An Arthurian Miscellany "The fate of...is tragic in the essential sense, and not merely that superficial sense of the word according to which every misfortune is called 'tragic.'...In truth innocent suffering of that sort is merely pathetic, not tragic, inasmuch as it is not within the sphere of reason. Now suffering--misfortune--comes within the sphere of reason only if it is brought about by the free will of the subject, who must be entirely moral and justifiable; as must be also the power against which that subject proceeds. This power must be no merely natural one, nor the mere will of a tyrant: because it is only in such case that the man is himself, so to speak, guilty of his misfortune.
"In genuine tragedy, then, they must be powers both alike moral and justifiable, which from this side and from that come into collision. Two opposed Rights come forth: the one breaks itself to pieces against the other: in this way both alike loss: while both alike are justified, the one towards the other: not as if this were right, that other wrong."
Hegel. (\" Translated by " W. Pater)
" Persons Represented\"
Arthur, \" King of Britain."
Sir Kay,\" The Seneschal."
Sir Lancelot Du Lake.
Sir Lamorak De Galis.
Sir Tristram De Liones.
Sir Bedivere.
Sir Lucan.
Sir Geraint.
Sir Pelleas Of The Isles.
\" Princes of Orkney, Sons of King Lot and Queen Morgance."
Sir Gareth
Sir Gawaine
Sir Gaheris
Sir Agravaine
Sir Mordred, \" Prince of Orkney, son of Arthur and Morgance."
" The buildings, armour, and dresses are in the style of the early part of the XVth century."
" The Lists at Caerleon-on-Usk. Upon a das " Guinevere\" with her four ladies, and " ARTHUR, " with " KAY " and a herald at his right hand. A little below them " Lancelot, Tristram, Lamorak, Gawaine,\" and many other knights in armour; " Pelleas, Mordred,\" squires, yeomen,and a crowd of folk beyond."
" Arthur." Lancelot, the Queen with all men's loud acclaim
Hath named thee victor, and doth summon thee
To kneel before her Grace.
[lancelot kneels.
Guinevere (laying a wreath upon his head). Sir Lancelot, here
I give thee but a wisp of worthless leaves
For honour's sake: the prize thou hast already,
Knowing thyself unmatched.
" Lancelot." A prize, my Queen,
Or this or that, was never in my thought;
But one word's praise, if any toil might win it,
From the most gracious lips in Christendom.
" Arthur." A knightly answer, fitly rounding off
A noble contest: for in all the years
Since Britain crowned me with Pendragon's crown
Here at Caerleon, never have I beheld
So great a press of splendid chivalry
Gathered within one lists, nor ever known
Challenge so keen, defence so strenuous,
Valour and courtesy so justly blent.
Thou, Lancelot, claim'st of right the victor's wreath,
Having surpassed even thine own renown;
Yet let me say, did'st thou not wear it better
There are a hundred here would wear it well.
(" To" KAY.) But come, 'tis ended: bid the trumpet sound,
And let the herald cry before we part
Our wonted proclamation.
" Kay." Sir, he is ready
Ho! the king's herald!
[" Trumpet." ]
" Herald." Oyez! oyez! oyez!
And first if there be any in presence here
Knight of the Table Round, that hath received
Commission of the king for quest or war,
And therein laboured and therefrom returned
Now let him render up his due account
And bide the judgment of our lord the king
Oyez! Who comes?
" Lamorak." I, Lamorak de Galis.
" Arthur." Lamorak? Our Order knows no greater name:
Did I not match it with a charge as great?
" Lamorak." My Lord, the charge was great: no less indeed
Than kingship: for the full space of a year
To rule the outland by the Northern Sea,
Deal peace or war to the king's enemies
And justice to his people; to command
With Arthur's voice of thunder, and to strike
With the swift lightning flash of Arthur's sword.
" Arthur." I do remember well, yet all this year
I have not so much as dreamed of my wild North,
Knowing it guarded by a hand of iron
And golden counsels: yet for custom's sake
Recount thy service, Lamorak.
" Lamorak." Sir, briefly summed,
'Tis war-built peace, that will not quickly crumble.
[arthur \" and" Bedivere take leave, and go out, talking
with LAUREL " and" Linet. Lancelot follows as far
as the door and then returns to Guinevere.
\" Lancelot." Oh! could'st thou think it? to-day of all fair
days?
" Guinevere." Art thou not bounden to them?
" Lancelot." Ay, for the going,
Not the returning: time's my own for that.
They mean no further journey for to-day
Than to the king's pavilion: four long hours
Should bring us thither, less than two will serve
For spurring home: I'll find some clear excuse
And be with thee by midnight.
" Guinevere." Canst thou do it?
Is it not perilous, with the king so near?
" Lancelot." Wherefore, dear heart? These fears of thine are new:
Ere now, he has been nearer.
" Guinevere." I never told thee,
But oft before--'tis shame to be so weak--
When I have been most happy, and known myself
Twice safe with thee, I yet have felt the darkness
Pulsing around me with the hard-held breath
Of stealthy vengeance.
" Lancelot." Dearest, thou'rt not thyself,
Thy present dread throws back upon the past
These vain and monstrous shadows. Could'st thou have trembled,
And I not know it?
" Guinevere." Can I love thee, Lancelot,
And not forbode the end--yea! at all times,
And most when most I love thee?
" Lancelot." Fear not the end,
At worst 'tis Joyous Gard.
" Guinevere." Never! ah! never!
She lied to say it must!
" Lancelot." Nay, be not distressed;
As my Queen will.
But I must part in haste.
Sweet, bear me in thy heart these tedious hours.
" Guinevere." Farewell, beloved--and if it be not safe--
Lancelot--thou wilt not--
" Lancelot." Dear Prudence, but I will!
I must be rash for both.
Come, let me go.
Why! thou'rt all cold and shivering!
" Guinevere." Wherefore not?
'Tis long past summer.
Well, if it be time
I will not stay thee.
" Lancelot." Farewell.
" Guinevere." Bid Enid come.
Bid them all come.
[lancelot \" goes out."
I will not think of it.
" The King's Pavilion: on a moor: bright moonlight." Arthur, Kay, Bedivere, Geraint, Mordred, \" and others."
" Arthur (standing apart and speaking half to himself)."
'Tis wondrous light: I did not think the moon
Had waxed so near her greatest: how serene,
With what unquestioned sovranty she walks
Her wide arial palace! The bright host
Of stars, her courtiers, blink their myriad eyes
Before her full calm gaze, and not a cloud
Dares with rebellious darkness to usurp
A hand's-breadth of her vast and tranquil realm.
" Bedivere." The king is sad to-night; marked you his voice
At supper-time?
" Geraint." Ay, and yet 'twas not one voice:
Sometimes it rose in scorn, sometimes it sank
Weighed low with hidden meaning: now and then
'Twas strangely gentle, as in times of grief
A grown man speaks with children, his own pain
Subdued to a great tenderness.
" Bedivere." Finely noted!
That was the sound of it; and all unlike
Our old imperious Arthur.
" Kay." Sirs, heed it not,
All men must have their humours; his will pass
With the first mot of the horn.
" Geraint." Well, Heaven send it so,
And bless us from ill tidings!
" Arthur (rousing himself)." Come, my friends!
We should be elsewhere, dreaming of the game.
Once more, all's ready? Are the tufters come?
" Geraint." Sir, two good hours ago, and kennelled yonder
Within a stone's throw.
" Arthur." What says the harbourer?
" Bedivere." I spoke with him even now: a hopeful rogue!
To hear him talk, the forest's all alive
With warrantable deer: bay, tray, and ten,
The meanest head among them!
" Arthur." Good!
" Mordred." 'Tis a fair wind,
Light, with a tingle of the frosty North.
" Arthur." Yet 'twas a lowering sunset.
" Mordred." Ay, but the clouds
Followed the sun and sank close after him.
Trust me, to-morrow we shall wake to a sky
As clear as this above us.
" Arthur." So we'll hope.
Till then, God keep us!
" All." Good-night, my lord.
" Arthur." Good-night.
[" They go out, leaving the" KING " alone."
" Arthur." I could not tell them: these two days at least
Are something saved from the relentless fangs
That gape to grip us. Two days! why, 'twill seem
An age of peace hereafter. There's nought I have,
But I would barter it to ride to-morrow
Free-hearted one more chase. Oh! Laurel, Laurel!
Why must she run to pour into mine ear
Such news red-hot? Did she not love him then,
--Tristram, whom all men loved?
Nay, she was right!
I'll hate him too. Thank God! he falls alone.
" Enter" Kay.
\" Kay." Sir, if I set aside your strict command
And come at this late hour to trouble you,
Be sure the cause is grave.
" Arthur." Why, so am I:
The matter fits the time then.
" Kay." Nay, sir, the matter
Is such as fits no moment in the life
Of an all-puissant king: so full it is
Of bold disorder.
" Arthur." a! she has told thee, too?
What ails the woman, that with reckless hand
She spreads contagion broadcast?
" Kay." Sir, 'twas no woman
But one of the rangers told me this even now,
And most discreetly, so that I am to seek
Whence your own knowledge comes.
" Arthur." Thou'rt right: I perceive
Our thoughts have crossed: there's something more then: come!
I'll hear it.
" Kay." Your pardon, sir, if I begin
To leave my resolution; at first indeed
I thought this could not wait: but now I am fearful
Seeing you wounded, lest another thrust
May hurt you past endurance.
" Arthur." Delay does more!
Fear not, be short! always my strength rebounds
To front a second blow.
" Kay." My judgment bows.
This is the dolorous tale then: yester-eve
Sir Lamorak, riding home towards Camelot,
Was in the forest yonder held to bay,
Half-armed and helpless, by three caitiff knights
Who pulled him from his horse, and bound him there
To bear their heaped reproaches. At the last
Each miscreant stabbed him with a several wound
And fled: the ranger found him, life and sense
Faint, but not wholly ebbed: stanched the last flow,
And for his ghostly comfort brought the priest
To shrive and housel him.
" Arthur." Kay, hold me not strained
Upon the gradual rack of thy slow speech:
In one word, all!
" Kay." Sir, at the hour of tierce
Sir Lamorak, after full confession made
And absolution taken, yielded up
His sinful spirit.
" Arthur." Thou might'st have kept that word
For who deserve it. When they dared reproach him
--Lamorak--they dared no lesser villainy
Than when they stabbed his body. By what vile names
Shall they be infamous--so much he told
Before he parted?
" Kay." No, he named them not,
But owned their quarrel righteous--he confessed
They were the kindred of a lady--one
Whose life he had corrupted.
" Arthur (grasping " KAY'S" hand and turning away his face)."
Kay, Kay, my father!
Go, pray for me. The living and the dead!
Go, stay not!
" Kay." I feared that I was wrong to speak,
Yet the time presses: there is need of counsel,
And order to be taken.
" Arthur." Order that none
Come near me! For thyself get thee to sleep.
[kay \" goes out."
I cannot think; the freightage of my mind
Is tossed and broken on a shoreless flood
Of weltering passions. I have been betrayed
By those whom most I cherished. Came there not
Upon their hearts, even in that dark hour
Of faith's eclipse, some grace of memory,
Some tenderness up-smouldering at the last
On the old altars that we built long since
In life's most sacred places?
Oh! 'tis false!
They never loved me: I have been their scorn,
Humoured and duped. Lamorak, thou art a coward,
Thou durst not face my vengeance; thou hast forsaken
Thy fellow traitor!--ha! but Tristram--Tristram
Is mine! I'll fell him with a toppling stroke
Shall make this kingdom echo!
God pardon me!
I had forgot: the realm's in peril here,
While I sit brooding on the angry smart
Of my own wrongs. What must I do to stay
The creeping of this sin, that like a worm
Eats out the heart of every tallest shaft
Whereon my kingdom's pillared? One more snapped,
And Britain, like a palace undermined,
Crumbles to Chaos. Death! that I should crouch
Dully foreboding which of my high hopes
Shall fail me next--I that a year ago
Laughed in my heart "My days indeed must pass,
But I have built this Order, that shall keep
My purpose after me, and stand unshaken
Through all the changeful ages of the world."
Shall it not stand? Was it not well devised?
Will God not lend me counsel how to save
A thing so noble? If I knew but whence
This evil had its birth: the first to fall
Was Gawaine--I was weak--but no man guessed,
Or more than guessed, the fulness of his guilt:
None knew that Mordred forced me, none could know
With what fell weapon. No, beyond all doubt
The mischief sprang not thence: and long ago
I have forgiven Mordred.
Who dare say
It is not so? How should I not forgive
Whom I have found so passionately pure,
So swift to ring the armoured heel of scorn
On every creeping thought and the whole brood
Of venomed sayings?
Yet I have not plumbed
The secret of this Mordred. True he is,
High-minded, clean of heart: yet ever seems
To choose my way because it is his own
And not from sworn obedience.
'Tis strange,
But 'tis a thought that like an April cloud
Hath often chilled the sunshine of my mind
--Gone with a shiver--that till Mordred came--
No, no, I will not think it! How could he,
Whose only fault is too impetuous youth
And unripe counsel--folly! I must be
More weary than I knew. I'll pray awhile,
And sleep perchance thereafter: being but man
I dare not hope with blind and selfish cry
To turn aside the ordering of the world
From God's eternal purpose, yet I know
Something divine stirs in us while we pray,
Transforming thought to will.
[" He kneels."
" Enter" KAY " and" MORDRED " hurriedly."
" Kay." Back, sirrah, back!
" Mordred." I will not.
" Kay." There can be nothing
So grave to warrant--
" Mordred." Warrant? there's that should bend
once for all.
(" To" ARTHUR," who has risen." ) Sir, a messenger
Is come from Camelot: spur never yet
Dripped red with direr haste: let me not tell it
If you can save me with a leap at truth.
" Arthur." Whose messenger?
" Mordred." My brother Agravaine's.
He came not with us; for some private cause
He had exchanged his turn, and keeps to-night
The inner guard of the palace.
[" He pauses."
" Arthur." Make an end:
I am ready, Mordred.
" Mordred." He hath sent me word
By his most trusted squire, who bears for token
This signet ring, that when the moon was high
Sir Lancelot came alone to Camelot,
And passed within the palace.
[" The King starts: " MORDRED looks hard at him for
a space, and goes on.
Agravaine
Setting the watch at midnight, saw him there--
There--he returned not--even now perchance
He is there.
[" A silence." ]
" Arthur (in a low voice)." Where, Mordred?
" Mordred." With the Queen.
[" A silence." ]
" Arthur (quietly)." Ay, let us go.
Farewell, Kay; if I have been harsh with thee,
I crave thy pardon: we will speak again
Of Lamorak's burying.
" Kay." Sir, if you will
--God send you peace--to-morrow.
" Arthur (half to himself)." Ay, to-morrow.
That's in another life.
" Kay." Pray you, forgive me,
I am an old man: I have served you long:
Put not such force upon your grief.
" Arthur." My friend,
Thou hast misread me: I have striven to-night
With the dread angel of my destiny:
Henceforth I am halt for ever: but I know
That I shall save my people.
Mordred, come!
" Open country near Almesbury. " MORDRED " alone; behind, squires and yeomen resting. Enter " Gawaine.
\" Mordred." Gawaine! already? But so far from folk
I knew thine errand hopeless.
" Gawaine." A hundred times
It might have been so, but to-day by fortune
Here at the hand I chanced on all I sought
And something more.
" Mordred." They have been seen then?
" Gawaine." Where is the king?
" Mordred." He was beside me but a moment since,
Pacing and pacing like a sentinel,
To keep his thoughts imprisoned.
" Gawaine." Ay, when I parted
I saw how 'twas: the speed of this pursuit
Holds sorrow breathless: when the chase is stayed
He cannot choose but hear the instant voice
Of that which rides behind him.
" Mordred." There thou'rt wide:
I do not think him so much grieved as eager,
At grip with strong resolves that will not wait
The time for utterance.
But let that pass,
Tell me thy news.
" Gawaine." I scarce had gone a mile
Beyond the cross-roads, when I met a dwarf
Mounted upon a pack-mule.
" Mordred." Oh! keep thy mule,
Pack, dwarf and all! be brief, man!
" Gawaine." Well, well! to-day
At the hour of tierce a lady and two knights
Came to the nunnery at Almesbury
Not seven miles hence: Lancelot and Pelleas
(He all but told their names) tarried an hour
To break their fast and ease their lagging steeds,
Then took the forest southward: they're for France,
I'll warrant it: and when we see them next
Their faces will be turned this way, and backed
With a rare dust of onset.
" Mordred." Then the queen--
Where is the queen?
" Gawaine." Why there--in sanctuary--
Fordone with flight and terror, left to hang
Day in day out upon the altar steps,
Sighing for rescue.
" Mordred." Rescue? Mercy of God!
And she shall have it! Are we not all her men,
Sworn to her service with the self-same oath
That made us Arthur's too?
" Gawaine." Only so long
As to be hers was still to serve the king.
I am sorry for her, but the time has come
To choose our ways; no man can ride at once
Two roads cross-parted.
" Mordred." Gawaine, they are not parted,
They must not be! Ay, wag thy tolerant head,
I say they shall not be! What's Camelot,
When the enchantment of that voice hath ceased
To haunt her chambers? Whom wilt thou call king,
When the four seas of heathendom break in
To beat our tottering bulwark into mounds
Of nameless ruin?
" Gawaine." Arthur will rule his own
Without thy help or mine.
" Mordred." Not without mine!
I am his son: I look to follow him,
And with my will no man--not Arthur's self--
Shall waste my heritage. There's Tristram gone,
And Lamorak, and the twelve that died last night
With Agravaine,--how think'st thou, is it a time
To whet revenge, and lop the last great branch
With all his leafage?
" Gawaine." Ha! Pelleas and the like!
" Mordred." Such like we scarce could match them, man for man;
Half the Round Table, and their vanward chief
No delicate ambler, but the sternest knight
Unto his mortal foe that ever yet
Put spear in rest.
" Gawaine." Well, Heaven defend the weak!
Since we are the weak: for certes, mortal foes
To all that hold with Lancelot and the queen,
We are and must be
" Mordred." Never!
" Gawaine." Oh! Thou'rt dull to-day:
Loved I not Lancelot? When have I been heard
To blame the queen for choosing where she would?
Oft-times I warned these meddlers; they are the cause
Of their own death: I follow not revenge,
But kings are hard to oust; and last night's work
Forbids accordance.
" Mordred." Then what last night hath done
To-night shall undo:--Gawaine, hear my plan,
A plan to end all well: she is there, thou sayest,
And Arthur knows not; let him not know yet;
So, the time's mine: and the place too is mine--
The abbey yonder--Kay and Bedivere
Have word to meet us there; till darkness fall
Their readiest speed cannot make good the tryst.
He must await them: there's the nick of fortune
Where the adventure dovetails with the wish.
I'll plot their meeting--Arthur and the queen--
For soft and pensive twilight: strange it were--
Now that the fever's passed and left her blood
To its noble rhythm--if she longed not
For silence and forgiveness; passing strange
If Arthur could deny her aught so asked
As she will ask it.
" Gawaine." And Lancelot?
" Mordred." Time enough:
First let me fly this pitch.
" Gawaine." When thou hast stooped
And missed--
" Mordred." Nay! miss I shall not: Gawaine, mark!
If--ah! if he should find it in his heart
To judge her where he hath not judged himself,
And to deny her fault that tenderness
His own more loudly cries for, I'll not stand
To see injustice done, and the fell grip
Of this old tyranny we swore to loose
Clenched tight and tighter on the aching throats
That ask but leave to breathe: I saved thee once
With half the truth; this time I'll venture all,
Ay! and win all!
" Gawaine." Well, Mordred, go thy way.
Thou'rt a bold spirit: if the rest of us
Could match the sanguine colour of thy thoughts,
Perchance we too might come to govern kings,
And do the thing we would.
" Mordred." Hist! yonder he comes.
Let us go meet him!
Remember, nought of the queen.
" Almesbury: a chapel in the Nunnery. Within the screen the Nuns at evensong: among them " Guinevere\" in white clothes and black: without," ARTHUR" and " Mordred.
Nuns (chanting).
In covertendo Dominus captivitatem Sion;
Facti sumus sicut somniantes.
Tunc repletum est risu os nostrum;
Et lingua nostra exultatione.
Tunc dicebant inter gentes;
Magnificavit Dominus facere cum istis.
Magnificavit Dominus facere nobiscum:
Facti sumus lltantes.
Converte Domine captivitatem nostram;
Sicut rivos in Austro.
Qui seminant in lacrimis;
In exultatione metent.
Qui ambulans ibat et flebat,
Portans ad seminandum sementem:
Veniens veniet in exultatione,
Portans suos manipulos.
[The nuns go out: Guinevere is left kneeling before the
altar: Arthur \" and" MORDRED " in the ante-chapel."
" Arthur (to himself)." I heard a voice which sang
So sweetly that it seemed none earthly thing.
"He that now goeth weeping on his way
Shall come again: shall doubtless come with joy,
And bring"--Ah! fair sweet Father Jesu Christ!
If it might be!
Never, never again.
[mordred \" goes softly out unperceived: " Guinevere rises
and comes through the screen towards Arthur.
\" Arthur." Thou, Guinevere?
" Guinevere." Is it not to take me then
That you art come?
" Arthur." I know not: I followed thee--
I thought--I cannot tell thee--
" Guinevere." Be not at pains
To spare me truth: I know that I am judged;
Yea! but for shelter of this holy place
Doomed to the death by fire.
" Arthur." That were the work
Of mere revenge: thou knowest me, thou knowest
That where love is, such anger and such dread
Find but a moment's foothold: seest thou not
My wrath is fallen? Let thy fears go with it
Into the dark abyss from which they sprang.
[" He pauses: she is silent."
Doubt not; thou'rt free.
" Guinevere." Free! for the hope of that one word
I have given all, honour and peace and name?
And now--'tis but a word; a breath, a sound,
That with a barren echo mocks my cry.
Yea, and the very wish was a fool's wish,
I know it now; what passionate revolt,
What tears, what prayers, what fierce desire of life
Can wholly blot the past, or sear away
The memory of the soul? Not God Himself
Can make undone that which hath once been done.
Take back thy gift of freedom: were it all--
Nay, were it half of that for which I longed,
'Tis not for me: my just reward is death;
I have sinned the twofold sin of them that strive
To better wrong by wrong.
" Arthur." Have I not said
True love desires not justice or revenge
But only this, to love and to forgive--
And to be loved again.
Ah! Guinevere!
Hast thou then never loved me? Have my years
Been but a dream, and thine a long-drawn lie?
Wilt thou not speak, wilt thou not give me back
The past, my happy past? Take not that too,
Or truth has lost its meaning.
" Guinevere." I am not hard--
Oh! do not think it!--but sometimes "yea" and "nay"
Bear equal falsehood. I would tell thee all
If I could find but words.
The name of love
Is light upon the lips of many a maid
That never knew him truly: such was I
Then, when my father bade me give myself
Unto a man scarce seen, and all unknown
Beyond the common speech of courtesy.
"Love comes," they said, and I was well content
With that which came, as children are content
To cling about their nurses; till they hear--
Yea, though it be far off--the voice of her
Whose life was one with theirs, and lo! they are fled,
Fled with a reckless rapture past command,
Past reason, past entreaty! Such was I,
When at the last love came and called his own.
" Arthur." His own? Did I not love thee, too, then? Ay!
First, longest, best? His own? Oh! stay me not,
I heard--of speech so bitter and so bold
I could not miss the purpose--thou hast said
My soul through all those wedded nights and days
Called not to thine with the true kindred voice
That quickens passion--ah! God knows!--but thou,
Loveless or loving, thou hadst sworn to hear
One voice, the voice of honour. If I know thee,
Even then the lingering echoes of that oath
In some far chamber of thine inmost heart
Were ringing still; I marvel passion's self
Could so have drowned them.
" Guinevere." Marvel no more! 'tis false!
Thou art the cause: my faith was stayed on thine
And fell when thine had fall'n: thou did'st not know--
When all thy mind was fierce with flaming thoughts
That leaped to torture me--thou didst not dream
How, long ago, the knowledge of thy sin
Had burned my heart to ashes.
" Arthur." Thou too? thou?
Have I not paid that debt, yea! paid it thrice
To the uttermost? Bethink thee, is it just
Because a boy, wilful and passionate,
Drunk with the incense of his fame, and flushed
With the new wine of power,--How canst thou say
That I am he? 'Tis half a lifetime since:
He sinned, and went his way; he is become
A thing of dream, a shadow in the glass,
No part of me; is it not enough that I
Still bear his punishment, but thou must add
The burden of thy scorn.
" Guinevere." I scorned thee not
For any fault of boyhood, but I heard
A man, midway upon the road of life,
A king, for justice throned, deliberate,
Upholding lust and treason for the sake
Of the old-time fellowship they claimed with him.
I heard thee: love and hate that moment broke
The dungeon-keep of duty.
" Arthur." Guinevere,
I am the man: but hear me--my soul too
No less than thine, revolted--I believed--
Yea! by God's light, which may we yet behold,
I thought to save our Order and the realm
From wider ruin.
" Guinevere." How should wider be?
Lamorak, Tristram, Lancelot, Guinevere--
These and a hundred more, in yonder hall
Cast off their vows for ever.
" Arthur." Mordred! Mordred!
What art thou then? God's vengeance upon earth?
" Guinevere." Not yet! Did'st thou not know then--
" Arthur." I know thee now!
Mordred! my son! my very son! the child
Of Youth and Doom, sent to me from the past
With life's young glory in thy wilful eyes
And in thine hand stark death!
Nay, Guinevere,
'Tis I am judged. Think not my spirit unchanged
Because I humble not myself with words
And vain lamenting; but I reap alone
That which my hand hath sowed, and all my strength
Must stoop to bear it homeward.
Now farewell:
It sets toward dusk; the hour is come to part,
Thou to what earthly rest thy soul may find,
I to the long night's work.
" Guinevere." Oh! blinder still!
I knew not Arthur! Thou art king through all!
And I that might have served thee!
" Arthur." Guinevere,
Vex not thine heart in vain: the past is mine,
Thy life is yet to come.
" Guinevere." Ah! never dream
That I will live it! Here I render up
Into thine hand the remnant of my days
To spare or spend. Thou canst not ask of me
That which I will not school myself to give.
" Arthur." If it might be! Nay, this one hour my heart
Endure, endure! this too will pass!
Oh! woman!
God hold from thee the cup thy hand hath mixed!
" Guinevere." What have I said? Did I not offer all
To stead thy purpose?
" Arthur." Ay, but thou and I
Have drifted far asunder on a tide
That knows no hour of turning. Never sound
Of thy voice and of mine shall meet again
Across that homeless ocean, though we steer
Beneath the same true stars, and win at last
To the same haven of achieved desire.
" Guinevere." What haven? What achievement?
" Arthur." If by toil,
By battle, by the pangs of dying hope,
By death, by death in life, I yet may save
This Britain from the curse that sprang from me,
Wilt thou not--even thou--for Britain's sake
Forgive--forgive me?
" Guinevere." Oh! thou royal heart!
Is not this shame forgiveness? Wilt thou more?
Thine enemies--I reck not what they be!--
All! all! God smite them headlong from thy path!
Farewell: forth to thy battle! Even here,
Through these dim aisles of peace, there yet shall come
Some wandering voice to whisper tidings dear
Of Camelot, of Arthur's Table Round,
Of the king, reigning as a noble knight,
And Guinevere forgotten.
[ She passes within the screen and falls on her knees
again before the altar. Arthur moves towards her
for a moment: then turns suddenly away.
" A down between Camelford and Tintagel" ARTHUR " and" KAY. " A camp is seen behind them."
" Kay." 'Tis not that I esteem my counsel surer;
Nor, so esteeming it, would I be bold
To thrust it on you.
" Arthur." And yonder, as thou sayest,
Lies Mordred with his force?
" Kay." Ay, my lord, yonder:
But what I venture--
" Arthur." ell me, how is this known;
I see no sign.
" Kay." Sir Bedivere, my lord,
Had sent fore-riders out to skim the country,
Who brought the news even now.
But with your leave--
Merely for safe assurance,--
" Arthur." And Constantine?
" Kay." On that side, too, there is a scout-watch set,
But nothing yet reported. Good my lord,
Will you not hear me?
" Arthur." Why truly, if I must.
But wit thou well, meseems to hear advice
Being resolved already, suits no more
With wisdom, than the way that children use,
Who dig their gardens up to make them sure
The seeds are sprouting.
" Kay." Nay, nay, sir, Heaven forbid
That any word of mine should work upheaval
In the king's mind!
" Arthur." Ay, Heaven forbid! and yet
Let us not be too fearful; for thy peace
I'll even risk my own. Say on.
" Kay." Sir, I have said
'Tis merely for assurance--none can doubt
You have considered all that could be urged
On this side and on that, yet, my good lord--
May I be pardoned--you have held aloof
From all of us who serve you, taken counsel
With no man all these days, from the first news
Of Lancelot's flight, to this, but three nights old,
That Mordred sets his teeth to meet rebuke
With unashamed rebellion. 'Tis to-day
He comes for the last time to urge his claim--
Pardon for Lancelot, and I know not what
Of licence for himself and those he leads--
If that the answer--
" Arthur. If" is out of time;
The answer's ready.
" Kay." Let it not be thought
I would presume to ply the king with questions,
[" He pauses."
Or force the privacy of his intent--
[" He pauses again:" ARTHUR " remains silent."
But how can we be certain that his glance--
That any one man's glance--hath made survey
Of the whole field, remarked each several gap
Where dangers peep, and reckoned with them all,
If silence--
If silence must be kept.
Bedivere \" enters."
" Arthur." Nay, content thee, Kay,
For one hour yet. Well, Bedivere?
" Bedivere." Sir, time presses:
Mordred's at hand: his terms are known to all,
And there are some who love you ill at ease
That choice so sudden should be forced upon you.
" Arthur." It cannot be too sudden.
" Bedivere." I know 'tis said
You are resolved: 'tis true you have good right--
If right were all in question--to repulse
Lancelot and Mordred both: yet there is more
If I dare speak it.
" Arthur." Ay, speak it, Bedivere.
" Bedivere." Let me be blunt then, too; there's no way left
To deal with Lancelot, save by pardoning him.
We've none to match him: let his force be joined--
As 'tis in part even now--with Mordred's yonder,
And, save what hope may hang on Constantine,
We are merely lost.
" Arthur." But Constantine will come.
He too is close at hand; 'tis three weeks since
I sent him urgent summons.
" Bedivere." Ay, so urgent
And so long since, that but for some mishap
He had been here ere now.
" Arthur." No, no!
" Bedivere." Let us not strain
Our eyes so blind with staring at the distance,
They cannot measure the abyss that yawns
One step before us. Mark you--king or churl--
Down from life to death in a moment's fall--
'Tis a sheer plunge, and dark!
" Kay." Sir Bedivere! My lord--
This is no language for a king to hear--
I go not with him there; I but approve
His meaning, not his plainness.
" Arthur." Nay, both are honest,
Both have my thanks: in truth, these latter days
Death has been much remembered in my thoughts,
And no less dreaded.
" Bedivere." He may well be dreaded
By those who leave their country tossed between
The wind and tide of parties. Sir, forgive me,
This Mordred is your son.
" Arthur." That, too, Bedivere,
I have remembered.
" Bedivere." Your only son, your heir:
And once this gust of wilfulness were laid--
As well it may be-- there's no voice in Britain
So like a king's. Bend to him now, hereafter
You'll turn him to your will; but if this cloud
Break into storm between you, either way
There's ruin; he who wins, wins but remorse;
Who loses, loses all.
[arthur \" turns away."
" Kay (aside to " Bedivere). There I think we touched him.
Hold to it: press him! not to hard, but still
As hard as may be with a due respect.
" Bedivere (aside)." Nay, the hour's struck: God send I was in time!
My lord, Sir Mordred's coming. Mark you now,
There's something courteous and humble mixed
With his high bearing; rebels look not so.
" Kay." Humble? Good sooth! But well, 'twas timely said.
Mordred \" enters with" Gawaine.
\" Arthur." Good morrow, Mordred.
" Mordred." Sir, God give you peace!
" Arthur." Gawaine, thou too art welcome.
" Gawaine." My lord, I thank you.
" Arthur." If ye have other friends at hand, we pray you
Let us not lack their presence.
" Mordred." Sir, if it please you,
They are content to wait, whilst I entreat
The boon of private audience.
" Arthur." Why, surely,
If such a place may serve us. Prithee, Kay,
Go summon all the camp, and while we walk
Apart with Mordred, bid them share thy charge.
That Gawaine and his comrades fall not weary
For lack of entertainment. Bedivere,
Thou shalt attend us yonder within call.
[kay \" and" Bedivere \" go out with" Gawaine.
(" To" Morderd.) Thou hast thy wish; we are alone:
What is it
Thou seekest further?
" Mordred." Sir, I had thought to speak
Of Lancelot first.
" Arthur." Ah! Mordred, think again!
Thou wilt not suffer any man to stand
Between the clasping of thy hand and mine?
" Mordred." But this is Lancelot, but for whom long since
The best of all of us had been full cold
At the heart's root.
" Arthur." Ay, long since.
" Mordred." Oh! he hath sinned,
But say not, past forgiveness: drive him not
To justify his deed: set him again
To climb with stronger and more patient feet
The path he fell from; and to us his pardon
Shall be an earnest of the gentler rule
For which we humbly pray.
" Arthur." There thou'rt asking more--
Far more--than Lancelot's pardon.
" Mordred." We do but crave
For freedom; every current of the time
Sets toward a kindly faith and tend'rer laws;
Only these vows oppress us, crying still
"Thou shalt not," in the ear of lusty youth,
To whom no voice should call but Nature's own,
"Desire and dread not; life is all too short,
Too fair, too great, to mar with meaner hopes,
This, this thou shalt, and this!"
" Arthur." Ay, but those to whom
Despite of Nature these same meaner hopes
Are still the more endeared?
" Mordred." There would be none!
Nay then if such there might be, I would cast them
Into the prison-house of loneliness,
The pit of disfellowed: there to shiver
Till penitence should give them tears enough
To pay their ransom.
" Arthur." Thy trust were vain, ay! vain
And perilous: there's evil in our blood
Twin-born with good, and claiming soon or late
His destined share of life's inheritance:
Whom tenderness but fosters.
" Mordred." Nay, but 'tis not so:
Put it to proof: the event shall bind us all.
" Arthur." 'Tis proved already.
" Mordred." How so?
" Arthur." In all the years
Before thou, Mordred, cam'st,--
" Mordred." Ha! before I came
None dared--
" Arthur." Thou sayest well, before thou cam'st
None dared what, since thy coming, all men dare,
What none shall dare again!
" Mordred." Then God save Britain,
When freedom may not speak her dearest hope
Above a crouching whisper!
" Arthur." Ay! God save Britain!
But that's my prayer, not thine; for what sake else,
When Gawaine fell, should I have thrust my hand
Into the torment of that blackening shame?
For what have I forsworn all peace--the peace
That comes of pardoning, the peace that haunts
Old trodden ways, the peace that at the last,
When wife and son bend down to fading eyes,
Lightens the dusk of death? Oh! Mordred, Mordred!
Thou should'st have been in very deed my son!
" Mordred." I am thy son, I will be! I will wait;
Reproach me not; thou shalt not be alone;
Thou shalt not lose an hour of peace for me
Henceforward all thy days!
" Arthur." And after, Mordred?
" Mordred." Nay, all thy days.
" Arthur." Ay, and when my days are done?
" Mordred." Then I thy son will take this realm in trust
For thy son's son.
" Arthur." Ah! Mordred, if I but knew
How thou would'st read that trust when I am dead,
And by what oath be bounden!
" Mordred." Oath? Oath again?
More oaths? More dust upon a parching tongue?
Is't not enough for thee whilst thou art here
To gag and fetter me, but thou must seek
To bind my life upon thy tyrant's wheel
With the dead hand? Oath? Yea then, hear my oath!
I swear to rule this kingdom after thee
As thou hast ruled it:--that's by my own will
And my own reason, and my own right arm!
" Arthur." Said I not? Bedivere!
" Mordred." Stay! I have not done,
We have not spoken of the queen.
" Arthur." Ho! there! Bedivere!
Bedivere \" enters."
Bring the knights hither!
" Bedivere." All, my lord?
" Arthur." All, all!
[bedivere \" goes out."
" Mordred." Thou shalt not so escape; alone or thronged
There's that within my grasp shall reach thee yet.
For Lancelot, as thou wilt: with his own hand
He well may keep his head; and for myself
I might have thought on patience: but the queen
No man shall judge, and thou, the fount of wrong,
Thou, least of all men: doom, and thou art doomed;
Be just and live: why wilt thou ride apace
To thy last battle? Seest thou not how Sin
Follows to drag thee down, and at thy side
Death shakes the sand-glass of thy falling hours?
Thou'rt mastered: who can hope to be more strong
Than Fate, that on the instant springs all-armed
From our own deeds?
Bedivere \" and Knights enter."
" Arthur (to" Mordred). Silence! thy bolt is shot:
Stand thou aside!
(" To the others." )Sirs, we have drawn you hither
That ye may share our counsel. Time hath been
When ye have known this kingdom's life to flow
Tranquil and pure, with no more sound of storm
Than a broad river on a windless noon:
But now 'tis changed; its swollen course is fed
By dark and roaring torrents; build we not
Our dykes the stronger, night may hear us yet
Swept down to ruin on a world in flood.
I am resolved: I bid you toil with me:
If we achieve, 'tis noble: though we fail,
'Tis work for kings! How say ye?
" Bedivere and Arthur's Knights." Yea!
" Mordred's Party." What must we do?
" Arthur." Ye must be bound anew to keep the vows
Of our High Order: ye must stand apart
From whoso hath not kept them, leaving such
To justice unappealed; and ye must swear
Upon your hilted swords true faith and service
To him that after me shall work my will--
Sir Constantine.
" Mordred." What? disinherit me?
Rob me and slay me? Nay, thou canst not do it!
Thou canst not slay thy past! For thy life, back!
Thou goest to the deathward!
" Arthur." Wilt thou dare me?
Wilt thou be taught that so his heart be strong
A fallen man may rise, and trample down
The offspring of his rash and evil past?
Stand from before me!
[mordred'S party draw back: one of them treads upon
an adder, and draws his sword to kill it.
" Arthur's Herald." Treason, lords! at arms!
" Arthur's Knights." At arms! at arms!
[" Both sides draw their swords. " MORDRED throws
himself between them.
" Mordred." Hold!
" Gawaine (to " Mordred). Draw man! all's afire!
Cry "Freedom!" and set on!
[ All go out fighting in great confusion: a noise of
trumpets and shouting is heard behind.
" Another part of the down. Enter " ARTHUR" attended by a trumpeter."
" Arthur." I'll breathe myself a moment; trumpeter,
Sound me a rally: 'twixt pursuit and flight
The long day through, our bands are too much parted,
Yet, as I think, not broken past recall.
[" The trumpet sounds: a pause follows. " ]
They come not: God defend us! Sound again.
How the mist hangs! I cannot see the field
Save here and there in gaps and shifting gleams
There's one! 'Tis Lucan: wounded, by his gait.
Another, and another!
Bedivere \" enters."
Bedivere!
Well met! 'Tis time we drew our battle in.
What of the southward fighting?
" Bedivere." Nay, God knows!
Mine eyes were elsewhere: yet at times I caught,
Between the shocks we brunted, how their fortune
Moment by moment on the razor's edge
Swung in a doubtful scale: forward and back,
Forward and back: a scant hour since, their noise
Still rang between the water and the wood,
Then clattered inland, scattering up the cliff.
" Arthur." Inland? They pushed us then? Yet against odds
'Twas long and stoutly held: to-night at least
Nought threatens thence: there's silence on the right;
And here, where first the main encounter joined,
Men prowl like fog-blind wolves among the dead
And fight by tens and twenties. Whence art thou?
Hath Kay been seen? We lost him: is he strayed
Beyond the trumpet call?
" Bedivere." Ay, beyond call,
God rest him!
" Arthur." Kay? Ah! Bedivere, unsay it!
They told thee false!
" Bedivere." I bore him in these arms
Back from the vanward mellay; bound his wounds,
And thought to leave him: even while I turned
His voice came strong, "These braggart boys!" he cried,
"Lock on my armour!" but with that he drooped,
And straightway fell on sleep.
" Arthur." Such death be mine!
So sudden, so undoubting!
Farewell, Kay!
Thou leav'st a lonely world.
Come, Bedivere,
Tell out thy tale: this was mine oldest friend,
All else is lighter.
" Bedivere." Yet I had liefer take
As many blows unshielded, than recall
The hundred partings that to-day hath knelled.
Who is not fallen? Pertilope died first,
Cut off from rescue: like a lonely rock,
Now bare, now hidden by the swinging seas
We marked his crest awhile; then with a roar
The full tide seethed above him. Aglovale,
Gillimer, Driant, Griflet, Priamus,
Fell in one charge: the dead upon their track
Lay thick as wind-laid wheat. Then with the mist
Confusion came: I saw young Tor and Dinas
Hurtle together like two boars in spring,
Till they were blotted from me: when the wind
Brought twilight back, their arms were locked in death.
Segwarides is gone, and Lambegus,
Damas, and Herminde: Brandiles is shriven
And ebbing fast: yonder's my brother Lucan
That scarce can drag him hither.
" Arthur." Trumpeter,
Go help Sir Lucan.
Oh, my noble knights,
I am your death!
Hereafter, Bedivere,
There shall be grief beyond all tears for these,
Who now must be forgotten: counsel me,
Which way to fling ourselves upon the flight?
Where stand the traitors?
" Bedivere." Nowhere; Death is just,
This side and that he reaps with equal stroke:
They too are few and faint.
" Arthur." Then 'tis well with us--
If aught can yet be well--thy fears are like
To find their answer; let this fortune hold
An hour or less, and Mordred's game is lost.
For him stalemate's defeat, and all or nought
His only hazard.
" Bedivere." I would it were so.
" Arthur." What else?
What is there left?
" Bedivere." I know not, yet meseems
His very life's a challenge.
" Arthur." Was it not thou
This morning would'st have urged me yield his claim
And make accord with him?
" Bedivere." There was yet time:
Now he hath tasted blood, and will not stint
Till he be gorged--Arthur or Constantine,
So long as Britain lies within his spring,
He'll reck not.
" Arthur." Bedivere, I have sworn an oath--
God's mercy keep me from redeeming it!--
But Mordred shall not reign.
" Enter " LUCAN, " wounded."
Thou'rt welcome, Lucan.
Where is thy hurt?
What knight was that who climbed
So doubtfully behind thee? Knows he not
Our rallying signal?
" Lucan." Nay, he's none of ours.
His visor hides his face, but 'tis the frame
Of a strong knight, and traitor though he be,
He deals a grievous buffet.
" Bedivere (looking off)." Ay, he's bold,
He means to try us.
" Arthur." No, he seeks a parley.
Look ye, he doffs his helm!
Mordred \" enters."
Ah! Jesu mercy!
" Bedivere." Mordred! thou villain! lace that helm again
And keep thee as thou may'st!
" Arthur." Hold! Bedivere,
This is my deed: I could not bear to stand
And see thee slay him.
Mordred, draw thy sword,
And give thy soul into the hands of God,
For thy time hieth fast!
[arthur \" and" MORDRED fight, but neither is wounded:
they draw apart for a breathing space. Arthur
moves forward again.
" Lucan." Sir, let him go:
Bethink you, he's your son: let him but swear
By the five wounds of our sweet Saviour Christ,
To quit this land for ever.
Ah, Sir Mordred.
What's he that strikes against his father's life?
Be sworn, and 'scape the curse!
" Mordred (to" Arthur). I have more right
To take thy life than thou could'st ever claim
To give me mine!
" Arthur." I sinned: I will atone.
[" They fight again:" MORDRED " falls: " ARTHUR stands
looking down upon him.
" Arthur." 'Tis done!
Might I die too!
" Mordred." Thou shalt!
[ He raises himself with a last effort and
stabs Arthur.
O Britain!
Life! life! One year of life--untyrannised!
[" He falls back dead: " ARTHUR " kneels beside him."
" Bedivere." My lord,--you are sore hurt: come hence!
(" A pause." ) My lord!
Will you not hence?
[arthur \" turns and looks at him."
" Arthur." Yea, Bedivere, 'tis time.
[" He turns away and covers his face again."
" Sea coast near Tintagel. Under the rocks a barge: " ARTHUR" therein with ladies tending him. " Bedivere \" upon the shore at hand."
" Arthur." Bedivere
For this last office and for all that's gone
Thou hast my loving thanks: little enough
For such true service: but it yet may be
When thou hast crept from off the windy hills
Into the ingle-nook of dreaming eld,
Among the ember-faces my face too
Thou shalt behold, and muse before thou sleepest
With heart contented "Arthur leaned on me,
And his last thanks were mine."
" Bedivere." Nay, my dear lord,
Far be the last! You are not yet for death;
Men say you cannot die.
" Arthur." 'Tis true, long since
I do remember it was told of me
I should be hurt to death and yet not slain,
But by the will of our Lord Jesu brought
Into another place, and come again
To win the Holy Cross. I cannot tell;
'Tis a dark saying: rather, as I deem,
To-night, after the fashion of this world
My life must change.
" Bedivere." To-night? So Britain sinks!
Ah! my Lord Arthur, what shall save us now--
A torn and kingless people?
" Arthur." Nay, Bedivere,
Not kingless; tide me death betide me life,
The realm rides high through all, with Constantine
To hold the course I pricked. Look forward, forward,
And let the past, with Arthur and his sins,
Fade on the dim horizon far behind!
Yet, even so, meseems I shall not die;
My purpose lives, my will, that which hath been
The life-blood of my spirit, my soul's breath:--
What shall a man not suffer and not dare
That this may be? Yea! shall he not for this
Tread out the fire upon his own hearth-stone,
For this draw steel against the child that sprang
Of his own body? Though my name be lost
For ever, and my race with me to-night
Fall into dust, that which I willed remains,
And while that lives I shall not wholly die.
Now make me ere I pass:--Sir Constantine
Is King of Britain: see him crowned with speed,
And summon all true men to render him
Such service and such faith as they would own
Towards Arthur come again. Then shalt thou go
Where thou may'st meet with Lancelot: let him wit
I died full fain of him, leaning my trust
Upon his old remembered nobleness
That he will yet repent him. They are fallen
Who brought the realm in peril for his sake;
His penance waits him still: let him pray out
His life in some lone hermitage, or pass
Into the Holy Land where Jesu Christ
Was quick and dead. There may his soul find peace!
" Bedivere." All this shall have fulfilment. Ah! would God
I too had fallen first!
" Arthur." Nay, for lack of thee
My words were lost: be thankful, work thy work,
And wait God's end for all. My last command
Is this, thou shalt not fail to bring the queen
True tale how all befell: what lies beneath
Let Silence whisper.
Farewell Bedivere.
God dwell with thee. This ring to Constantine,
Bid him be strong, and rule.
[" He falls back dying: the barge puts out to sea."