{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/arthur/art206.htm","path":"neu/arthur/art206.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/arthur/art206.htm","text":"Sacred Texts\u00a0\n Legends/Sagas\u00a0\n England\u00a0\n Index\u00a0\n Previous\u00a0\n Next\u00a0\n \n \n An Arthurian Miscellany\n GUENEVERE: A PLAY IN FIVE ACTS\n by\n STARK YOUNG\n \n \n To\n Edward Johnson\n \"longe quoa simul a domo profectos\n diverse maria et viae reportant\"\n \n DRAMATIS PERSONAE\n King Arthur.\n Guenevere, his wife.\n Sir Launcelot.\n \n nephews to the king, and brothers:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sir Gawain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sir Mordred\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sir Agravaine\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sir Gareth\n \n Sir Kay, the seneschal.\n Dagonet, the queen's page.\n Morwena, the abbess at Boscastle.\n Agatha, a sister.\n \n ladies to the queen:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Lyone Le Blanche\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ygraine\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Enid\n \n knights of King Arthur's court; a woman; other minor persons:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Tor, Colgrevaunce, Peleas, Idawc, Bors, Uriens,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Meliagraunce,Cador, Breuse, Persaunt, Blamor, Urre.\n GUENEVERE\n \"Quanto la cosa \u00e8 pi\u00f9 perfetta\n Pi\u00fa senta il bene e cos\u00ec la doglienza.\"\n ACT I\n A wood near Mordred's castle. A path runs across; on the right side the big rocks stand; on the left the ground is less broken. It is the first day of May, the wood is all green, and the wild flowers blooming. There is a sound of running water, and many birds sing in the trees. \n \n Enter Sir Mordred, Sir Agravaine, and Sir Gawain. \n \n Mordred \n Curse those little feathered devils, all\n The trees are full of them, singing as if \n The air were silver sweet with feast bells,\n And the world were sweet, and life sweet and free\n From hate.\n \n Gawain \n Come, come, my lord, let the birds alone, their notes\n Are sweet and limpid like the lives of simple \n Men in this world.\n \n Mordred \n Aye, squeeze your stale morals from nature, brother,\n For every weather a mood. As if she had \n Not planted in our bloods the heaviness\n Of hate, as I do hate Sir Launcelot,\n And scorn the white-souled Arthur.\n \n Agravaine \n And I do hate this lusty knight.\n \n Gawain \n Brothers, brothers, stint your noise. Ye know\n And well that had Sir Launcelot not proved\n Himself in our behalf, we had been by now\n Full cold at the heart-root. He hath saved us all,\n And many a time, has wen-\n \n Agravaine \n Small matter that. He hath a joy in heat \n And struggle.\n \n Gawain \n Small matter very like, and men do hate \n The objects of their own ingratitude.\n \n Agravaine \n Daily and nightly he is with the queen.\n \n Gawain \n Ye know it not.\n \n Mordred \n Aye, do we. And the king is shamed--\n \n Gawain \n Nay, nay, spare that, you care not for Arthur, 'tis\n Some privy hate you bear the queen, or grudge\n Against Sir Launcelot.\n \n Mordred \n Tush! 'tis all prattle. Lend me your ear, good brother.\n Come, think you not in any of us three\n Were stuff for a king?\n \n Gawain \n Thou king? Said I not so? Shame, Mordred, shame!\n \n Agravaine \n Nay, nay, brother Mordred, 'tis the general cause\n That moves thee, 'member that, the general cause.\n \n Gawain \n Be not so busy, I pray you, for of this\n Will the whole realm be mischieved.\n \n Mordred \n Fall what may, what I have said I have said.\n \n Gawain \n That I believe, for thou hadst ever a tooth\n For all unhappiness.\n \n Mordred \n King Arthur hath consented to this plan\n To take the queen by force and lie in wait\n For Launcelot to rescue her.\n \n Gawain \n Take the queen, thou sayest?\n \n Agravaine \n Then some romantic hour to catch the two\n Together.\n \n Gawain \n Take the queen?\n \n Mordred \n Hist! here's two-the first is Idawc\n Of Cornwall; 'tis your poetical,\n Gapes-at-a-ballad cub-he'll be with us.\n And old Sir Kay, sour as curds. (Enter Idawc and Sir Kay.) How now\n Fair lords? We speak of the widening reft betwixt\n The king and the queen, what think you?\n \n Kay \n 'Tis a great tangle, this marriage knot.\n \n Gawain \n The king consents? To snare the queen?\n \n Mordred \n Consents, though we had nigh not brought him to it.\n He hath a deeming strong as ours, but shuns\n The outcome of such publishment of falseness\n In the heart of the realm. 'Tis a dreamer, and his world \n Peoples itself with airy shapes, and stretches\n Rapt vistas for his eye to travel in,\n Conversing with visions. They say he hath\n Small ear for the queen but hourly weigheth him\n Some cloud-vast enterprise or famous venture,\n So that his kingdom is his spouse and not \n The queen. To him she is fair womanhood,\n The finer element within the scheme,\n And not a woman. Therefore being human-\n \n Idawc \n True, dost thou--\n \n Kay \n True, most true. It is no king men see,\n But is a mist.\n \n Idawc \n Dost thou remember once at harvest time-\n 'Twas at the dying twilight, and the moon,\n Drowsily waking from the dusky east,\n Did shed a glamourous vapour o'er the water,\n Bargemen hither, thither ran to light \n Their torches, music strummed, and on the bank\n Thronged with embarkings for the river pageant-\n \n Agravaine \n Came what-well what is't at the pageant? Here's \n No time for fooling, youth.\n \n Idawc \n Why, on a barge sheathed all in golden samite,\n We saw the white queen like fair summer wings\n Upon a lotus flower. There apart\n Stood Arthur musing, chin in hand, or gazed \n On the stars, and sad dim space, as he would read\n Their meaning. Lo! one said, \"Seest not the queen \n Upon yon barge, my lord?\" Arthur turned\n Where she did beckon him to look on her,\n And said, \"White hue on yellow, sure some sign,\n Fair virtue thus surmounteth jealousy.\"\n So killed all joyaunce with his moral carp.\n But Launcelot beheld her as a vision,\n And cried, all dazed with her loveliness,\n \"God's life, thou'rt fairer than the heaven!\"\n \n Kay \n Odds, by my beard, 'tis past my patience.\n What woman cares to prate of attributes,\n Of whys and wherefores and such moral twaddle?\n These axioms be poor pudding for their stomachs\n When they might hear men sing their beauty's praise-\n \n Idawc \n Fie, my lord!\n \n Kay \n Fie not. The king is blinded with star-dust,\n For once I ventured: \"If thou thoughtest more\n Of this same fleshly world, my lord,\n 'Twere better haply for thee and for it.\"\n Said I, \"There's holiness as true, I wis,\n About the humblest, rushlit cottage door \n As at the Portal of the Starry Lamps.\n Men's souls need human fellowship to ripen \n Them for God, as many twigs do lift \n Higher the flame.\" Methought in that\n I was fair eloquent-\n \n Mordred \n And he-mark me it was some ponderable \n Stuff he spake-\n \n Kay \n He turned and said, \"Here in this life the soul\n Is solitary and yearns ever toward\n The Solitary, the Great One beyond.\"\n Meaning somewhat I dare say, for he bent\n Upon me his wide-dreaming eye\n Till I was wildered with their steady burning.\n \n Mordred \n Come, 'tis no time now for remembrances.\n Soon come the knights to hear our plot. They will\n Lend hands, for ever trouble-brew draws men.\n From diverse causes-\n \n Gawain \n Aye, some like me for stubborn certainty \n Desire to prove at all costs what they know.\n \n Agravaine \n Be not too sure.\n \n Gawain \n For some men rather would be sure and die\n Than live in midst of doubtings. Ah how,\n How if this cause splits brothers thus, will all\n The court be rent!\n \n Mordred \n Some for gain-\n \n Gawain \n Aye, you will reward them, brother.\n \n Mordred \n I did not say so.\n \n Agravaine \n Leave wrangling, they are at hand.\n \n (Enter knights, Sir Bors, Sir Uriens, Sir Tor, and others. All wear blank shields.) \n \n Mordred \n Good morrow, fair knights! The time doth press, come,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0come,\n Ring me round here, and let me speak our plan.\n Who here knows not the shame that flares at court,\n Open as day? Think not the king deceived;\n He hath a deeming, but he is full loth to speak,\n Seeing how ofttimes Sir Launcelot hath served\n The king and the queen and saved their worship.\n And if we take not Launcelot with the queen\n And make accusal, you know the accuser must\n Prove't on Sir Launcelot himself; the which \n No living wight hath yet done. But if \n We take him-\n \n Meliagraunce \n But, my lord, how may this be done?\n \n Mordred \n Peace, and I will tell you. This day\n Is the queen's maying and even now she rides\n To woods and fields. With her come ten of the Queen's\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Knights,\n Who ride thus ever near to her, and joust \n For her, and wear no manner of arms but hers.\n They shall be dressed in green and white, and go\n Gathering herbs and flowers to deck themselves\n For maying. There'll be songs-\n \n Meliagraunce \n Well?\n \n Mordred \n Well, I saw them start, and they shall come \n This way, and we will take them.\n \n (Confusion.) \n \n Nay, nay, stir not, nor mutter discontent,\n But hear me. We will take the queen and hers\n To my castle hard by, she will send in secret \n Unto Sir Launcelot and he will come.\n \n Meliagraunce \n Aye, he will come, mark you he will come!\n \n Mordred \n Aye, he will come. We'll seem to yield, then take\n Him later with the queen. The king himself shall\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0see it.\n \n Agravaine \n Sir Launcelot will come to rescue her,\n The king shall be brought, and we shall catch our birds \n Together.\n \n Kay \n Here's Cador and Breuse linked arm in arm, and drunk\n As always. 'Tis strange they lack preferment\n At court. Now sure 'twill not be long for them,\n Such worthlessness could never fail to be\n Rewarded by the state. Sir Breuse hath bound\n A tavern garland on his brow, and look,\n Cador hath him a bread-cake for a shield.\n \n (Enter Cador and Breuse.) \n \n Cador \n Steady, steady!\n \n Breuse \n Steady! We go to make a kingdom now.\n \n Cador \n Aye, we be statesmen, and 'twere well to walk\n Straight.\n \n Breuse \n 'Tis a hard matter.\n \n Cador \n Keep hold on me, and 'twill be well.\n \n Kay \n Aye, that's politic. Ho! young sops,\n What is't in the air?\n \n Breuse \n 'Tis a new king I scent, methinks.\n \n Mordred \n We have no time for them, come, come! Doubt not\n But we shall catch our birds together.\n \n Gawain \n Catch them together-how? Think you the queen\n Will bide an hour longer than need be \n In thy black walls?\n \n Mordred \n That I do. Sir Launcelot hath pained\n Himself too much already on her part,\n She will keep low to 'scape the scandal. That,\n Or we can hobble up her knights that they\n Will not depart so speedily. The queen \n Will not desert them methinks.\n \n Gawain \n Scandal!\n \n Mordred Aye, scandal, 'tis the eye of the matter.\n \n Cador \n Scandal, what is scandal?\n \n Kay \n 'Tis piety with a bit of news to tell.\n A fair garland thou hast, my lord.\n \n Breuse \n To keep my memory green, belike.\n \n Kay \n The fruit of the vine is within, is't not? A gallant \n Shield hast thou, Cador. 'Twill keep off death.\n \n Cador \n Truly it may be.\n \n Breuse \n Nay, nay, eat not thy defence, brave lord. Stand up!\n \n Kay \n 'Twere more avail to swallow thy spear, methinks.\n 'Twould help thee stand.\n \n Breuse \n Art thou the king, Sir Mordred, yet-yet?\n \n Mordred \n Silence, thou muddled fool. Not yet, nor ever!\n \n Breuse \n I went to say I could not worship thee.\n I serve the fallen angel that the priest\n Told me of, naming him not.\n \n Mordred \n Angel?\n \n Breuse \n Wine, 'tis a fallen angel.\n \n Knight \n Keen-carved, Sir Garland.\n \n Kay \n Sure one would listen at thine ear as at\n A sea-shell for the empty roaring.\n \n Mordred \n 'Tis no time for such chaffering. Get them aside,\n Good Sir Kay, stop but their noise and I \n Were much beholden to you.\n \n Kay \n 'Twould merit somewhat. Come, ye princely wits,\n Let me but tell my latest dream-'twas that\n A shower of wine will fall this Friday next-\n \n Cador \n Wine! Haste thee, Breuse, find one that hath a moat\n To sell. Good Sir Kay, tell more!\n \n Kay \n Come then and I will satisfy you. (They go to the left of the stage.) \n \n Gawain \n My lords, let me speak.\n \n Agravaine \n Nay, hear him not, my lords, for he had rather\n Corruption bred and rotted at the court\n Than he should stir his sluggish feet in struggle.\n \n Knight \n Craven! Fie!\n \n Second Knight \n We'll hear Sir Gawain.\n \n Cries \n Sir Gawain! Sir Gawain! Fie! Craven! Sir Gawain!\n \n Gawain \n Hear me briefly. My lords, it is a grievous \n Thing to wreck a good man's fortune. God\n Will break the evil. Therefore have we no need\n To avenge the king. That Launcelot is false ye \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0know\n Not yet, but know if he be found so what\n Will fall on us. Shipwreck and storm and split-\n Arthur is king, but Launcelot hath lands,\n Hath bournes and territories of huge extent\n Here in this island, and doth own a realm\n In Fraunce, castles and followers. Let but \n Discord raise her head between them two,\n And this demesne of Britain will be rent\n In twain, racked and overwhelmed; the fellowship\n Of the King's Round Table broke, the noblest face\n And form of chivalry be felled and gutted\n In a civil strife. And if in truth-\n \n Agravaine \n Hurry, man, art thou old Nestor come\n Back from Hell, and windier than ever?\n \n Mordred \n True, brother. Come closer, Sir Knights, and ye\n Shall see the better justice of our plans. (They withdraw to left.) \n \n Kay (on the right) \n Calm thee, calm thee! Spare thy words. The world \n Hath deafened itself already with much speech.\n \n Breuse (mounts a rock) \n I'll be a king, have I not a crown?\n \n Kay \n But little in it.\n \n Cador \n Brains were not missed in a king, good sir. He is\n My friend.\n \n Breuse \n I will be an historical king, and marry \n Me three wives.\n \n Cador \n Nay, sweet friend, when thou art king, wed not.\n King married is not king, but the queen's husband.\n \n Breuse \n Weep not, thou mayst serve me.\n \n Kay \n Aye, listen yonder.\n \n Gawain \n If Launcelot doth then love the queen, hath he\n Not championed her more than the saintly Arthur?\n If still ye head on this I say I am \n Not with you, and depart.\n \n Bors \n Nor will I hear your tales, nor share your counsels.\n \n Blamor \n Nor I be traitor 'gainst the noblest knight\n In all the world.\n \n Mordred \n Wilt thou take hence that two?\n \n Gawain \n Glad were I. When they be sober they\n Will give me thanks.\n \n Kay \n Go, Cador, and thou Breuse, this man hath found\n A fishpond lately dried. 'Twill hold thy wine.\n \n Cador \n Come, come, good Sir. What is't to Friday? (Exeunt Gawain, Breuse, Cador, Bors, \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0and Blamor.) \n \n Agravaine \n They are like some fishes, my lord, and dread the light.\n \n Kay \n Let Launcelot and the queen be caught.\n \n Knight \n Ho! Sir Kay, 'tis the cream, the cake of solid\n Sense.\n \n Mordred \n Silence, I pray you.\n \n Kay \n Have I not told the king to tread on Earth?\n Answer me that.\n \n Agravaine \n Yea, yea, greybeard.\n \n Kay \n Once Sir Launcelot changed mail with me\n And saved me at a venture. Odds, at my\n Best feasts they cannot eat for love. I had served\n Him for his courtesy-leave out the queen-\n And I had fed him fat as the Duke of Dutchmen.\n \n Agravaine \n Rattle your keys, Sir Kay, instead of your tongue,\n Your jams are sweeter than your words.\n \n Kay \n Sweeter for thy tongue haply; for it\n Hath tasted of more jam than of wise words.\n \n Tor \n The shame burns deep, the purging of the court\n Will uplift all the realm and bring to bloom \n Again the chaste flower of the earlier days.\n \n Persaunt \n Nay, I dare swear my lady's purity. Be the truth\n As it may, shame unto a man that speaks\n Shamefully of a lady and a queen.\n \n Agravaine \n You wear fresh flowers, youth, but they will fade.\n \n Cries \n I am against this thing. Let it be tried, Cowards!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And I!\n \n (Confusion, and the taking of sides.) \n \n Mordred \n Thus is the whole court rent to many minds,\n The venture is dangerous.\n \n Agravaine \n Nay, speak to them with that tongue of thine and they\n Will follow--\n \n Mordred \n Fair lords, young knights full of the noble fire\n Of youth, put up your swords, hear me!\n \n (Confusion.) \n \n Knights \n Sir Mordred! Fie! Cowards! Sir Mordred!\n \n Mordred \n My lords, none of us would the queen took hurt\n From this we go to do. Think ye not so.\n The thing is this, doubt like a hidden mould\n Eats up the peace of the court--sure the thing\n Touches us all equally. Certain\n Evil would I rather choose than blank\n Uncertainty.\n \n Knight \n And after she is ta'en, my lord, what then?\n \n Mordred \n Then I will feign hot love for her, and threaten\n Masteries. Sir Launcelot will come\n And we shall see what door the wind blows in.\n \n (There is the sound of talk and laughter.) \n \n Agravaine \n They come.\n \n Mordred \n 'Tis too late but to prove the thing as planned.\n \n Persaunt \n Would I had kept out of this.\n \n Kay \n Too late for temperance after the lips are wet.\n \n (Exeunt all, hiding themselves behind rocks and trees to the left. Enter the queen with twelve knights and three ladies, all in green and white, wearing wreaths and bearing garlands of flowers.) \n \n Guenevere \n But leave, good sirs, this hunting talk\n Of falcons, jesses, leash and lure, there's love,\n We have not spoke of that, and it is May.\n Sing my lord, one of the songs you learned\n In your knave service at the court.\n \n Gareth \n 'Tis but a kitchen song, my lady, sung\n By humble wenches at ring-time.\n \n Guenevere \n Sir Knight, if thou wert armed, I'd send thee back\n To bring me water in thy helmet all\n This way, as penance for thy dulness.\n Cannot the humblest woman sing her love,\n My lord? Love maketh any woman as \n A queen, I pray you sing.\n \n Gareth (sings) \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The white-thorn blossoms blow,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And sweet buttercups in the grass,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Go woo, my lad, go wooing!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In winter frosts the blood is slow,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But lusty May makes every lass\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Come smiling to your wooing.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Weave marigolds within your hair,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Go woo, my lad, go wooing,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For spring makes all the lasses fair\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And ready for your wooing!\n \n Guenevere \n 'Tis a fair chaunt. Sweet season hath ever sweet song.\n Lo! there a little woodland pool, rimmed round \n With crocuses, and tangled water-flags,\n Here shepherd's purse and vetch and meadow-sweet--\n See how the blue sky lieth in it--come--\n And now a cloud sails by. This is the time\n When maids may learn what manner of fortune waiteth \n Them, and who their knights haply may be.\n Therefore Lyone and Enid and Ygraine,\n Bide with me here. And ye, Sir Knights, shall leave\n Us and go on a little space ahead,\n And one by one each maid shall search the pond\n For her fate's image.\n \n Lyone \n Thou too wilt read thy glass, wilt thou not, my lady?\n \n Guenevere \n Nay, nay, I am an aged dame, and all\n My ships are in already. Seest thou not \n The furrows in my picture there?\n \n Lyone \n 'Tis but the ripple from the rushes breaks\n Thy feature, else 'twere fair as the flowers mirrored\n Near the marge.\n \n Guenevere \n Ah, flatter me not, child, 'tis youth alone\n Hath still its bright sails growing on the horizon's \n Verge, flocking like gulls, the crafts of hope.\n Now do ye listen to this play of fortunes.\n Sir Knights, ye shall go on, nor dare look back,\n And when that ye are gone, one of these maids--\n But ye must know not which--shall watch her here\n In the water for her true love's face to look\n Over her shoulder. Meanwhile ye shall\n Draw lots to find which knight returns. 'Tis he,\n By the faith of this blue pond, shall be her lord.\n \n Gareth \n Go now, my lady?\n \n Guenevere \n Yea, but go not too far. And he that wins,\n If he be wise, will hasten back\n To meet the fair eyes laughing in the pool.\n \n (Exuent knights to left.) \n \n I will take me three petals thus and tear\n In one a rent--thou seest--and ye shall choose\n One each, and she that holdeth the torn leaf--\n Wit ye 'tis the pierced heart-- 'tis she shall watch \n First in the pool. Choose quickly. (They choose.) \n Ah, Lyone le Blanche, my lily maid,\n 'Tis thou; then kneel thee here, one comes.\n Child, thy fair hair mingles its pale gold with the \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0crocus\n Flowers, and is as fair as they. Hist!\n \n (Enter Sir Colgrevaunce. He comes and looks in the pool.) \n \n Lyone \n Sir Colgrevaunce!\n \n Colgrevaunce \n Lyone!\n \n Guenevere \n Fie fie, Lyone, thy cheeks are flame, and thine,\n Sir Knight!\n \n Colgrevaunce \n 'Tis but the stooping.\n \n Guenevere \n Ah nay, now I do swear these eyes have met\n For love ere this. 'Tis a pretty jest to bribe\n Beforehand Mother Fortune thus. Ye shall plight\n Your troth with rush-rings from this friendly bank.\n Go now, my lord, send others to assay.\n \n Colgrevaunce \n God send another good grace as mine.\n \n Guenevere \n Now, Enid and Ygraine, choose ye from these\n Two petals, as but now ye chose. Who has't?\n 'Tis thou, Ygraine? Then kneel. (Ygraine kneels.) \n \n Ygraine \n Ah, Jesu, keep me, my lady, some reptile stirs\n The slime beneath and muddies the whole pool.\n 'Tis an ill omen, I will not read my lot\n To-day. (Rises.) \n \n Enid \n Nor I. See, all is foul, 'tis an ill omen.\n \n Guenevere \n Think you? I will not say these signs are true\n Or false, seeing we know not what be hid\n From the eye of man. Yet I like it not.\n \n Ygraine \n Still it muddies, I will not look!\n \n Guenevere \n Then let us leave it and go on. (They start out to the left.) \n \n Enid \n What noise was that, the sound of bosses clanking\n On armed heel?\n \n (Enter Mordred and the knights. The latter have their visors down.) \n \n Mordred \n Good morrow, madam.\n \n Guenevere \n My lord, you know this is the first of May,\n When men's souls like the white clouds float in\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0dreams.\n What means this froward battlement of steel\n At such a time? Out of my way, I like it not.\n \n (The Queen's Knights have come up on the left; commotion off the stage in that direction.) \n \n Guenevere \n Hold yet, my knights, 'tis useless, ye have no shields.\n If my lord Arthur or Sir Launcelot\n They, if they were here, would teach thee how\n To budge, thou caitiff Mordred.\n \n Mordred \n Aye, but our lord Arthur is not here,\n Nor thy Sir Launcelot. If either were,\n Who knows what he would do? So I will speak.\n \n Guenevere \n Speak then and go.\n \n Mordred \n Hear then and stay. 'Tis long that I have loved thee,\n And passing well, and have long eyed my time.\n This day I have thee, and thou leavst me not\n Till thou dost love with me, or I and all\n These my men-at-arms be dead. Come \n To my castle near, come willingly, for come\n Thou shalt, whether thou wilt or no.\n \n Guenevere \n Hast spoken?\n \n Mordred \n Aye, madame, for the nonce.\n \n Guenevere \n Then this is my answer. Your love and you I spurn\n Out of my path like offal. Know, Sir Mordred,\n I had liefer cut my throat in twain\n Than love with you. Who these be, for there\n Are knights among your menials here, what men\n Of my lord's these be, that lend their hands to you\n And do preserve this vile incognito,\n I know not, but what they be I know,\n Vile dust to which your spittle give a mould\n And shape, without it, formless atoms.\n \n Mordred \n Slow, madam, slow, your hot words cannot sink\n In my cold ears.\n \n (Off the stage to the left, the Queen's Knights break nearer through the ranks \n of Mordred's men.) \n \n Colgrevaunce \n Ho, we come, my lady!\n \n Mordred \n Back, puppets.\n \n Gareth \n Way there, cowards!\n \n Guenevere \n Nay, nay, ye are not armed!\n \n Peleas \n Whether we die or not we care not, so \n We keep thee safe.\n \n Colgrevaunce \n We care not! On, on!\n \n (Confusion increases off the stage to the left.) \n \n Guenevere (aside to Dagonet) \n Go boy, go Dagonet, go, take this ring,\n Watch thy chance and go. Give to Sir Launcelot\n This ring, and pray if he would ever see\n My face again, to come and succour me\n From shame. Go, spare not thyself!\n \n Lyone \n O Jesu in heaven, help thy knights!\n \n Guenevere \n Stay, stay your blows!\n \n Mordred \n Stay your blows.\n \n Persaunt \n Stay your blows, fools!\n \n Guenevere \n The most valiant are as chaff before armed baseness.\n And this I know, good men have naught to fear\n Save only cowards. Therefore, Sir Mordred, slay not\n My knights. I will go with you if you hurt\n Them not, and bring them to my prison, \n For I will slay myself if they be not\n In presence while I am with you.\n \n Mordred \n For your sake, madam, it shall be done. But where\n Is Dagonet, the page? Nay, madam, you\n Have played me false. Give the boy chase, you two,\n (Aside) But do not stop him. Let there be litters\n Made, and bring these wounded after us.\n \n (The queen and her ladies go out with Sir Mordred and his party. The wounded knights are borne on litters made from the shields and spears. Sir Agravaine remains. Enter Sir Kay.) \n \n Kay \n Come you not with us, my lord? We wait.\n \n Agravaine \n No, I will bide if haply the page returns here.\n \n Kay \n How will it end? Think you Sir Launcelot\n Will come?\n \n Agravaine \n Think you 'twill ever rain again?\n \n Kay \n There'll be wild deeds to follow this day's work,\n Sure man's devilry doth pass the devil;\n And thy brother hath outdevilled Hell. I'll no\n More o't, but get me home.\n \n Agravaine \n Go plan a feast, 'tis suited to thy wits\n Some better than these plotted policies.\n \n Kay \n Belike 'twere better for thee too. The realm\n Were safer then. And sure thy brains and belly\n Are all one. (Exit Kay.) \n \n Agravaine \n Sour but sharp likewise. 'Tis no noodle head.\n \n (Enter Dagonet running.) \n \n Dagonet \n Gone, oh, my lady!\n \n Agravaine \n Stop your whimpers, cub, have you found him?\n Speak, fool!\n \n Dagonet \n Yea, my lord, at the edge of the wood, he had\n Already got word of mischief to the queen.\n And hither gat him armed.\n \n Agravaine \n He comes?\n \n Dagonet \n Close behind, my lord, there! there's his breastplate\n Flashed through the trees--there! my lord.\n \n Agravaine \n Ha, ha, the broth thickens, come, come, shag-head.\n \n Dagonet \n There, my lord!\n \n (To the right is heard the sound of a galloping horse.) \n \n ACT II \n \n A day later. One of the chambers in Sir Mordred's castle. The wounded knights lie in the adjoining room to the left. On the right is a window with bars. A flight of steps outside leads up to the door at the back. The room has a canopied bed, tapestries, and armorial ornaments. Below is the sound of hammering. Dagonet sits by the window. Sir Colgrevaunce stands by the window. \n \n Colgrevaunce \n Dagonet, what means that knocking?\n \n Dagonet \n They mend what wreck Sir Launcelot wrought.\n \n Colgrevaunce \n On yesterday?\n \n Dagonet \n Yesterday, my lord, when he came here\n To succour my lady. In he rode and smote\n Thrice with his spear, and the hinges groaned.\n And he smote down the door, and stoutly thrang\n Amid the press, hewing about from right\n To left, until Sir Mordred came and yielded \n Him in terror, and granted the queen's release.\n \n Colgrevaunce \n You saw it, boy?\n \n Dagonet \n Yea, did I. some day my Jesu grant\n That I may be a man, even such a knight\n As our Sir Launcelot, and serve some lady\n Like the queen.\n \n Colgrevaunce \n The lad dreams. Right, thou art in the orient\n Of life, and at that hour the daylight's hue\n Is golden.\n \n Dagonet \n I do not know all thou sayst, my lord.\n \n Colgrevaunce \n But why lingers the queen here? To still\n The shame maybe. Let her then tell,\n She cometh now?\n \n Dagonet \n Not yet, my lord.\n \n Colgrevaunce \n Haply she will tell us when she comes.\n Hither, boy, and tell us more of this\n Late prowess of Sir Launcelot's. Shut to\n The door, the wind from yonder casement blows\n Too much over the floor here.\n \n (Exeunt Dagonet and Sir Colgrevaunce. Enter Sir Mordred. He makes a circuit of the room, and examines the bars of the window.) \n \n Mordred \n I'll seem to hesitate. 'Twill make him like\n A goaded horse by mad leaps lead himself\n To mishap--there's jealous prying for you.\n Yea, my lord, the chamber is vacant, come.\n Too fast intent to hear. 'Tis sport to watch\n This greatness with its single view and aim,\n And keen half-sight, steer for its end, all blind\n To the rest. My lord, 'tis vacant here. Come!\n \n (Enter King Arthur.) \n \n The queen is in the courtyard with the hounds\n And falcons, the bird's flight seems to charm her.\n \n Arthur \n 'Tis fair without, and yet methinks the air\n Hath lost the nipping flame that spurs the blood.\n 'Tis stale and heavy. I like not the red\n Streak in the west, nor the dun mound over it.\n Knows naught, poor wretch, of what draws over\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0her.\n 'Tis a poor, weary, foolish world where we\n Blow in like wind, ruled by dark outer forces,\n That floods the hollows and low places here\n On our globe, and lo! is gone again.\n \n Mordred \n Nay, nay, my lord, naught ever came of dreaming.\n \n Arthur \n Sir Mordred I repent that ever I\n Did lend mine ear to this. A grievous hurt\n To me and mine will fall of it if she\n Be false. If she is not, then all this shame\n Were undeserved of her.\n \n Mordred \n Then give it up, my lord.\n \n Arthur \n Nay, we have gone too far now to draw back,\n Yet I do repent me. You were \n Too forward in it.\n \n Mordred \n It was not I, my lord, but those behind\n That pushed me on as kinsman to yourself,\n Saying the court reeked with the stench of the queen's\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0falseness.\n \n Arthur \n There's foulness in thy words, I like it not.\n \n Mordred \n 'Twere best forgotten all. Why should we credit\n Vile slander. Thou knowest--\n \n Arthur \n I had some warning of this same thing once\n From Merlin, the wizard, long before I took\n The daughter of Leodograunce to wife.\n But when I saw her I did heed him not.\n Still, whether she be false or true, I will\n Not swear. To me she hath been ever fair\n And gentle, and to my knights and to all ladies,\n A queen among women and a woman among\n Queens. And that Sir Launcelot loves her\n I dare say. He hath succoured her from danger,\n As when--\n \n Mordred \n But she, my lord, loves she him?\n \n Arthur \n Whether she loveth him I will not say--\n \n Mordred \n Thou wilt not say. Men say that thou striv'st not\n For certainty, loving the peace of thy court\n More than thy wife and honour.\n \n Arthur \n Thou holdest well the evil said of me.\n Whether she loveth him or not I will\n Not say. God hath given him fair seemliness\n Of form, and hardiness to work so largely\n That he hath had always the better in combat.\n And she hath a heart passionate and wild,\n But yet her soul beats high--\n \n Mordred \n Nathless ere this have men said that they took\n Long draughts of love together.\n \n Arthur \n Her lofty soul yearns toward the heights, she fain\n Would keep the purity of the court, \n And love Sir Launcelot as soul loves soul,\n But then her eye takes fire at sight of him,\n Her veins surge hot with the glory, colour, pomp,\n And beauty of this world,--the mortal strife\n 'Twixt flesh and spirit, which hath won I know not.\n \n Mordred \n My lord, I speak, methinks, as should become\n Your nephew, and I am but an unwilling\n Mouthpiece of mine ears.\n \n Arthur \n It is an old lie.\n \n Mordred \n Yea, my lord, an old lie, and I\n Do doubt it altogether.\n \n Arthur \n It is a lie.\n \n Mordred \n Yet there be whispers in the court.\n \n Arthur \n And 'twould be well to prove it false.\n What whispers?\n \n Mordred \n About Sir Launcelot and the queen, my lord.\n Men say that when Sir Launcelot departs,\n She in her secret bosom writhes and welters\n Like a madwoman, though she give no sign\n Outwardly to men.\n \n Arthur \n She is the queen.\n \n Mordred \n Aye, my lord, and bears it with a proud\n Countenance, as though she felt no fears\n Of her love, nor scented her own peril.\n \n Arthur \n She is the queen.\n \n Mordred \n Only last night, but 'tis a lie--\n \n Arthur \n What is a lie?\n \n Mordred \n My lord, it is a lie I blush to tell.\n Some caitiff swore Sir Launcelot to have come\n Here to the queen, even last night.\n \n Arthur \n Came here? God's life!\n \n Mordred \n Be calm, my lord, my men slept 'fore the door,\n He could not enter there, nor by yon threshold\n Where the knights sleep. There is no place\n Save the window here and that is barred.\n And--\n \n Arthur \n Why did you start, when your hand touched the bar?\n \n Mordred \n Did I start, my lord?\n \n Arthur \n Aye, and broke off your speech. Why do you hold \n The bar as if you fear to fall?\n \n Mordred \n Hold the bar, my lord?\n \n Arthur \n You trifle with me, dog, playing parrot thus!\n \n Mordred \n Put up your sword, wild man. I would save you\n Even at this last moment. Some hand\n Hath torn the bar out of its place, and all\n Its fellows likewise have been set loosely\n In notch again.\n \n Arthur \n My brain scorches. Let me but wait with thee,\n Good Mordred, till the end.\n \n Mordred \n Come, we cannot wait here.\n \n (Mordred takes down the torch. Exeunt. The chamber is dark.)\n (The door from the knights' chamber opens, and the light streams into the room. Guenevere stands at the door. Lyone, Enid, and Ygraine are with her. Dagonet carries a lighted lamp and a torch. The ladies have their lamps still unlit. Sir Colgrevaunce follows them in, and stands near the door.) \n \n Colgrevaunce \n My lady, I do speak for them that here\n Lie weary past all standing with their wounds.\n We ask why stayest thou here within these walls?\n They slime with falseness.\n \n Guenevere \n Well may you know that tis not any love\n For this foul place that keeps me here, 'tis dread\n Lest word of this should come to the king and new\n Strife rise, now through me. This poor realm is\n Already like to flame a holocaust\n From courtly feuds and smouldering ashes, dull\n And waiting to be stirred, kindred hates\n And new-old grudges. Pray God none come\n By me. Therefore when you are come with me\n To Camelot and the court, speak not of this\n Black, treacherous deed, but 'scape the noise and scandal.\n Three days let us bide here as if we came\n By chance into this castle of Sir Mordred's,\n Where entertainment proffered pleased us so\n That we must needs remain to bask in it.\n Meantime the hours will pass--\n \n Knight (in chamber to the left) \n Nay, we shall be shamed, they are traitors all.\n \n Colgrevaunce \n Nay, the queen hath judged aright, 'tis well.\n Let Mordred sour now, uneasy, crafty, \n Brewing discontent, better this cloak\n To hide his guilt than some new war in Britain.\n \n Guenevere \n Here too my knights lie wounded in my cause,\n Think you I will forsake them thus? Not so,\n But I will take them with me hence to-morrow\n If they be strong enough. If not I bide.\n \n Knight (in chamber) \n 'Tis half the world's mishap lies in that word\n To-morrow!\n \n Guenevere \n Ye lack nothing, fair knights? Then sweet sleep\n Visit your eyelids all the night long. God\n Gave sleep for brave men.\n \n Knights (in room) \n Jesu keep thee, my lady.\n \n Colgrevaunce \n They are already half asleep, my lady,\n And my brain muddles strangely since I supped.\n Here within is the tankard we drank from--\n It was a sleepy draught. Think you 'twas drugged?\n \n Guenevere \n I know not. Wherefore?\n \n Colgrevaunce \n Mine eyes are lead--aye me, my heart is heavier\n With some foreboding. 'Tis foolish surely,\n But I do feel that if I sleep I shall\n Not waken.\n \n Guenevere \n 'Tis but the wound in thy arm. Set down the cup.\n Good night.\n \n Colgrevaunce \n Good night. God keep thee, my lady, good night.\n \n (Exit.) \n \n Guenevere \n 'Tis a strange drowsiness, would God I had it. \n \n Lyone \n I have it not either.\n \n Guenevere \n Ygraine and Enid, ye have wearied much\n This day, and thirst for the sweet mead of dreams\n In the cup of sleep. Lyone le Blanche, my fair\n Lyone, thy head hath need of resting-place,\n Though thou know'st it not. For love in the heart\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0beguileth\n Like the sea-air.\n \n Lyone \n Nay, madam--\n \n Guenevere \n Ah, tell me not, have I not loved? Now do\n Thou kiss me here on my brow, for I have strange\n Shadows on my soul to-night, and I\n Have need of woman's love. Wherefore I know not,\n But my heart is sad.\n \n (The three ladies light their lamps at hers, and kiss her forehead as they go out.) \n \n Enid \n Good night, and a long sweet sleep to thee.\n \n Ygraine \n Good night, and the honey of dreams to thee, my lady.\n \n Lyone \n Nay, I protest, though I do love\n I fain would stay with thee, my lady. I have\n No need of sleep.\n \n Guenevere \n Ah, nay, go to thy pillow, child. There, there,\n I kiss dear rest upon thy brow. Do I \n Not know, have I not loved? (Exit Lyone.) \n God, have I not loved!\n \n Dagonet \n What hast thou done, my lady?\n \n Guenevere \n 'Tis nothing. Smother those sconces, Dagonet.\n \n (He puts out torches by the window.) \n \n Dagonet \n How beautiful thou art, my lady, thou\n Art like the meadows.\n \n Guenevere \n Like the meadows--how, child?\n \n Dagonet \n Why, now 'tis summer in the meadows, so\n For thee it is the summer of thy beauty.\n Beauty hath her seasons like the air,\n Hath she not, my lady?\n \n Guenevere \n Haply.\n \n Dagonet \n Her spring and summer and autumn--\n \n Guenevere \n And winter. True, very true! Boy, canst thou sing?\n \n Dagonet \n 'Twill be sung badly, for I am not gay\n To-night. Art thou too sad, my lady, yea,\n Thou'st said it. Last night I could not sleep,\n And while I tossed in wakefulness I heard\n Knights clatter in their sleep; one leapt out\n Of bed, one dreamed he grasped a naked sword.\n It bodes no good, my lady. And this eve\n At dusk I saw big knights in the outer courtyard\n Polishing their mail, and all the squires\n Busily set. What doth it mean, my lady?\n It bodes no good.\n \n Guenevere \n Ask me not, boy. Take down thy harp\n And sing. Not loudly, 'tis late. Rouse not\n The happy, happy souls that can lie down \n And sleep. (Aside.) If I were with him always, were\n It well? Nay, passion feedeth on itself,\n 'Tis mastery of self that bringeth water\n For the old stain.\n \n Dagonet (by the window, sings) \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Look out, my lady fair, and see\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The lustre of the night,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The moon beneath her canopy\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sails beauteous and bright,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The hawthorn bough swings to and fro,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The nightingale sings low, sings low,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Look out, my lady fair!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Look out, my lady fair,--\n Some cloud eats up the moon, I cannot sing.\n See how the shadows grow, and now the wind\n Gins rise. Dost hearken?\n \n Guenevere \n Thou'rt fanciful. Stir some low murmuring sound\n Among thy strings, to bear thy song to me\n Like distant burthen on an evening wind.\n 'Tis well--now come the gentle syllables\n Slipping like pearls upon the lovely thread.\n \n Dagonet (sings) \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Lean out, my lady fair, and hear\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The twitter of my lute that wings\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My heart to thee--\n Madam, I hear noises 'neath the window,\n Rattle of pebbles and scratching 'gainst the walls.\n \n Guenevere \n It was some bed-sore knight in yonder room\n Turning to rest him. Thou art sleepy, go,\n Nay, go, good night.\n \n Dagonet \n God keep thee well, and make thee a good night,\n My lady.\n \n (Exit Dagonet. Guenevere draws the bolt after him, and fastens other door.) \n \n (Enter Sir Launcelot at the window.) \n \n Launcelot \n On yesternight to show my love for thee\n I tore out of their sockets these iron bones,\n Strove with might to show my love.\n \n Guenevere \n Ah, my beloved, I have set thee as \n A seal upon my heart, as a signet ring\n Upon mine heart have I set thee.\n But yet, Sir Launcelot, my blood is heavy \n With misgiving.\n \n Launcelot \n And mine. I know not wherefore I am racked\n With dread. But now I did see black shapes hurtle\n Think upon the gust; the wind doth reek\n With pests and fevers, rank and rotten fogs\n Come from the sloughs. This stinking of the air\n Liketh me not. The stars are stubborn, all\n This darkness here is much too thick.\n \n Guenevere \n 'Tis so. But now the moon shined clear, now she\n Is gone. The morbid air doth suck up humours\n From the glens, a death-sweet perfume that\n But half doth please me. The heaven is silent,\n And round the world the mantle of the dusk\n Cloaks heavily. What noise was that?\n \n Launcelot \n It was the clock at the postern gate that smote.\n \n Guenevere \n What hour, didst thou take count?\n \n Launcelot \n Eleven, my lady.\n \n Guenevere \n Think you it a lucky hour?\n \n Launcelot \n Nay, I know not, but I--\n \n Guenevere \n My lord Sir Launcelot, it was a hapless \n Hour that ever we twain met together.\n I 'member me the day thou first didst come\n To Camelot and the jousts. Ah, we were young--\n \n Launcelot \n And I did lack my sword and would have been shamed\n Hadst thou not brought it to me wrapped in thy robe.\n \n Guenevere \n And I did see thee fight so strong and seemly.\n \n Launcelot \n And I saw thee, Queen Guenevere, saw thee,\n Fairest among all women and all queens.\n And then as the rising moon looms like a white\n Fire from the world's edge, flaming into heaven,\n So burned up love through all my veins.\n \n Guenevere \n And as the streams of Araby do nurse\n The myrtle flower, and the wind and the rain lead up\n Till it bursts with prisoned sweetness, so hath love\n Opened my heart. And yet to-night have I \n Fears lest no good will come of it.\n How often have we made our promises,\n Made prayers to the cross that never more we fall\n In deadly sin--Alas, Sir Launcelot,\n An 'twere not for this earthly taint, thou hadst\n Succeeded in the quest.\n \n (The sound of wind and distant thunder without.) \n \n Launcelot \n Yea, madam, I had seen the Sangreal\n But for this stain to blot it from mine eyes.\n Once I saw a great clearness in a chamber,\n And in the midst a silver table held,\n Covered with red samite from my sight,\n The cup that bore the blessed blood of God,\n With many angels singing nigh. And then\n The holy vessel of the Sangreal passed,\n And the fire smote me in the visage that \n I might not see, but only stand, my poor\n Eyes hungering, my nostrils filled with the sweet\n Savour round. For never did I battle \n For God's sake, but only to win worship\n Or be better loved of thee.\n \n Guenevere \n Many a night--\n \n (Thunder. Guenevere goes to the window.) \n \n The aspect of the heavens groweth perilous.\n \n Launcelot \n How sweet is hearth and fellowship on such\n A night. Together--\n \n Guenevere \n Aye, frightened children cowering with dread.\n Hark to the bellowing elements! Methinks\n 'Tis all the wrath of the world met here to-night.\n Look how the wind heaves darkness past the window!\n \n Launcelot \n Come from the lightning's reach. 'Tis well. What was't?\n Many a night, thou saidst?\n \n Guenevere \n Many a night, Sir Launcelot, have I \n Lain in the castle of silence, when, slowly\n Dropping dew-like round the caves of sleep,\n Came dreams and separate lives. And then I saw\n That other life our younger visions painted.\n Ah, one soul liveth many lives, my lord,\n During our days' short span. Without this taint\n The purity of the court were still unbroke,\n And still unmarred were chivalry and worship.\n But from our love I fear me there will come\n Downfall and woe to many.\n \n Launcelot \n Grieve not thus o'ermuch. Dost not know well\n God pardoneth all things sooner than despair?\n \n Guenevere \n Methought there must be holiness somehow\n When soul drinketh up soul for love. Somehow--\n But since it may not be, we needs must grieve\n And make but mournful cheer.\n \n Launcelot \n Not so, for all the quest and hoped-for heaven!\n Surely God wearies of repentant wretches,\n And the prostrate flesh of wailing men cumbers\n The path of the world too much already.\n Let me stand up till I be dead, I cry,\n And if I sin I have eternity\n To bide the punishment. I loved thee, thou\n Art near me--\n \n Guenevere \n Beware! Thou dost o'erleap thyself, as ever\n At the moment's heat. Yet I do love thee sure\n No whit less that thou canst forget nice counsel\n In fond madness. Reason speaks to reason\n But unto heart only the heart can speak.\n \n Launcelot \n Heart calleth heart.\n \n Guenevere \n But who knows not man's heart is but Fate's tool.\n And somewhere in the depths of space our separate\n Fates call to each other through the void,\n And draw them near.\n \n Launcelot \n Let us not reck of Fate!\n \n Guenevere \n And life sweeps by us like a wind of flame,\n While we do wait unseeing in the caverns\n Of Fate, like blind things in the sea-caves.\n \n Launcelot \n Alas, why looms the shade of Fate thus on thee?\n \n Guenevere \n I heard strange stories long ago amid\n The leaping shadows of my father's hearth\n And sea-howls echoed from the haunted crags,\n And oft the dreaded of my Danish forebears,\n Wyrd, great goddess of Fate, hath loomed on me,\n Hath beckoned out of her marble mist, O Christ,\n And I draw on but cannot read her face.\n And 'yond her sitteth Darkness in the road.\n O God, if Fate be in thy hand, let her\n Not come upon me yet!\n \n Launcelot \n Nay, nay, thou art o'erwrought--who knows but I \n May drive Fate back from thee with might of love?\n Man's will is half his destiny.\n \n Guenevere \n She hath loved long the nations of the North,\n Sea-king and thane, how if she wait their daughter?\n How if e'en now she smote me from the sun?\n \n Launcelot \n Thou'rt rapt!\n \n Guenevere \n Lo, at the window there, 'tis she!\n \n Launcelot \n 'Tis what?\n \n Guenevere \n Wyrd! 'Tis Fate! See you not her face\n There in the blackness? Do I not know thy face,\n Thou Hell-Queen? Now do I learn its feature!\n Spare me, O Christ, Christ may not spare me from \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0thee!\n \n Launcelot \n 'Tis frenzy come upon thee!\n \n (Clamour without. Gauntlet strikes door.) \n \n Nay, Thou'st said it!\n \n (Thunder and wind. Flashes of lightning.) \n \n Voices (without.) \n Ah, traitor knight, we have thee! Come out! Open\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0to us! Ho!\n \n Launcelot \n Madam, is there any armour here that I\n May cover my body 'gainst their numbers?\n \n Guenevere \n Alas, none, no armour here!\n \n (Knocking and cries again.) \n \n Launcelot \n O God, this shameful cry I may not suffer.\n Most noble Christian queen, if I am slain, good night,\n And pray for my soul. Know well my kinsmen--they\n Will save thee from the fire.\n \n Guenevere \n Nay, wit thou well, Sir Launcelot, if thou\n Art slain, I will take my death meekly as ever\n Did any woman.\n \n (Knocking. Cries. Sir Launcelot gets a bolt from the window. They are battering at the door with a beam.) \n \n Launcelot \n Leave your dashing, cowards, and I will set\n Open the door.\n \n Mordred's Voice \n As well ye may, traitor, for there be men\n Here against all odds.\n \n Voices \n Eight! Twelve! Score!\n \n Guenevere \n Nay, have I not my knights? 'Tis strange they \n Stir not at such clamour.\n \n (She opens the door to their chamber.) \n \n Launcelot \n 'Tis no matter.\n \n Guenevere \n Sir Colgrevaunce! Sir Gareth! Ho! Wake, wake!\n They wake not, O God, they wake not,\n 'Twas the tankard! Oh, treachery!\n \n (Sir Launcelot opens the door wide enough to admit one man. A big knight pushes in. Sir Launcelot fells him with the bolt, draws him in, and fastens the door.) \n \n Launcelot \n Off with his armour, help, madam! Do thou\n Dash out the torches here when I am gone.\n \n (Outside there is an astonished silence. Hammering and cries again. Sir Launcelot, now armed, opens the door and rushes into their midst. They fight on the stair and in the corridor. Guenevere has put out the torches. Darkness broken only by flashes of lightning. Mordred rushes terrified into the room, followed by Agravaine, whose helmet is broken off. They are revealed by a flash.) \n \n Guenevere \n Ah, God, Sir Mordred!\n \n (He is unbolting the door to the knights' chamber. She snatches the great tankard from the floor and hurls it.) \n \n Coward, have that for thee!\n \n (Lightning. Mordred has escaped. Agravaine lies on the floor.) \n \n Dark! O God, dark! Oh, alas!\n Who is it there that draweth nearer me?\n Hell, is it thou revisitest me once more \n To-night? Nay, it hath armour! Speak!\n No armour but a mantle, speak, oh speak!\n Thou wilt not speak--I know thee! Oh, oh, oh!\n \n (Enter Sir Launcelot with torch. He places torch in sconce by door.) \n \n Launcelot \n What woe is this? Thy cry hath roused the very\n Falcons in the mews.\n \n Guenevere \n One touched me in the darkness! I am mad!\n 'Tis naught. Art thou hurt?\n \n Launcelot \n Nay, but do faint with dealing blows. Calm thee,\n Calm thee! Thou shalt not come to harm. Hear\n The wind moan!\n \n Guenevere \n How if the king knows not what hath befallen?\n 'Twere fond to think they would not tell him.\n But he is just and blind--and yet 'twas Fate\n That came but now to my window.\n \n (Footsteps without.) \n \n Launcelot \n Some knight returns to--\n \n (King Arthur stands in the doorway.) \n \n Guenevere \n Jesu Mari, it is--!\n \n ACT III \n \n The throne-end of the council-hall. The throne at the back to the right is under a blue canopy, spangled with gold, the whole elevated on a dais. To the left are arched doorways leading to the courts. Bells are ringing. Two knights on guard. \n \n First Knight \n 'Tis the third bell for the court.\n \n Second Knight \n Aye, the trial of the queen hath caused delay\n In opening the tribunal.\n \n (Enter Sir Kay.) \n \n First Knight \n The queen will be tried, then, this day. What hast\n Thou heard in the matter, Sir Kay?\n \n Kay \n Ask me not. Are mine ears then carrion dumps?\n \n Second Knight \n Much both false and true, methinks. Men say\n The queen would fain stay at the court, holding\n Her present station. There are two ways open: one \n To bide here as queen, the other to depart--\n \n First Knight \n With Launcelot to Joyous Garde?\n \n Second Knight \n Aye, with Launcelot.\n \n First Knight \n Then she is traitress to the king, sayest thou?\n \n Second Knight \n Men say it.\n \n First Knight \n And the king?\n \n Second Knight \n This treason hath power to stir a sea that tops\n The very promontories of men's souls.\n \n First Knight \n Life were not dearer than her station. 'Twere \n Better she be dead than queen no longer.\n \n Second Knight \n Few there be that will arm to speed the queen's death.\n \n First Knight \n Few. Not I.\n \n Second Knight \n 'Tis a dark hour.\n \n Kay \n Carp, carp! What then, what would ye have? Wrong \n Or right, the queen hath courted hazards, wooed\n Mishaps. Can one head think for the world? Once\n I said to her: \"Look, madam, look to your road!\n Whatever your thoughts be of wrong or right,\n The world goes on its destined pace, and where\n You err 'tis you that fall. And men sing on\n Though your poor ears be stopped with death.\"\n \n Second Knight \n Forgotten of men, that were the tragedy\n Of death methinks.\n \n First Knight \n All may not be so wise as thou, Sir Kay.\n \n Kay \n All do not try.\n \n Second Knight \n I have spoke more of question than of what\n Mine ears have gleaned about this buzzing court.\n Mark you, Sir Knights, mark you, and mark you\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0well,\n Mark you the queen will be forgot in the bloody\n Strife that follows on this day. I have\n An inkling of Sir Mordred's schemes. Mark you,\n The queen will be forgot. First Sir Mordred\n Strips Sir Launcelot's forces from the king,\n Then he revolts. His eyes are green long since.\n \n First Knight \n True. There is wind of it very like. 'Tis through\n The queen he strikes the king. Were she not here\n He'd find another way.\n \n Second Knight \n Guenevere had eyes that saw ere this, wherefore\n Hath she been blind and sightless in this treachery?\n \n First Knight \n She hath a sorrow of her own, poor lady,\n Bleak winter yelling round her troublous heart.\n \n Second Knight \n They say the queen is contrite.\n \n First Knight \n I know not if her mood be so, my lord.\n She seemeth as one grieving for the end\n Her deed hath wrought, but holds not shame nor sor--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0row\n For the deed, feeling that heaven in some deep way\n Doth justify this love and madness.\n \n Second Knight \n I understand not such things, but I know\n That men may do these things, but women never.\n \n Kay \n Faugh! 'tis rubbish. Thus my cook will say\n \"Bread must be so, and cake be thus, or they\n Will never rise.\" I tell thee 'tis all rubbish.\n Leaven is leaven, and fire, fire! And men\n And women burn and rise and fall, as bread\n And cake, alike. 'Tis rubbish but 'tis men's\n Philosophy, I look not there for sense.\n \n Second Knight \n Here comes Sir Launcelot, and his kin with him\n Stepping with his steps.\n \n (Enter Sir Launcelot, Sir Bors, Sir Lionel, Sir Urre, and others.) \n \n Bors \n All your kindred and their followers\n Do stand without, ready and armed\n If there be need. We drank your wine with you\n When fortune ran it, and now we will drink water.\n Your will is ours--\n \n Launcelot \n Most noble kinsmen, I am much beholden\n To you. Give me your counsel, for if ever\n Man needed it, 'tis I at this time.\n \n Bors \n My lord, this calm of thine is well--\n \n Launcelot \n 'Twas spoken idly--what is counsel now?\n Who thinketh I will let harm light on her\n Doth know me not. No red drop brims at my\n Heart's fountain but doth run for her.\n \n Urre \n And we are strong--\n \n Launcelot \n My sword hath rived in twain men's flesh ere this!\n For every sorrow laid on her I will\n Set wells of blood running in this vile court,\n And many filthy, lying mouths will set\n To eating up their ordure! Spread wreck--\n \n Bors \n Hold, my lord, the king comes.\n \n (Enter King Arthur, Sir Mordred, Sir Gawain, Dagonet, and the court. Few are armed. Arthur sits. Mordred and his party take their place on the right of the throne.) \n \n Arthur \n My lords, good morrow. The queen comes not yet?\n What justice is there to be rendered?\n For the king must needs judge timely and wisely though\n The man hath vitals tortured on the rack.\n \n Gawain \n My lord, here is a man whose fields are waste\n And grain downtrodden by your last assay\n Of hunting.\n \n Arthur \n Enough, enough, you shall be paid. Sir Kay,\n Look to it.\n \n Kay \n Aye, my lord, pay, pay, we are always paying.\n \n (Enter Cador and Breuse, drunk.) \n \n Arthur \n 'Tis out of form and reverence that ye come\n Thus here, muddled with wine.\n \n Cador \n 'Tis out of form and reverence what we have \n To tell the king. 'Tis somewhat for thy ears.\n \n Arthur \n Speak, then.\n \n Cador \n Last night before the feast, in a dark place--\n Some say the dark is devilled--before the cups\n At the feast, I heard two speak together.\n \n Arthur \n What said they, good fellow?\n \n Cador \n Thou heardst it, Breuse, what was't? I cannot think.\n My lord, I wake not early thus all days.\n \n Breuse \n I cannot think. Sure the place was dark,\n And they spake ill.\n \n Arthur \n Spake ill?\n \n Breuse \n One was a kinsman of the king.\n \n Arthur \n Kinsman?\n \n Cador \n High-voiced and hot.\n \n Arthur \n Who? Cudgel thy brains, who?\n \n Breuse \n Who, sweet friend?\n \n Cador \n Speak, thou leanest heavily! Leave rocking,\n Thou art not the ship of state.\n \n Breuse \n 'Tis thou, thou weight. Speak!\n \n Arthur \n Take these two hence, Gawain. Kinsmen? Spake \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0ill?\n \n Mordred \n 'Tis naught, my lord. It is a drunken fancy\n Now I do think me, Dagonet did sing\n A ballad of King Mark's black treachery\n Against Tristram his kinsman. This same tale\n Is but the coinage of their drunken ears\n From the same song.\n \n Arthur \n Treachery--did they say treachery?\n \n Mordred \n Spake ill, no treachery.\n \n Arthur \n Didst thou sing so, boy?\n \n Dagonet \n Not I, my lord.\n \n Mordred \n 'Twas then another.\n \n Arthur \n Very like, 'tis naught. Let us begin again.\n \n Gawain \n Here is a woman, lord, whose husband scorns\n And beats her like a dog.\n \n Woman \n My lord, King Arthur, by your leave. I loved\n This man with a mad, woman's love, and he--\n My lord, he loved me. But he spurns me now,\n And flouts me in my face. He hath struck me\n And I bore with that, cursed me and I took that,\n But he hath wronged me, and I will--\n \n Arthur \n Wronged thee? He hath wronged thee?\n \n Woman \n Yea, shamefully.\n \n Arthur \n Calm thee, calm thee, thou wretched broken wretch.\n Thou shalt have justice, there is much too much \n Of wrong done in the world.\n \n Woman \n Nay, I would not have him hurt, my lord.\n \n Kay \n Aye, that is the way of woman. Pardon me,\n My lord Arthur, I must speak-- 'tis wisdom.\n Woman, if thou dost love a man, and fain\n Would keep his love, show not the excess of thy\n Affection and feed him well. Many is a brute\n To be held by the muzzle and not by the heart-\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0chords.\n \n Arthur \n Ho, Sir Kay, thy words o'ershoot thee, man,\n Thou hast been seneschal so long that thou\n Dost think all things concerned with food.\n \n Kay \n If I am cynical of men, my lord,\n 'Tis this.\n \n Arthur \n 'Tis wherefore?\n \n Kay \n My lord, I have seen them eat.\n \n Gawain \n Here is another woman who hath wrongs\n She cannot tell--\n \n Arthur \n So have we all, woman.\n \n Gawain \n She wears her wits awry.\n \n Kay \n 'Tis no new ailment.\n \n Gawain \n My lord, she hath--\n \n Herald \n The queen, make way for the queen!\n \n Arthur \n Woman, thou shalt return.\n \n (Enter Guenevere. A noise of cries and wailing comes from the outer courts. Guenevere takes her stand at the left of the throne. Launcelot comes nearer to the front.) \n \n Arthur \n Madam, there are charges here to-day\n Imperilling thy life and Launcelot's honour.\n What noise dins in the court?\n \n Gawain \n My lord, it is the people making dole,\n And wailing lest the queen be burned.\n \n Arthur \n Lay it, such clamour is unseemly.\n \n Launcelot \n My lord, let me speak.\n \n Arthur \n Ah, Sir Launcelot, Sir Launcelot,\n Thee have I loved in gone days passing well,\n And now thou hast cast sorrow over me.\n Once I mind me, 'fore mine eyes were weary\n Feeding on their dear faces, thou didst take\n My knights on the Quest of the Holy Grail, and\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0ne'er\n That goodly company met whole again.\n But now thou hast done worse and ta'en away\n More than my Round Table. And thou hast edged\n Treachery 'twixt me and thee.\n \n Launcelot \n Hear me, my lord.\n \n Cries \n Hear him, hear him! Hear him not! Sir Launcelot!\n \n Gawain \n My lord, go slow. To lose a noble friend \n Is like a loss of the dear life, is such \n A loss; for a man's friends are his life.\n Go slow, a day may show the evil, but\n The time is longer that makes manifest\n The good.\n \n Arthur \n Doth baneful Fate will thus that we must see\n To understand, be blind to act? Oh, would\n That I were blind in this. For well I know\n That now indeed is my whole kingdom mischieved.\n \n (Cries without.) \n \n There will be war, Sir Launcelot, now, 'twixt me\n And thee, thy blood and my blood, cruel strife,\n Tearing the vitals of this realm. Mine arm\n Is powerless for seeing what will fall.\n Madam, I rejoice to see thee weep,\n 'Twere best wept sooner when there was some boot\n \n Launcelot \n Then I will out, willy nilly. King Arthur,\n I own the debt I owe to thee, for thou\n Didst give me knighthood, and of thee\n Have I had honour and much worship. Yet\n In all thy quarrels have I lent what aid\n I might in thy behalf, shoulder and heart\n Have been thine, buckler and helm and sword,\n Vassal and steed, been thine. Nor have I cast\n Green eyes of envy on thy station, nor\n Champed a restive bit, hearing thy fame\n Exalted, as have some nearer of kin\n To thee, I name them not.\n \n Arthur \n Why do ye glare on my nephew Mordred?\n But 'tis naught.\n \n Launcelot \n But I did add\n Ever what inches I might unto thy stature.\n In all thy heat thou canst not yet forget\n How many a venture have we had together\n Of joy or woe. Therefore, my lord, for this\n Old brotherhood, I pray thee think on me,\n And judge not rashly.\n \n Arthur \n Yea, truly must I think on thee, yea, truly,\n Bitter or sweet, still must I think on thee.\n \n Launcelot \n Nay, think what thou wilt then, on my soul I care\n Not. I cannot sit as thou and weigh\n Vantage 'gainst vantage, and knit prudence up,\n Search whether't be good or bad or what,\n Teach mine eyes to rob their sockets of flight,\n And stop mine ears with silence. 'Tis fitter work\n For hermits and white hairs, not men. I know\n No honied speech nor do I value aught\n The slippered dalliance of the favoured few,\n But strike with this arm what harmeth me or them\n I love. 'Tis many times I championed her\n Whilst thou sat dreaming high emprise or plan\n To win wide rumour for thy name. Thinkst thou,\n God's life, I can no longer wield this sword?\n 'Tis blood for blood, hate for hate thou'lt have?\n She is the queen, who then shall judge her?\n \n Arthur \n Stay, Sir Launcelot, thou art mad in thy heat.\n 'Tis hot blood that hath cost thee dear ere this.\n \n Launcelot \n Thou knowst 'tis fellowship and humility\n That kept me thine, not lack of realm or power.\n Lands have I, kinsmen and followers,\n And all are hers whom through me ye would shame--\n Therefore show me him that dares accuse her.\n \n Arthur \n The clamour in the court increases.\n \n Gawain \n My lord, it cannot be stilled. Some there be\n That think the queen condemned to be burnt, and\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0they\n Bewail piteously her death. But some\n Deem she is cleared of blame, and they do growl\n And mutter underneath their breaths, and curse\n Loudly this tribunal.\n \n Arthur \n But how if she be pardoned here?\n \n (Noise in Sir Mordred's party to the right.) \n \n Gawain \n My lord, to my eyes, judging as best I may,\n If she bide here there will be blood and strife,\n Whether she be burned or pardoned. Either\n Way is dangerous.\n \n Launcelot \n Nay, hear ye this, if she stay not as queen,\n She shall not stay at all.\n \n Bors \n Yea, think ye we will let the queen be burnt?\n \n Urre \n To arms for the queen!\n \n Arthur \n Silence!\n \n Cries \n To arms, to arms! For the king! For Mordred! For \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0the queen!\n \n Arthur \n Mordred? what cause is that?\n \n Guenevere \n I pray you, Sir Knights--\n \n Cries \n The queen speaks! Let us hear the queen!\n \n Kay \n Stop your gabble, fools, and hear the queen!\n \n Voice \n She hath been overlong silent now.\n \n Arthur \n Silence, she is yet the queen!\n \n Cries \n The queen! the queen!\n \n Guenevere \n I will put off thy crown and robe before \n I speak in trial.\n \n Arthur \n Speak. 'Tis well!\n \n Guenevere \n Lords and vassals of this island realm\n Hear me speak. I will say briefly and\n Have done. My lords, I am a woman, whom\n The gods built bigger than their wonted mould,\n Wilder, more diverse, waging fiercer war\n And conflict 'twixt the good and evil. He\n That hath pinions larger than the common flight\n Must needs take greater pains lest they be sullied.\n My lord Arthur, I have ever loved\n Thee since I came from Cameliard,\n My father's land, loved thee as men love saints.\n Not with the petty pulsing of the veins,\n Nor jealousies nor heat of mad desire,\n But at the topmost of my soul's bent.\n \n Arthur \n Is that the love men ask of women--good men?\n I know not.\n \n Guenevere \n Since thou'rt ideal, they that love thee love\n Thee as a mystic symbol, or a bodied \n Soul of some dear thing, not as frail man.\n Thou hast not known the low brown earth, nor it\n Known thee. So wast thou ever loved, and so\n Thou hast loved me, however much thou'st loved.\n For thou knowst well, my lord, this is no husband's\n Nor no lover's jealousy that moves\n Thee in this sifting trial thus, but is\n The jealous eye the king bends on the crystal\n Perfectness of his long-dreamed-of court.\n Thy kingdom is thy spouse, my lord, not I.\n I fear I speak o'erboldly.\n \n Arthur \n Nay, 'tis no matter. Speak.\n \n Guenevere \n Then, ah, then--\n \n Arthur \n Well, well, then--?\n \n Guenevere \n I have loved Sir Launcelot too. All the pomp \n And glory of this world, of sights and sound,\n Of summer air and downs of May, of stars\n And white dawn leaping over dewy fields,\n Of life and love and the little moods men know,\n And bossed arms, and chivalry, and jousts,\n Of blood and wild, unquenchable revenge,\n Of bowers drunk with music and sweet sound,\n All this my woman's heart hath found to love\n In him, Sir Launcelot. So have I loved\n You both, but differently. Methinks that God\n Hath placed in me such high, opposing tides\n That if my soul be shipwrecked he could blame\n Me not.\n \n Arthur \n Madam, me seemeth 'twas all love with you.\n Were there not other things stirring at court?\n \n Guenevere \n The diverse uses of the world make men\n Take love only as a part of the whole \n Existence, but women--as a jewel liveth\n By the light, so live women by love.\n \n Arthur \n Haply. And now?\n \n Guenevere \n Now--I speak not for the din.\n \n Arthur \n What if ye be our queen no longer?\n \n Launcelot \n Go with me, thou shalt go with me, my lady!\n \n Arthur \n Queen no more!\n \n Cries \n With Launcelot! Queen no more! With Launcelot!\n \n Guenevere \n Nay, nay, not Launcelot, let that have done.\n Steal thou my crown, I go not hence with him\n To Joyous Garde, to be his love. Nay, nay.\n I will not so. Sure life turneth bitter\n In the cup, and I must dash it from me.\n \n Arthur \n Where wilt thou turn if thou art queen no longer?\n \n Guenevere \n If he rescue me hence, know ye 'twill be \n To the sisters by Boscastle. There shall I \n Be buried from this world, and let my soul\n Crowd with its persons my life's stage. But if\n I bide here--\n \n Cries \n Thou'lt burn! Treason! (Confusion.) \n \n Guenevere \n Aye, leave your howling, poor lean curs,\n Fattened with this man's collops. Ah! Sir Mordred,\n Why hast thou been so keen to fill black sails?\n Art thou the giant Jubaunce or Goliath?\n For I know well who set these on--\n \n Mordred \n Madam, I pray thee, I am all for peace.\n \n Guenevere \n Yea, very like,--my lord Arthur, look--\n Thy dove of peace hath need of armour plate\n Beneath his quills.\n \n (She tears off Mordred's cloak. He stands in his breastplate.) \n \n Ah, cowards have ever need of steel. I leave\n Thee now to the kind leeches, they will suck\n Thy veins dry to a drop. But who am I \n That speak? (She starts out.) \n \n Arthur \n Nay, madam, nay, God's life, nay, dost think--?\n Stay, thy cause must still be tried.\n \n Guenevere \n Queen no more. Aye, I have had my hour.\n This hour my life hath spoken in full tone.\n No more I strive in the world, for I am ashamed\n Enough of men already. May I not\n Go hence? I am all undone methinks.\n \n Launcelot \n 'Tis I speak for her. Sir, what man shall judge her?\n My lord kinsmen, close round.\n \n (The kinsmen surround the queen. Exuent. Mordred and his party follow. The crowd vanishes. Sir Gawain and King Arthur remain.) \n \n Arthur \n 'Tis blood for wrong. Take sword and follow me.\n \n Gawain \n But first have brought thine arms, my lord, 'twere folly\n Else to venture.\n \n Arthur \n Nay, God forearmed me in this matter.\n \n Gawain \n Give over theories--\n \n Arthur \n Hold me not, or I may do thee hurt.\n Come, come, let the horn blow.\n \n (The commotion without lessens. Enter knight.) \n \n Knight \n My lord, they have buffeted their way \n Through the outer gate, and they are gone by horse\n Toward Boscastle. The people cheer for joy\n At their escape. Let make pursuit? Or not?\n \n (A bell rings. Enter Sir Kay.) \n \n Kay \n My lord, Mordred hath seized the south tower, and is\n In open rebellion.\n \n Arthur \n Oh, traitors all! Oh, traitor roof that falls\n Not on this day. (Flings off his crown.) Into the dust,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0thou ring\n Of wretchedness! To arms! To arms!\n \n (A crowd pours into the room. Confusion. All the bells of the castle are clanging.) \n \n Cries \n To arms! To arms! To arms! (Without.) Mordred\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0for king! Mordred for king!\n To arms!\n \n ACT IV \n \n Reception-hall of the convent on the cliffs near Boscastle. To the left, at the back, a flight of seven steps leads to the cloister corridor, beyond which is the garden with a wall and trees at the end. On the left, near the front, is a prie-dieu with flowers and lighted candles. At the back of the room a kind of Roman seat, long, with a low back and armpieces. Benches on the right. Outside in the garden it is early dawn, and beyond the trees shines the golden sky. Save for the sound of the surge below, there is a great stillness over the world. Two novices enter, and light new candles on the prie-dieu. Enter Saint Morwena, the abbess, and with her Guenevere in white dress and veil. On her breast she wears the emblem of the Sacred Heart. \n \n Morwena \n Hast thou found peace, my daughter?\n \n Guenevere \n Yea, mother, as doth the moon, whose burnt-out sphere\n Keeps on face turned to sunward, so\n The dead globe of my life hath one side lit,\n The other dark. I am pale grown and weak,\n And my poor body hath forgot its splendour.\n \n Morwena \n There is another splendour in whose light\n All flesh is grass.\n \n Guenevere \n Now my soul calls to me with a hundred\n Tongues, the heralds of my spirit.\n \n Morwena \n Evil is no thing within itself,\n But is a lacking of the vital good.\n And of thy life what man is there shall judge\n Save our sweet father, Christ?\n \n Guenevere \n Gentle brother Christ, father and brother.\n 'Tis like to something lived in sleep thou stirrest.\n \n Morwena \n Life is a restless sleep.\n \n Guenevere \n The dreaming king forgot me, and another\n Loved me, and I loved him. That was my right\n To live. Think you I should have starved the life\n I had for some uncertain good to come?\n \n Morwena \n Belike that were not all of life, this love.\n God gave man love to lead him out of self,\n And upward--\n \n Guenevere \n Man's self and God, I know not where they meet,\n Nor where they part.\n \n Morwena \n To lead us out of self and upward.\n For all things do but school us to God's end.\n \n Guenevere \n Very like. Writ round the cell of our narrow lives\n Are runes we cannot read. Our days are but\n A footbridge 'tween two worlds--nay, I do speak\n By rote, knowing naught. My brain doth lose the thread.\n Once at the sacrament methought I saw\n A figure in the likeness of a child,\n And lo! his face shined bright as any fire,\n And smote itself into the blessed bread.\n I never had a child whose little hands\n Had drawn me from the tawdry passing world\n Into the mother's holy chamber. Nay--\n 'Twas only empty hours and cold hearth,\n And young love beating at the door without.\n Woe to the woman whose happiest days do come\n To be the days she most laments.\n \n Morwena \n Thou hast thought much within these quiet walls,\n Meditation is fair Solitude's\n True sister.\n \n Guenevere \n Yea, thought much, and well, well have I paid\n For the worldly draught my cup hath brimmed. And yet\n Meseems that there are others that pay less\n And sin far more. Some there be that sin\n Vilely and often, and then forget it straight--\n \n Morwena \n Him that forgotteth God hath forgotten.\n \n Guenevere \n And the world forgets likewise and blameth not.\n \n Morwena \n Yea, they be fools that live their lives, and do\n Perceive the truth as little as do spoons\n Perceive the taste of broth. Their clouds and thine\n Have different heights.\n \n Guenevere \n And some torture themselves for every little\n Wrong, pondering their deeds, and the world \n Curseth them--\n \n Morwena \n Yet they are blest, for they do meditate,\n And he that thinketh truly cannot die,\n But the thoughtless are as dead already.\n He that is wise doth choose the thoughtful life\n As a clever woman findeth the right colour.\n Long is the night to him that cannot sleep,\n Long is the journey to the weary man,\n And long is the span of life to the foolish. Take\n Some quiet hour at sundown in some peaceful\n Place, and look about the vineyard\n Of thy soul. The moon is silver clear by night,\n The water glimmers in the sun, but be\n Thou shining in thy meditation.\n \n Guenevere \n For some that is an easy thing, but not\n For all.\n \n Morwena \n Aye, passion breaks through unreflecting minds\n As rain through ill-thatched houses, so the sage\n Hath written. Oh, what a fool is man that sets\n His lips unto the brimming cup of passion.\n It is a galling drink that kindles thirst,\n And sates but with exhaustion. But thine\n Is drained. Daughter, thou dost well to pray\n And keep thy vigils, for to-morrow is\n The day thou tak'st thy vows, is't not?\n Then thou mayst wear the garb of peace always.\n \n Guenevere \n Yea, mother, take the vow relinquishing \n All the vain idols of the world, to purge \n My flesh of earthly desire, and strip my soul\n Naked before God.\n \n Morwena \n Bless thee, my daughter, I rejoice that thou\n Art ready.\n \n Guenevere \n Ready--!\n \n Morwena \n Why dost thou stare and round thine eyes so, seeing\n Naught?\n \n Guenevere \n Mother, I do fear I know not what\n That yet may fall. Last night I had a dream.\n And in it I did see a tournament\n Of ladies fair and noble knights,\n Whose spear-heads flickered when they moved like flames.\n Then at the hurtling that did follow there,\n All my wild blood boiled, and the strong, sweet taint\n Of the world came back into my veins. How do \n I know but having given up my worldly drink\n I yet be ta'en athirst for Camelot and glory?\n \n Morwena \n Jesu defend me!\n \n Guenevere \n Then were I lost indeed, O God, if I\n Do leave off woman and turn saint, give up\n The world and cannot keep my heaven. Be neither\n Spiritual nor fleshly, saint nor queen.\n \n Morwena \n Thou beatst too high, these words are wild. Let God\n Choose for thee, daughter. Our hearts are frail\n Barks for rough seas. Let God choose for thee.\n \n (In the cloister corridor the sisters are passing. Guenevere looks at them till they are past, then follows after. The abbess stands before the prie-dieu and crosses herself. Enter Sister Agatha.) \n \n Agatha \n Mother, I cannot pray for watching her face.\n Her soul doth seem to feed upon itself.\n \n Morwena \n How, child?\n \n Agatha \n The queen--there seems a clashing of two spheres\n Within her frame. Last night I heard--thou knowst\n Her cell is next to mine--last night the queen \n Did clatter in her sleep, and clapped her hands\n And cried out: \"Ho, well struck! Avoid thy horse!\"\n And other speeches from the lists. Strange peace\n For one that goes to take her vows so soon.\n \n Morwena \n She hath already told me of this dream.\n What song is that?\n \n Agatha \n 'Tis Dagonet, the queen's page. The lad\n Is thoughtless to sing thus within these walls.\n \n Dagonet (at the gate) \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Look out, my lady fair, and see\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The lustre of the night,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The moon beneath her canopy\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sails beauteous and bright--\n \n (Enter Dagonet) \n Madam, there is a knight at the gate, I hear\n His horse's panting--I saw him near.\n Haply it is King Arthur come to see\n My lady--ah, if it were!--and behind, there\n Southward on Tintagel Road, a cloud\n Of dust like men-at-arms galloping. Haply\n I may hold his bridle while he stays.\n \n Agatha \n The king?\n \n Morwena \n King Arthur?\n \n Agatha (going to the corridor) \n 'Tis he. Madam, I will leave you. (Exit.) \n \n (Enter King Arthur.) \n \n Arthur \n God keep thee, madam. The queen--?\n \n Morwena \n God keep thee, my lord. My lord, I am an old\n Woman, and I speak my thoughts. I fear thy coming\n Is but poorly placed. To-morrow the queen\n Doth give her vows, leaving forever all\n The transitory uses of this world--\n \n Arthur \n Ere this, ere this, I had come had not the brawls\n That broke out on the trial day kept all\n The realm bestead. Sir Launcelot's falseness is\n Forgot in larger woes.\n \n Morwena \n Where is Sir Launcelot?\n \n Arthur \n Gone to his lands in France.\n \n Morwena \n And thou?\n \n Arthur \n My mantle clingeth heavier than mail.\n Now am I like a father whose one son,\n The sole issue of his loins, is slain. At morn \n He minds him of his son's going, and at eve\n His coming. Seeth his heir's house wasted,\n The chamber of the winds, where harp sounds not,\n Nor any joy within the court as once.\n Wherefore am I come to bid farewell\n To her that shortly goes to take her leave \n Of life. Once was she queen, and well I know\n Of her and me that each shall not see other\n More with fleshly eyes.\n \n Morwena \n I fear me lest the sight of thee will rouse\n The red tide of her blood and kindle heats\n To her soul's detriment. She cometh now.\n Show her all reverence, my lord.\n \n (Exit the abbess. Enter Guenevere from the right.) \n \n Guenevere \n My lord.\n \n Arthur \n How dost thou, my lady--and queen?\n \n Guenevere \n My lord, I have turned from the world's eyes that\n Were bent so long hotly upon me. And thou?\n \n Arthur \n I--I, but 'tis no matter. I am come to say\n Farewell.\n \n Guenevere \n Farewell?\n \n Arthur \n And pity have I more for thee, indeed\n Since I have suffered, suffered humanwise.\n And yet I do not blame, thou didst no more\n Than I to bring the false dome down--no more.\n Together we wrought havoc, thou with thy love\n Loosing bonds not to be loosed, and I\n Seeing men not as men but as symbols vague.\n Star-gazing I did lose the earthly road,\n And visionary flashes blinded me\n That I knew not the common lives.\n \n Guenevere \n Such blindness doth tempt men as dark doth thieves.\n \n Arthur \n The man blindly good is good to himself\n Alone--to others he is evil.\n And dreamers should be dreamers for themselves\n Alone--for plain men facts! And thou?\n \n Guenevere \n What boots it us to weigh one 'gainst the other? \n I have fought the rich life-passion from my heart,\n Pray God I turn not back to it.\n \n Arthur \n Yea, cleave to this quiet thou hast found,\n Hug silence to thee, lest thou shouldst feel perchance\n All the deep wrongs that men can do. Feigned love\n That covers deep designs, ingratitude\n And thankless greed, kinsmen at war,\n Murder, rapine, blood, despair, and hate,\n Trusts betrayed, and confidence despised,\n I have felt them all--all. Truly\n I have known the low brown earth, have bit the dirt.\n Ah, madam, pray to god to leave thee here\n Till Death shatters the flower of thy life.\n \n (There is the sound of horsemen without, and the noise of arms.) \n \n Guenevere \n What clangour is that?\n \n Arthur \n 'Tis my horsemen, I did ride ahead of them\n Some space.\n \n Guenevere \n Yea, my lord Arthur, all of life is not\n This baseness that thou tellst me of. Are these\n Then enemies of thine--nay, my lord, they follow thee\n Far as the land lasts to the sea. I know \n There be sweet human things in life for men;\n The handclasp of old friends, and friends to share\n Sadness and joy, old voices and old sounds,\n Sunlight, and walled gardens, and wild moors,\n Eye that readeth eye, and heart, heart--\n Ah, my lord, there is more sweet than gall--\n \n Arthur \n Tell me not--\n \n Guenevere \n Or gladly we take the gall as well as sweetness,\n For whether be the sunlight fierce or mild,\n What man but fain would watch the shadow grow\n And on the dial of his life mark time,\n Rather than darkness and unhoured ways.\n \n (Dagonet sings without.) \n \n Ah, there is Dagonet singing a lay\n Unto thy knights. It is an old song that,\n And tells how Joseph of Arimithy came\n Into this land. I have heard it oft at court,\n At Pentecost, my lord, dost thou remember?\n \n Arthur \n Nay, I know not, madam, that time is gone.\n And now farewell, I may not tarry, fare\n Thee well. I know of thee and me that each\n Shall not see other ever more with fleshly eye.\n And now I must needs hasten and depart\n Back to Camelot and the court and strife.\n But afterward shall sail to Avalon,\n And change my life from this world.\n \n (From the chapel come the voices of the nuns singing matins.) \n \n Guenevere \n Not meet again?\n \n Arthur \n No mortal meeting.\n \n Guenevere \n Alas!\n \n Arthur \n Nay, madam, nay, haply thou mayest \n Be queen, when all the goodly knights I lost\n In diverse quests and ventures will awake\n From their long sleep, and form in heaven again\n The King's Round Table, perfect at last, and there\n With shining arms will joust in Christ's fair courts\n For diamonds like suns and carcanets\n Of little stars.\n \n Guenevere \n Ah, God, all the gall of the world takes not\n The dreamer from his dreaming! Thou speakst fair,\n But slowly, slowly through the air of time\n The drops of life fall on eternity.\n \n Arthur \n Yea, they pass slowly, perhaps no man\n Can count them, yet they pass. And when thou hast \n Set down thy staff and book, and they have laid \n Thee in cold sepulchre, thou shalt not stir\n To note the passing years, nor count the moons,\n For drums or tramplings or the utmost heat\n And noise of human conflict cannot break\n The mood and spirit of the dead.\n \n Guenevere \n My lord, tarry!\n \n (Horns and bugles sound outside.) \n \n Arthur \n Lo! I leave in thee the fairest part\n Of all my fair, sad past. Yet--\n \n Guenevere \n Tarry.\n \n Arthur \n I know not yet what orisons ye pray,\n But beg thee 'member me, and if thou seest\n Me nevermore again, pray for my soul.\n Farewell. (He goes.) \n \n Guenevere \n My lord, my lord Arthur, do not leave me!\n \n (He looks back once and is gone.) \n \n I love thee too, thou wilt not leave me!\n Take me with thee to Camelot and the court.\n \n (She runs out after King Arthur.) \n Arthur! Arthur!\n \n (The chaunt in the chapel leaves off, and now the frightened sisters rush into the room. Sister Agatha stands at the head of the stairs. Enter the abbess. Outside there is a clatter of horses departing.) \n \n Agatha \n Mother!\n \n Morwena \n Yea, the queen hath a wild mood.\n \n Agatha \n O God, O god, King Arthur hath ridden away,\n And she weeps after him like mad. There, there!\n She hath torn off her veil, the other hand\n Hath rent the emblem from her breast, snatched out\n The Sacred Heart.\n \n Sisters \n Alas! Oh!\n \n (Enter Guenevere. She drags her veil in her left hand, with her right she has torn off the Sacred Heart.) \n \n Guenevere \n Oh, I am lost! Curse me, mother, curse\n You sisters, and let me die!\n \n Morwena \n Nay, daughter--\n \n Guenevere \n Nay, thou shalt not touch me. I am she,\n That woman that gave up the world's lust\n For her spirit's health. And now I have trampled down\n That shrine!\n \n Morwena \n Leave us, you sisters. My daughter, let God choose--\n \n Guenevere \n I have lost both kingdoms, O God, and now my soul\n Is shipwrecked. Jesu, have mercy! Mother of God,\n Be merciful!\n (She falls toward the prie-dieu.) \n \n ACT V \n \n A year later. Same room in the convent of Boscastle. It is near dusk, but the afterglow lingers, and the garden and cloisters are filled with red light. Guenevere lies asleep on the Roman bench. The abbess and Sister Agatha attend her. On the right sit three nuns. Dagonet hovers about the room. Sir Launcelot talks with the abbess. \n \n Morwena \n 'Tis nigh four seasons gone since thou hast seen\n Her. A little and thou'st been too late.\n She tarryeth not much longer in the world.\n \n Launcelot \n How she lies faded, poor lady, like a rose\n When the rough wind sucks the freshness from its\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0heart.\n \n Morwena \n That day my lord Arthur came and went,\n That was the zenith of her spirit's star,\n That day after vigils and hard fasts her blood\n Burst bond and cried for Camelot and glory.\n Then flesh fought spirit. Hardly she won, but lies\n Here broken with the struggle as thou seest.\n I know not if this may be well or no\n To tear the heart-roots of your being out,\n Seeking to be other than God made you.\n \n Launcelot \n Would God had either made us as we yearn \n To be, or else had made us what we are\n Without the yearning!\n \n Morwena \n She will soon waken, wait. Thou sayst, my lord,\n King Arthur is slain, she had hath word of it.\n What of Mordred, that vile traitor chaff\n That maketh foul the wind?\n \n Launcelot \n Ah, madam, he is snatched from his base dealing\n Here, he too is slain, and Camelot\n Is but a den of plots and arms. Despair\n Shadows the hearts of good men. Alas,\n The glory of the realm of Logris\n Is departed.\n \n Dagonet \n All day have horses' feet clicked by-- 'tis knights\n That ride to court.\n \n Launcelot \n Yea, boy, there be jousts and feastings there.\n \n (A distant bell sounds.) \n \n Agatha \n Saint Necton's tide-bell, 'tis later than \n I deemed.\n \n Morwena \n See how strangely the sun's red lingers yet,\n As if 'twere loth to yield the free, hot course\n To the subtle-working, grey night. Likewise\n Meseems our lady the queen still doth glow\n After her life's hot span, and her veins pulse\n With the rich past. How faint and tender the bell!\n O Death, how subtle art thou in thy coming,\n But afterward long night and haply stars.\n \n Agatha \n Rather say that like the moon she burned\n In beauty all the night of sin, and then\n Did fade in the new day.\n \n Morwena \n Peace, Sir Launcelot! Sure I am grown foolish\n Thinking on her, poor lady.\n \n Launcelot \n Nay, likewise all my thoughts have been on her.\n Whether in joyless wood or when\n The thin prow scudded o'er the midnight swell,\n Or Breton thatches waited in the harbour,\n In every land my memory sought her.\n \n Dagonet \n And I. 'Tis many songs I read of late\n In this lone house, of ladies beautiful\n That suffered and are dead. And always when\n I read I thought of her, and said she too,\n She shall be beautiful in rhyme till the world's \n End.\n \n Launcelot \n Aye, and her name into men's thoughts shall bring\n The peerless ventures and sweet courtesy\n Of this the summer of all time. For still\n Her soul is as her station sovran, and when\n The wild sowing of man shall be gleaned and the world\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0be garnered\n She shall be queen at fairer courts than these--\n \n Morwena \n Nay, nay, my lord, let not thy heart o'ersweep thee.\n Daughter, thou spakest thoughtlessly, thou art\n Yet young and thy young piety is hard.\n Is there a moon, was't yesternight? This old\n Head is so racked with care I mind me not.\n \n Agatha \n I know not either.\n \n Dagonet \n Yea, mother, 'tis but one night to the full.\n Look! The sky stirs now faintly with light.\n \n Morwena \n Hush, she wakes. Sir Launcelot, go thou\n Walk in the cloister. We will prepare\n Her for thy coming when 'tis well.\n \n Launcelot \n Pray you be not o'erlong--I know not how much\n Of this frail life she have.\n \n (Exit Sir Launcelot.) \n \n Guenevere (waking) \n Ah, 'tis dusk! Even at this time it was\n That in my sleep I dreamed of Camelot.\n \n Morwena \n Camelot, my daughter?\n \n Guenevere \n But yet somehow it was a brighter place\n And newer city. The sun sank and the slim\n Moon lifted her pale beauty into heaven,\n And dome and turret glittered in the light.\n Then Mary the Mother of God came and took\n My hand, and her voice fell sweet upon my weary\n Ear--\n \n Morwena \n Speak to her, boy.\n \n Dagonet \n Alas, I may not for looking on her face!\n Hark, there is the nightingale, my lady, Look!\n Too--the moon riseth!\n \n Guenevere \n The moon--\n \n Dagonet \n The moon like a white flame in the trees, like liquid\n Silver in among the leaves. Mother,\n I cannot speak! Oh, my lady! the moon!\n \n Guenevere \n Distantly rose Camelot out\n Of the silver plain.\n \n Dagonet \n And the nightingales--\n \n Guenevere \n Aye, all the nightingales in Cameliard\n Cannot sing my woes, nor every bird\n That sings his tragic plaints of passionate\n Mischance can wail my sorrows.\n \n Morwena \n Nay, madam, sit, thou hast not strength to stand.\n \n Guenevere \n I was a woman and I needed love,\n I was a queen to long for courts about,\n Strong lords and ladies and gay raiment.\n I am a weary human thing that needeth\n Rest. Rest is the thing we most do hunger \n For and know it not. Sleep, sleep, it is\n But the gateway of pure rest's abode. Nay, let\n Me have sleep's sister, black-garbed death. For\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0queens\n Like other women have strong need of death\n At times--oh, I am childish grown--\n \n Morwena \n Madam, my daughter--\n \n Guenevere \n Whose spurs clink walking in the cloister there?\n \n Morwena \n One come to see thee and to say farewell.\n \n Guenevere \n Farewell, 'tis always farewell in this world.\n Is it Sir Launcelot?\n \n Morwena \n Yea, daughter, he.\n \n Guenevere \n Let him enter.\n \n (Enter Launcelot.) \n \n How dost, Sir Launcelot? Art well? Whence comest?\n \n Launcelot \n From Fraunce, my lady. And thou?\n \n Guenevere \n Thou seest I have found peace.\n In Fraunce this twelvemonth gone?\n \n Launcelot \n When the sly Mordred bore an open front,\n With vassals and kinsmen I had saved the king\n But he would have it not. And I distraught\n Got me to my father's land again.\n \n Guenevere \n And now?\n \n Launcelot \n Now having word of the king's death, I knew\n The ravage and the spoil within this isle,\n And hasted into boats and blew three days,\n And drove into this tortured little harbour,\n That thou mightst leave thy sorrows here and go\n With me--\n \n Morwena \n With thee?\n \n Guenevere \n Thee?\n \n Launcelot \n The many-towered castle on the heights,\n Below, a little Breton hill with trees\n And slow white sheep, and farther west the grey\n Rocks smoking in the sun at ebb-tide, heather\n And pasture-bell upon the seawind mingling--\n \n Guenevere \n My lord, thou knowst through thee and me is this\n Whole kingdom sore bestead, and the sails of the realm\n Veered from the old lodestar of purity.\n The Round Table is broke and many knights\n Tasted the dolours of death through me and thee.\n Therefore I pray thee now, Sir Launcelot,\n Look thou not on me evermore. And well\n As I have loved thee, I may not see thee\n Again, for now mine eye it turneth not\n To the worldward but to God, for my soul's health\n Lest I be damned.\n \n Dagonet \n My lady, there be worse than thou now saints\n In heaven.\n \n Guenevere \n Thou art o'erfond, child. Then, Sir Launcelot,\n Much as I have loved thee, for Christ's sake I may \n Not see thee. Therefore I pray that thou\n Depart; and pray for me--\n \n Launcelot \n I have come far to see thee, but I will\n Not trouble thee, poor lady, with fond words.\n Sithence thou'lt have it so, I go, yet I \n Sail never on the sea to Fraunce again\n But to a hermitage, and make my prayers\n For thy soul's rest and mine. I pray thee then,\n Before I go, madam, kiss me once\n And nevermore.\n \n Guenevere \n Nay, that may I never do--\n \n Launcelot \n Farewell.\n \n Guenevere \n And for our old love's sake, Sir Launcelot,\n Do this; when I am dead, come thou with seven \n Knights, and carry me to Glastonbury\n Where my lord Arthur lieth. Pray God I have\n Not power to see thee with my worldly eyes\n Again for my soul's sake.\n \n (He starts to go out.) \n \n Morwena \n She hath o'erspent her strength.\n \n Dagonet \n She sleeps.\n \n Morwena \n I know not if she wake again. Thou needst \n Not go, Sir Launcelot.\n \n Morwena \n Weep not, my daughters, she hath fallen asleep\n Gloriously.\n \n Agatha \n Yea, madam, Christ's mother hath ta'en her hand again.\n \n Dagonet (falling on his knees) \n Dead! Oh, my lady!\n \n Launcelot \n Nay, she doth sleep. Dead? Art thou gone?\n Gone when thou art all mine at last tho late!\n Nay, God's life, madam, she is not dead, or why\n Drives the blood yet in my heart! Thou'lt\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0wake?\n Nay, dead, oh, dead--then all is dead\n Forevermore!\n \n Morwena \n My lord--\n \n Launcelot \n Oh, then a long good night to you, my lady!\n Good night.\n \n (There comes the sound of knights clattering by and singing a catch.) \n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What ho, heigho, with bridle and spur!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Heigho, and away we ride,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For men do love, heigho, do love!--\n \n Morwena \n Who sings?\n \n Agatha \n 'Tis knights returned from Camelot and the feasts,\n The new king, Constantine, is crowned.\n \n Scene II \n \n A wood near Glastonbury. The wood is dark and, save for a rustle of the leafage now and then, silent. Presently there comes a light through the trees, which heightens and brightens. The tramp of footsteps is heard growing gradually louder. Sir Launcelot and his seven knights enter with the queen's bier on their shoulders, and eight torches burning about her. Her head rests on a cushion, and on her breast is her crown. A pall of black samite bordered with gold lilies covers her body. The knights turn in behind a rocky mound, then reappear among the trees. Then as they go, every now and then, their torches flash further and further away, smaller and smaller points of light amid the columns of the wood, till the last twinkle is gone and the blackness returns. \n \n \n \n CURTAIN \n \n \n Next: The San-Grail, by Ella Young [1920]","title":"Arthurian Miscellany: Guenevere: A Play in Five Acts, by Stark Young [1906]","type":"page"}