And many were moved to anger, for they hoped for some bloody quest;
but the old lords chamberlain said, as they muttered among themselves
in a far, dark end of the chamber, that the quest was hard and wise,
for that if she could ever weep she might also love. They had known
her all her childhood; she had never sighed. Many men had she seen,
suitors and courtiers, and had never turned her head after one went
by. Her beauty was as still sunsets of bitter evenings when all the
world is frore, a wonder and a chill. She was as a sun-stricken
mountain uplifted alone, all beautiful with ice, a desolate and lonely
radiance late at evening far up beyond the comfortable world, not
quite to be companioned by the stars, the doom of the mountaineer.
If she could weep, they said, she could love, they said.
And she smiled pleasantly on those ardent princes, and troubadours
concealing kingly names.
Then one by one they told, each suitor prince the story of his love,
with outstretched hands and kneeling on the knee; and very sorry and
pitiful were the tales, so that often up in the galleries some maid of
the palace wept. And very graciously she nodded her head like a
listless magnolia in the deeps of the night moving idly to all the
breezes its glorious bloom.
And when the princes had told their desperate loves and had departed
away with no other spoil than of their own tears only, even then there
came the unknown troubadours and told their tales in song, concealing
their gracious names.
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