a strange twin blossom of
celestial blue seemed to shine in her tranquil eyes.
Since then I know not what has befallen the city, nor
whether it is still called Saloma, or once more Ablis, which
is Forsaken. But if it lives at all, I know that it is
because there is one there who remembers, and keeps the hour of
visitation, and treads the steep way, and breathes the beautiful
name over the spring, and sometimes I think that long before my
seeking and journeying brings me to the Blue Flower, it will
bloom for Ruamie beside the still waters of the Source.
THE MILL
I
How the Young Martimor would Become a Knight
and Assay Great Adventure
When Sir Lancelot was come out of the Red Launds where he did
many deeds of arms, he rested him long with play and game in
a land that is, called Beausejour. For in that land there are
neither castles nor enchantments, but many fair manors, with
orchards and fields lying about them; and the people that
dwell therein have good cheer continually.
Of the wars and of the strange quests that are ever afoot
in Northgalis and Lionesse and the Out Isles, they hear
nothing; but are well content to till the earth in summer when
the world is green; and when the autumn changes green to gold
they pitch pavilions among the fruit-trees and the vineyards,
making merry with song and dance while they gather harvest of
corn and apples and grapes; and in the white days of winter for
pastime they have music of divers instruments and the playing of
pleasant games.
But of the telling of tales in that land there is little
skill, neither do men rightly understand the singing of
ballads and romaunts. For one year there is like another, and
so their life runs away, and they leave the world to God.
Then Sir Lancelot had great ease for a time in this quiet
land, and often he lay under the apple-trees sleeping, and
again he taught the people new games and feats of skill. For
into what place soever he came he was welcome, though the
inhabitants knew not his name and great renown, nor the famous
deeds that he had done in tournament and battle. Yet for his
own sake, because he was a very gentle knight, fair-spoken and
full of courtesy and a good man of his hands withal, they
doted upon him.
So he began to tell them tales of many things that have
been done in the world by clean knights and faithful squires.
Of the wars against the Saracens and misbelieving men; of the
discomfiture of the Romans when they came to take truage of King
Arthur; of the strife with the eleven kings and the battle that
was ended but never finished; of the Questing Beast and how King
Pellinore and then Sir Palamides followed it; of Balin that
gave the dolourous stroke unto King Pellam; of Sir Tor that
sought the lady's brachet and by the way overcame two knights
and smote off the head of the outrageous caitiff Abelleus,--of
these and many like matters of pith and moment, full of blood
and honour, told Sir Lancelot, and the people had marvel of
his words.
Now, among them that listened to him gladly, was a youth
of good blood and breeding, very fair in the face and of great
stature. His name was Martimor. Strong of arm was he, and
his neck was like a pillar. His legs were as tough as beams
of
"Not so, dear friend, for who can tell whether life or
death will come to the city, whether its people will remember
at last, or whether they will forget forever. Its lot is
mine, for I was born here, and here my life is rooted. But
you are of the Children of the Unquiet Heart, whose feet can
never rest until their task of errors is completed and their
lesson of wandering is learned to the end. Until then go
forth, and do not forget that I shall remember always."
Behind her quiet voice I heard the silent call that
compels us, and passed down the street as one walking in a
dream. At the place where the path turned aside to the ruined
vineyards I looked back. The low sunset made a circle of
golden rays about her head and a strange twin blossom of
celestial blue seemed to shine in her tranquil eyes.
Since then I know not what has befallen the city, nor
whether it is still called Saloma, or once more Ablis, which
is Forsaken. But if it lives at all, I know that it is
because there is one there who remembers, and keeps the hour of
visitation, and treads the steep way, and breathes the beautiful
name over the spring, and sometimes I think that long before my
seeking and journeying brings me to the Blue Flower, it will
bloom for Ruamie beside the still waters of the Source.
THE MILL
I
How the Young Martimor would Become a Knight
and Assay Great Adventure
When Sir Lancelot was come out of the Red Launds where he did
many deeds of arms, he rested him long with play and game in
a land that is, called Beausejour. For in that land there are
neither castles nor enchantments, but many fair manors, with
orchards and fields lying about them; and the people that
dwell therein have good cheer continually.
Of the wars and of the strange quests that are ever afoot
in Northgalis and Lionesse and the Out Isles, they hear
nothing; but are well content to till the earth in summer when
the world is green; and when the autumn changes green to gold
they pitch pavilions among the fruit-trees and the vineyards,
making merry with song and dance while they gather harvest of
corn and apples and grapes; and in the white days of winter for
pastime they have music of divers instruments and the playing of
pleasant games.
But of the telling of tales in that land there is little
skill, neither do men rightly understand the singing of
ballads and romaunts. For one year there is like another, and
so their life runs away, and they leave the world to God.
Then Sir Lancelot had great ease for a time in this quiet
land, and often he lay under the apple-trees sleeping, and
again he taught the people new games and feats of skill. For
into what place soever he came he was welcome, though the
inhabitants knew not his name and great renown, nor the famous
deeds that he had done in tournament and battle. Yet for his
own sake, because he was a very gentle knight, fair-spoken and
full of courtesy and a good man of his hands withal, they
doted upon him.
So he began to tell them tales of many things that have
been done in the world by clean knights and faithful squires.
Of the wars against the Saracens and misbelieving men; of the
discomfiture of the Romans when they came to take truage of King
Arthur; of the strife with the eleven kings and the battle that
was ended but never finished; of the Questing Beast and how King
Pellinore and then Sir Palamides followed it; of Balin that
gave the dolourous stroke unto King Pellam; of Sir Tor that
sought the lady's brachet and by the way overcame two knights
and smote off the head of the outrageous caitiff Abelleus,--of
these and many like matters of pith and moment, full of blood
and honour, told Sir Lancelot, and the people had marvel of
his words.
Now, among them that listened to him gladly, was a youth
of good blood and breeding, very fair in the face and of great
stature. His name was Martimor. Strong of arm was he, and
his neck was like a pillar. His legs were as tough as beams
of