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LANVAL: A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS

by

T. E. ELLIS
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
ARTHUR   -   -   - King of Britain
CADOR     -   -   - Duke of Cornwall
OWAIN     -   -   - Prince of North Wales
GERAINT  -   -   - Prince of Devon
GAWAIN
AGRAVAINE
MELIARD
ASTAMOR
LANVAL		 }
}
}
}
}		 Knights of ARTHUR'S Court
BERNARDO  -   - An Armourer
GYFERT   -    -   - Squire to GERAINT
GUINEVERE -   - Queen of Britain
LYNETTE
ALYSOUN
HELÈNE
}
}
}		 Attendants to GUINEVERE
TRIAMOUR
Knights, Captain, Men-at-Arms, Charcoal-burners, Girl and Apprentices.



ACT  I.   SCENE  I.

THE ARMOURY,  CARDUEL.

A large, bare vaulted room. Heavy studded doors. (C) opening on terrace. (L) a small, spiral stair from turret.
(R) a barred window and forge. Piles of spears, several tournament shields and fragments of armour.

Bernardo and several apprentices.

BER.     (to an apprentice, painting)
             Keep to the line, lad, let the field be bright
             And the device well marked.
2 APP.                                               So! Master?
BER.                                                                            Pure
             In line and colour.     (To 1st App.) Bring that vambrace here,
             'Tis not ill done.
1 APP.                             I thought it was well wrought.
BER.     And so it is, but I'm not satisfied
             With competence; or I were still a smith
             A common craftsman in far Mantua
             And not Bernardo, once the armourer
             Of Milan's court. See, here the work is rough
             And somewhat careless.
1 APP.                                           Must I braize again?
BER.     Nay, let it stand till I have time for it.
             Look you, my lad, this art of ours is rare
             And needs long service. I am old enough
             To know that I shall never learn it well.
             (To others)  Keep to it, lads.  (To 3rd App.) Bring that haubergeon
             And test it well, for I believe it strained.
3 APP.  Here's a false ring.
BER.                                    Then out with it, my lad.
             Death 's a lean fellow, and needs little space
             To make his entry. Rivet it again.
             A life 's no stronger than its slightest hour
             Nor any armour than its weakest spot.
                                                                 (While the apprentice works, Bernardo goes over to the others.)
             Have care of it. I mind in Milan once--
             I'll tell you sometime. Now go on with it.
             How often, boy, must I repeat my words,
             Though hard, a metal 's not a rock to hack
             As if it were a quarry, but a form
             Worth some consideration. Yes, this steel
             Has its own texture and its qualities,
             And we must watch them. Iron has its use,
             Bronze its own nature, steel its services,
             All much akin, yet very different,
             And I'd as soon take knife to my own flesh
             As mangle metal with that tool of yours.
             Work with the line and not across the grain
             And see your play grows not too hot, for warmth
             Draws out the soul of steel. Go on.
3 APP.  'Tis finished, master.
BER.                                     Come, we'll test it then.
             Give me a dagger. See, this is a life,
             Here is the gorget, here would be the throat,
             And I am fate in ambush 'gainst this life.
             I strike it thus; the work is sound enough,
             Ready for fracture in to-morrow's deeds.
3 APP.  It is a grief --
BER.                          That such meet work is marred?
             It's nature's way. All's made for breaking here
             This linked defence and grievous instruments
             For its destruction. Yet we make them both.
             Either our blades can bite thro' our strong mail,
             Or else these links can turn our finest edge.
             We dress the balance of the world, my lad,
             For all the virtues and the strength of man
             Fare ill in life without the armourer.
                                                                 (Enter Gyfert (C).)
             Ah, Gyfert! Welcome!
GYF.                                           Welcome, Bernardo, too.
             It's long since we did meet.
BER.                                                I think
             Eight months.
GYF.                             Is it so much? I never thought
             It was so long.
BER.                               Ye have been active then?
             Whence are ye come?
GYF.                                        Whence but from Logris, man.
             We were drawn thither by some false reports
             Of Saxon landing.
BER.                                   You have need of me?
GYF.    A pair of tassets and some saddle steels.
BER.     Come, let me see them.
GYF.                                         They have had rough use.
BER.     Truly they have. I cannot make them good
             Before the morrow.
GYF.                                   I'm not troublesome;
             Say in three days.
BER.                                  You do not need them then
             To-morrow?
GYF.                         No, why should we?
BER.                                                            'Tis the last,
             The final meeting of our summer court.
             To-day is Pentecost!
GYF.                                        I had forgotten it.
             When one is serving on the boundaries
             Of all known order, one is apt to miss
             The nice discernment of each date and feast.
             It's Pentecost.
BER.                          The Prince of Devon then
             Will break no lance to-morrow.
GYF.                                                      He is proved.
             These tests are good for practice, but the best
             Of all our knighthood serve their cause apart.
             But I m sorry that we took no hand.
             Who did the best in recent tournaments?
BER.     Sir Lamorak.
GYF.                            Good! He's a noble knight.
BER.     Gawain.
GYF.                    Of course!
BER.                                       His brother Agravaine.
GYF.    Sir Agravaine?
BER.                              Aye, he is much advanced
             In strength and favour.
GYF.                                          I believe my lord
             Loves him but little.
BER.                                     He's a gallant soul.
GYF.    And so are many. He has certain faults
             Which spoil the liking men should have for him.
             Your countryman, has he gained no repute?
             We thought him likely to do much.
BER.                                                          Who is
              My countryman?
GYF.                                 Sir Lanval.
BER.                                                    He is not.
             Why, he was bred in wild Armorica,
             A land that will not suckle her own seed,
             But casts them out to batten on the world.
GYF.    They do her honour.
BER.                                       There are no better knights
             In Christendom.
GYF.                                But still Sir Lanval came
             From Italy.
BER.                       True, an Italian lord
             Adopted him. But he still bears these arms,
             Argent a bend of vert, no heraldry
             Of my far country.
GYF.                                 What is his birth to me?
             Who worsted him?
BER.                                     No one; he took no part,
             Nor have I seen him for some days.
GYF.                                                            'Tis strange.
             I often heard my master say no knight
             In all this land was worthier in his sight.
             Where does he lodge?
BER.                                           In the third ward, I think.
GYF.    I have a message for him from my lord,
             Which I had best deliver. In three days,
             You said, Bernardo, these should be repaired.
BER.     I'll see to it.                                                  (Exit Gyfert.)
                                  Come, lad, now let us work.
             The hour grows late. Here is Sir Lanval's blade.
             This was not used in gentle passages,
             But has been bitten by opposing swords.
             We must re-edge it. There's good stuff in this.
             A proper weapon should lie thus in hand,
             Leashed like a hound unto its handler's mind,
             Straining and hungering for the sentient force
             That shall oppose it.
3 APP.                                   He's a worthy knight.
BER.     None better, lad; they do not know him well,
             Whom I have heard speak lightly of his strength.
             There are not many in all Arthur's realm
             Who can o'ermatch him.
3 APP.                                       Yet he has no name
             Or reputation.
BER.                             I remember him
             In Mantua when he was young, unknown,
             And saw him step from that subservience
             To eminence. He often spoke with me,
             And talked of arms and manners of defence.
             Come, let us work. For in to-morrow's play
             Is half war's danger; no man must reproach
             The aids we give him.
3 APP.                                     The iron is prepared.
                                                                 (Enter Lanval (C).)
LAN.    At work, Bernardo?
BER.                                      We are pressed, my lord.
LAN.    I think, Bernardo, you must dream of arms,
             See heaven as a place of perfect mail,
             With all its angels armoured in delight.
BER.     We armourers -- give me the hammer, boy --
             Like to imagine that the case we frame
             Outweighs in value all that it shall hold,
             And that our work is the best part of nature's,
             Seeing that man lies fenceless to the world
             Unless we aid him. 'Tis a small conceit.
LAN.    But near the truth, for 'tis the shell, indeed,
             That makes the man; and his appearance serves
             In place of armour 'gainst all estimates.
             My blade is finished?
BER.                                       In a little space,
             We would do justice to so fair a task.
                                                                 (Lanval watches him working for a time.)
LAN.    How would they fare, Bernardo, should ill chance
             Arrest this service.
BER.                                  Not so ill, my lord.
             Mark you this boy, his skill shall equal mine
             An I be spared to teach him.
LAN.                                                 Praise indeed!
BER.     It's true enough; he has the touch, my lord,
             The quality and feeling for this art,
             But wants instruction. For I know full well
             The certainty that's needed for this toil
             Will halt and tremble.
LAN.                                      Not for many years.
BER.     But I grow old, for come next Martinmas
             'Tis ten full years since I left Italy;
             I was not young the time that Mantua
             Half worshipped thee.
LAN.                                      I had forgotten it.
             Then was the world laid wide before my feet,
             And all adventures stood for my assay,
             But now -- Bernardo, have you ever thought
             Of turning hence?
BER.                                I shall die here, my lord.
LAN.    Sloven content! What piece of steel is this
             Your practice moulds?
BER.                                       A gauntlet for the joust,
             Sir Agravaine's.
LAN.                               I gave it him. This guard
             Is Meliard's, a present from myself.
             This frontal here a portion of the suit
             I gave long since unto Sir Astamor.
             Here's much that once I could have called my own,
             Mine ancient substance --
BER.                                              They are good pieces all.
             We have so much of armour bent and hurt
             By bitter onslaughts of the Picts and Scots
             That we are 'mazed that from the hundred acts,
             The fierce attainments and strange accidents
             Of such a war this handiwork comes back --
             Worn, it is true, but none the less well fit
             For future service.
LAN.                                 I gave them my best,
             And clad in kindness which they gained of me,
             They have o'erpast me. So I strive in vain
             And waste subsistence for their mockery.
             And yet, Bernardo, when we met before
             In Mantua, I did not do so ill.
             There's not such difference in the make of man,
             That I, who forced acknowledgement of worth
             In Italy, in Britain should be shamed.
BER.     Not shamed, my lord; this land is proud and dull,
             And harsher in the value which it sets
             Upon its servants than all other states.
             This people slowly puts suspicion off,
             And slower still divests it of belief.
             Be patient with them.
LAN.                                       Patient, I am so!
             I crave no honours or rewards, indeed,
             For they are favours that a chance may bring
             To be henceforth the inmates of one's life,
             And so sustained, consulted hour by hour,
             That the cramped soul no longer is the lord
             Of its own being. Is it much I ask,
             That they acknowledge that I serve them well?
BER.     The Duke of Cornwall praised your enterprise,
             And swore no knight of Arthur's court could lead
             To better purpose.
LAN.                                    I may do them wrong;
             Perhaps it is my vanity that's hurt,
             And they do right to overlook my power.
             Who knows where lies the limit of his use?
             My blade is finished?
BER.                                         In a moment, lord.
             For it, as thou, waits on accomplishment.
             Sir, I am old, and have watched many knights,
             And might make play to hearten discontent.
             Have I thy leave?
LAN.                                 Bernardo, we are friends,
             And both alike contemned and lightly held
             In the opinion of these islanders.
BER.     My lord, this humour is a youthful mood,
             The fretting of a soul untrained, who feels
             The bit of fortune curb his stride half way
             Adown the lists. There are more courses yet,
             And to show sourness is ungenerous.
LAN.    'Tis kindly meant; but I go hence to-night.
BER.     To-night?
LAN.                     At once. Bernardo, I am poor.
             The huge equipment and vast sustenance,
             Wherewith I came unto this island realm,
             Are past and vanished. All mine armament
             Have I not given to my friends or foes
             Indifferent? For I was taught a knight
             Should be so free, so liberal and kind,
             That none who asked should go without reward,
             To this result. One simple suit is left --
             My sword and horse.
BER.                                       My lord, let me provide
             Arms for to-morrow.
LAN.                                     I may not accept
             A gift of you.
BER.                            For our old friendship's sake,
             Let me provide such arms as fit your rank.
             Why, in a tournay one can win the wealth
             Of a vast province in a single stroke,
             Take prisoners, or hold the petty kings
             To guard or ransom.
LAN.                                     I'll not take of you
             What I must risk.
BER.                                 Geraint?
LAN.                                               Has been my friend!
             Were his sweet friendship a small thing to me,
             I'd ask of him, but I am not become
             As yet a beggar.
BER.                                But the king is kind.
LAN.    To some, perhaps. His kindness passed me by,
             And I'll accept that treatment as the worth
             I am to him.
BER.                         But he is just --
LAN.                                                 Most just,
             So I accept his verdict as my due.
BER.     The Queen --
LAN.                          Bernardo, if I cannot ask
             Help of my friends, I am not like to come
             To such a pass. For I am not so made
             That I can bend my humour to the needs
             Of Queen and courtiers. Ask my Queen for aid?
             Cry out for my worth as pedlars cry their wares,
             And pledge my honour for another cast?
             That were too foul! Suffice it, I have failed.
             I do not charge injustice to the world,
             Nor blame mankind for blindness that my deeds
             Are out of sight. I can accept defeat,
             And with some sorrow put my dreams away.
BER.     My lord, this court is not o'erfilled with men,
             But its defences are hewn out from it
             As flakes of metal from old armour fall.
             Saxon and Scot, the Picts and outland men
             Lie ever restless on our boundaries.
             Each day may bring the messengers of war
             And set our standards in the field again,
             So do not leave us.
LAN.                                    It is time I went,
             For I am landless, houseless, penniless.
BER.     Go not, my lord. I have none else to speak
             The southern tongue, or raise remembrances
             Of Italy.
LAN.                   Come with me then, my friend.
BER.     I am too old, and must endure my days
             In these grey places. Death were easier there,
             For he comes laughing with the sun and dust.
             I wish I could.
LAN.                             I shall be glad to think
             That one regrets my passing. Come -- my blade!
             Is it not finished?
3 APP.                             It is here --
LAN.                                                And fits
             Its scabbard truly. Lad, the work is good.
             Would mine were so. Bernardo, then, farewell.
             I go to test my fortune in new lands,
             And fate may bring me to this realm again,
             Or hold me far from it.
BER.                                         Farewell,
             My lord and friend. I would that I could go.
             At least I'll speed thee.
                                                                 (Exeunt Bernardo and Lanval)
                                                                 (The apprentices continue working)
                                                                 (Enter Gawain and Agravaine, Meliard and Astamor (L).)
GAW.                                       Where's the armourer, boy?
3 APP.  But now gone out.
GAW.                                He will return?
3 APP.                                                       At once.
GAW.   Good! Heed me not! I know that ye are pressed.
                                                                 (Gawain goes to the back of the stage.)
MEL.    But, Agravaine, thou dost not hear my words!
AGR.    I have much else to think of, Meliard.
AST.     I dreamt this night, pardie,
             An elf queen should my leman be,
             And lie beneath --
AGR.                               Enough!
AST.                                             She were cold else.
                                                                 (Agravaine moves away impatiently.)
             See, Meliard, he cannot even bear
             The little mention of a covering.
MEL.    Behold his meditation and his frown,
             Which now relaxes while he sweetly smiles
             On vacancy.
AST.                         He only loves his thoughts
             And smiles on them. But still I do him wrong.
MEL.    How, Astamor?
AST.                              Why, did he love his thoughts
             But half as much as he does love himself,
             He would out-shock the poets.
MEL.                                                    We hate pride
             Out of an envy, when we have no power
             To humble it.
AST.                          But only the good will,
             God send us some one for the noble task.
                                                                 (Meliard and Astamor go aside.)
AGR.    Think'st thou, Gawain, this guard is wide enough?
GAW.   I think it is.
AGR.                       And see this blazoning!
             'Twill not look ill on to-morrow's field!
GAW.   It's well enough. I trust it may be marked
             Of all to-morrow.
AGR.                                  Borne in such a cause
             As I uphold.
GAW.                        And what is that?
AGR.                                                     My own!
             It cannot fail.
GAW.                        Be not too confident.
AGR.    Why, I am borne upon the central stream
             Of Fortune's current. Brother, blame me not;
             There is a sweetness in the taste of power
             Beyond all savours.
GAW.                                  Be gentler, Agravaine,
             This pride of bearing will not make thee loved.
AGR.    Loved! What care I for any man's regard?
             And for the rest this manner has its use.
                                                                 (Enter Geraint and Owain (C).)
GER.    Welcome, fair cousin --
GAW.                                         Welcome, too, Geraint,
             Wilt break a lance to-morrow?
GER.                                                      No, Gawain,
             For I have other business in my hands,
             And grow too old for these slight practices.
GAW.   My brother there is anxious to advance
             His name and honour.
GER.                                       There are many here
             Who'll not deny him the occasion.
GAW.                                                       True,
             But he flies high.
GER.                               Let him be satisfied;
             But I'll not stay thee, for the time at least.
             Ye choose your arms for this fair tournament,
             Wherein, no doubt, ye both will do great deeds.
             I will not hinder. (he turns away)   Welcome, Meliard
             And Astamor. All's well with you, I hope!
AST.     Well met, Geraint. We fare much the same
             As we did ever.
GER.    (aside)                And are likely to,
             Until the Judgment.  (To Owain)  Let us sit and talk.
                                                                 (They sit down.)
             Tell me the news. How goes it in the court?
OW.     In these last months there's been a bitter waste --
GER.    What of?
OW.                    Of breath. There's been more ditty-making, sighing,
             And yammering than I care to keep count of.
GER.    Well, let them have their play at least.
OW.     Play? All the babes that can carry a sword without being crushed by the belt, or hit a swinging shield with a practice-spear are bellowing and challenging like bucks. They'd be better of a little blood-letting. War's a fine chastener of manners.
GER.                         You take no part?
OW.     God knows I've seen enough of war's true self,
             To need no practice in its semblances.
             Our strife is over for the time, it seems.
             I keep my breath, for I have need of it
             For other purpose than this foolishness.
GER.    And so I think. Within the year, Owain,
             This dalliance turns to raucous speech of strife.
OW.     So soon?
GER.                     Aye, sooner than we think.
OW.     The Saxons will not come for such a meal,
             Having so tasted of our stuff --
GER.                                                    Not come!
             Why, I know well. -- No matter, let it pass --
             And tell me more.
OW.                                  This may please you, the Queen
             Hath cast her favour on Sir Agravaine.
GER.    I like him not.
OW.                           Nor do the most of us.
             He gained some honour in the Saxon war,
             And for that cause is by the Queen preferred,
             And so by Arthur much advanced and loved.
GER.    He irks my soul, for I have known him long,
             And found his worth in no way equal to
             His pride and scorn.
OW.                                      The queen doth favour him.
GER.    And there are others who should have the power
             To stay this braggart.
OW.                                       Who?
GER.                                                  Lanval, for one.
             Cador of Cornwall told me of his skill;
             And I have seen him deal as goodly strokes
             As man could wish for.
OW.                                            How could we engage
             Him in this passage?
GER.                                     Why, most easily.
             But how is it Sir Lanval has not yet
             Encountered him?
OW.                                   He has not taken part
             In joust or tournay since this court was held.
GER.    Is he so backward?
OW.                                       He may have cause to be.
             At least I noted that amongst the hosts
             Who got rewards and favours of the King,
             He was not mentioned.
GER.                                          Why? Did not Cador,
             With whom he served, advance his claim and due?
OW.     Maybe he did. Perhaps the King forgot,
             Or else Cador.
GER.                              Perhaps
             He had no Queen to plead for kindnesses.
             I am amazed; but come, we'll alter it,
             For this foul usage fits my cause too well
             To let me miss it.
                                                                 (Geraint goes across to Gawain)
OW.     (aside)                   What a fiery fool!
             The devil take all those who have a mind
             To cure injustice; there'll be trouble here.
GER.    Gawain!
GAW.                  Good cousin!
GER.                                            I have a word for you.
                                                                 (They talk apart.)
                                                                 (Enter Bernardo, bearing a sheaf of blades.)
OW.     Blunt blades, Bernardo?
BER.                                            For the tournay, lord.
OW.     Best sharpen them.
BER.                                    Why so, my lord?
OW.                                                                 Why thus:
             There are not enough Picts, Scots, Angles, Saxons, or discontented folk in the kingdom for some of us, so we must needs encourage carving amongst our own friends.
GAW.   'Tis not our custom.
GER.                                     A fair test, Gawain,
             And for one seeking honour much encouragement.
             Although inactive, I am glad I may
             Do something now to lend reality
             To the sped fashion of this mimic war.
             I'll make a match. They say, Sir Agravaine,
             That there is none who can withstand thy strength,
             Or sleight of sword, amongst the younger knights.
AGR.    Should fortune aid me, I believe I hold
             As fair a chance upon to-morrow's field
             As any man.
GER.                          I marked thy confidence,
             And such an air goes not with slender worth.
             Now 'tis a passion with me to maintain
             Fortunes unknown and beings indigent.
             I am so hungry for the birth of power
             That I must needs help all that 's slight and young;
             Therefore I would, not doubting thy great strength,
             Make some slight wager that success doth fall
             In other hands.
AGR.                             Do as thou wilt, Geraint,
             But I must fear thy wager is ill found.
GER.    Come then, I choose a knight of little name.
             Hast thou a badge which he may challenge?
AGR.                                                                       No,
             I bear no badge.
GER.                                 'Tis strange! Hast thou no love
             To be upholden?
AGR.                               No, I bear no badge.
GER.    What shall we hazard? Stake our baronies,
             All tracts and fiefs which have been our reward,
             So shall the gainer be made rich indeed,
             The loser whetted to renewed attempts.
AGR.    Sir, the fair gifts the King has rendered me
             For my attainments are not to be staked
             In such a manner.
GER.                                They do sit you hard.
             I'll give you odds upon my friend's behalf,
             Trust all my fortunes to his skill. Thus I
             Stake all the lordship I have gained in war,
             The barren lands and castle-shadowed fields
             Against thine arms; thy horse and arms alone.
AGR.    Be it accepted. What paladin is this
             I must encounter?
GER.                                 Lanval!
AGR.                                              No, Geraint,
             I will not rob you. 'Tis too slight a task.
GER.    Why, then, fulfil it! Lanval is not here.
             But if he proves not thine attainments false,
             Then am I fool, and all mine estimates
             Are straight degraded.
GAW.                                      This is not right, Geraint.
GER.    The match is mine, and I have staked my lands.
GAW.   The greater folly --
GER.                                   Folly it may be.
             But I stake these clean honours of the field
             Against the favours of a gross intrigue.
             Shall I be patient while true merit's checked,
             And such a fashion strides unto success?
GAW.   You are too free, Geraint.
GER.                                              I am no thrall,
             Or a dependent, but the Prince of Devon.
             This much I know, ye have used Lanval ill,
             And I have justice at my side to aid
             In his maintaining.
GAW.                                Let him prove himself.
GER.    And that he shall. Bernardo, hast thou seen
             Aught of Sir Lanval?
BER.                                     Sir Lanval is gone hence.
GER.    Whither?
BER.                    He said he longed for Italy.
GER.    He will return?
BER.                            I know not.
AGR.                                                I do know.
             He will return when this is overpast;
             I had not failed him if he wished to break
             A lance with me. But he has never dared.
             Therefore, Geraint, thy lands are forfeited
             To my possession.
GER.                                   Let that wager stand.
             Be not too hungry for my lands, good sir.
             I think this matter is more like to come
             To bitter ending than ye dream of now.
             I think I heard ye say Sir Lanval feared?
AGR.    I said he feared, and I will stand by it.
GER.    Witness, ye knights, a charge of cowardice,
             A slur on honour, which must be redeemed
             In the closed field. Am I not right, Gawain?
GAW.   I fear it is so.
AGR.                         I am well prepared
             To answer for it if, Sir Lanval dare!
GER.    Lanval is gone. I follow him at once.
OW.     (At the window) Too late, Geraint; he passes even now
             Into the forest.
GER.                            By which path?
OW.                                                      He rides
             Into the evening.
GER.                                I will follow him,
             And though I rake the whole wide earth about,
             I will not fail to bring him here again,
             When I return; then guard you, Agravaine.

                                 Exit and Curtain.



ACT  I.   SCENE  II.

A glade in the forest. Rocks, and a few huge, knotted trees. Late twilight.

Two charcoal-burners and a girl.

1 C.B.   Come, man, let's be getting home.
2 C.B.   Why, since we're free of the forest, let's make the most of it.
GIRL.    It's getting dark.
1 C.B.   Aye, so it is. Come on, man. We've gone far to-day: it's long since we dared come out here.
2 C.B.   Oh, I'll come. An I were not so feared, I'd laugh at it. First we daren't come out. Now we're feared of staying, and none too happy about going back.
1 C.B.   It's well the King and his knights have cleared the forest; we've less to fear now.
2 C.B.   Help me, girl. Well, I like knights less when they're doing well than when they're hard put to it.
1 C.B.   Why so?
2 C.B.   Why, when they're pressed they've trouble enough to fend for themselves, and they let us bide quiet; but when they're quiet and comfortable, we're best clear of them.
1 C.B.   Let's away.
2 C.B.   I'm with you. There are too many odd qualms in this valley for my liking.
1 C.B.   Come on, then. Why, who's here? A knight.
2 C.B.   More like some robber. Would we were well home.
                                                                 (Enter Lanval (C).)
LAN.    Good, these should know. Come hither, my good folk.
             Know ye these paths?
1 C.B.                                      Nay, I do not.
2 C.B.                                                              Nor I.
LAN.    Come, answer me, these thickets are your home,
             And ye must know them.
1 C.B.                                          But, good sir, we came
             Thus far by chance. We know the certain path
             To Carduel.
LAN.                        But I would travel south.
1 C.B.   South, you -- where's south?
2 C.B.                                                Why, anywhere but here.
LAN.    What ails your speech, and why this trembling, man?
             I shall not hurt you.
1 C.B.                                It grows over late;
             The sun's near down.
LAN.                                     I see you fear. Thou, girl,
             Knowest thou the roads that lead beyond this place?
GIRL.   Truly, my lord, I dare not overstep
             These certain limits.
LAN.                                   Is this truth?
GIRL.   My lord.
LAN.                  Fear not, I shall not do you harm!
             Here will I rest, since I must have the day
             To light my passage.
1 C.B.                                   We may go?
LAN.                                                          Why not?
             God speed you.
                                                                 (The 2nd Charcoal Burner offers to speak to Lanval.)
1 C.B.                             Fool, come on!
2 C.B.                                                       He should be told.
LAN.    Stay, though, I need a service of you yet;
             Light me a fire, for I'll sleep here to-night.
1 C.B.   We will, my lord. Stay, girl, and make a fire.
LAN.    Not so, my friends, stay ye and make it.
1 C.B.                                                                 Night
             Is hard upon us.                               (They make a fire.)
LAN.                               Ye shall go full soon.
             Tell me, what fear ye?
1 C.B.                                      My father near this place
             Met with the death-dogs hunting!
LAN.                                                         Oh, I know
             That tale!
2 C.B.                   But more, good sir, I know this vale too well.
             This wood is full of shadows, and the night
             Goes not from it, but lurks the livelong day
             In its deep places. One is followed marked
             By a strange fear that waits for the night hours.
             What was that sound?
LAN.                                          Nothing, my good soul.
             Ye that do fear the length of all your days,
             Find doubt at dawn, half courage in the day,
             Terror at twilight. What the night can bring
             Of added tremors I may not conceive.
2 C.B.   My lord, the shadows are not still, but move.
             The air is quiet. All should be quite still.
             And yet this glade is pregnant with a sound,
             And silent movement in the silence hangs.
             The fire is made.
LAN.                              Then go, good fools -- farewell!
             Why go ye not?
2 C.B.                             My lord, --
LAN.                                                Well?
2 C.B.                                                          Speak!
1 C.B.   Nay, do thou speak.
LAN.    (throwing them some money)
                                              See, here is the reward --
2 C.B.   It was not that.
LAN.                             What then?
GIRL.                                               Oh, my lord,
             Certain fair knights have wandered to this glade,
             Seeking the fear that ever haunted it.
             This hungry forest hath consumed their lives;
             No man has seen them, nor has any heard
             Aught of their end at any time again.
             Sweet sir, return, for to remain is --
LAN.                                                         What?
2 C.B.   'Tis death, my lord.
LAN.                                   Why, then, 'tis death.
             The night is here. Go, ye good fearful things,
             Lest your own fear play havoc with your lives.
             Silence! Enough! I'll have no more of this.
                                                                 (Exeunt charcoal-burners.)
             Poor souls, they wander in a fitful dream;
             Born in the shadow, nurtured like the stuff
             That grows so rank between the stagnant moat
             And savage wall. The usage of their days
             Is but a hope that they shall pass unmarked.
             Unnoticed birth, unhindered life, and thence
             Unhampered passage to a state unknown.
             Existence cramped beneath the wings of fear!
             Poor souls, my sorrow is not half of theirs,
             And yet suffices. (Lies down.) Sleep. Did I desire
             To wish them well, I think to sleep is best,
             Since 'tis denied them to attain great ends.
(The stage grows dark and the fire burns low. Presently a figure comes
from the background and begins to tend the fire. Lanval half awakes.)
LAN.    Returned so soon?
TRI.                                      The fire burnt low, my lord.
LAN.    Dost thou not fear?
TRI.                                     I shall not fear here.
LAN.    Thou needst not, girl. (dreamily) It's true more danger lives
             Amongst mankind than in the open woods.
             The twisted branches that enframe the stars
             Are not as tangled as men's motives are.
             The fiercest shadows that can haunt a glade,
             The forms of terror that infest bleak hills,
             Are not as savage, nor as dangerous,
             As fretful moods in passionate wild souls.
             All nature's constant save in idle man.
             Night is so sweet that I can wonder now,
             As must the spirits who look down on us;
             We fret and trouble, spur our willing souls,
             And yet see life outpace our earnest quest.
             Why not be gentle, and say just good-night,
             Sleep well, my dreams, sleep well, mine enterprise;
             To-morrow -- well, to-morrow. Tell me, child,
             Why did thy comrades fear this place so much.
TRI.      My lord, at times a phantom uses this
             As her abode. She has the power to suck
             The life and essence from all things she meets,
             To creep about the heart of men with words
             And dim illusions, till her manner draws
             The soul from them, as all blood-feeding beasts,
             Once fixed, drain forth their poor drugged victim's life.
LAN.    What more?
TRI.                            The power that in the darkness lives
             Impalpable, is hers to lose or hold.
             The mysteries that on all being brood,
             Are hers to open. In the mists of night
             She sits embowered, and strange thoughts surround
             Her habitation. For her service wait
             Wild visions ready, and fantastic dreams,
             To make the circuit of the sleeping world,
             And breathe their formless and suggestive speech
             To souls that slumber.
LAN.    (Seizing a brand from the fire)
                                                No charcoal-burner this.
             The form itself! But, God, how fair it is --
             Is this enchantment, or does mystery
             In silence whispered, so infect my mind
             That I see phantoms?
TRI.                                         Lanval.
LAN.                                                    Hast my name?
             Why, then, my soul has left its fleshly shape,
             And stands to mock me.
TRI.                                             Have no fear.
LAN.                                                                 Not I!
             If thou be flesh, and of defiant sort,
             A blade can test thee. If thou art not that,
             But mere refraction of disordered thought,
             Thou canst not harm me.
TRI.                                            Nay, I shall not harm
             Aught of thy being. Come, touch me if thou wilt;
             No need of steel, for that will hurt me not.
LAN.    (coming near)   So, 'tis the stuff, the substance of this world,
             And no slight spirit, vaporous form of dreams,
             Born of the moonbeams and the mist of lakes,
             Clasped in the woodlands. Thou didst speak my name --
             I know thee not!
TRI.                                 But I do know thee well,
             For I am flesh or spirit as I please,
             For some incarnate in this woman's shape,
             For some the fear and terror of deep glades,
             For some the flame invisible that drifts
             Out of the night, that fires the soul of men
             To seek the strangeness of all wild desire.
LAN.    They say the devil takes such shapes as this,
             When he would tempt the constancy of knights!
TRI.      Nay, fear me not.
LAN.                                 Nay, I fear not, but doubt
             Why thou hast come to trouble me.
TRI.                                                            Do I
             So trouble thee? I come but from my place
             To taste the fever of this sickly earth,
             And also --
LAN.                      Also?
TRI.                                    I have come too close
             Unto this world. My being has been snared
             Into its uses.
LAN.                         What meanest thou?
TRI.                                                             Is there need
             To ask of me? Nay, Lanval, I have come
             Out of the quiet of the middle world
             To plead with thee, I, Triamour,
             One of the daughters of the middle world.
LAN.    Let me hold fast my senses, for they reel; --
             I know this world!
TRI.                                    There is a world as well,
             That lies so close unto your being's self,
             Is so entwined amid your secret thoughts,
             That its existence is not known of you.
             This is the vapour that doth shelter man
             Lest he be scorched by the fierce heat of truth.
LAN.    How may this be?
TRI.                                   Speak not of it, but say
             I came not vainly!
LAN.                                 How shall I believe?
TRI.      That I do love thee? Look into mine eyes,
             And say if malice or deception lie
             In ambush there!
LAN.                                I dare not.
TRI.                                                    Am I then
             Not fair enough?
LAN.                                So wonderful and strange!
             I dare not let my straining ears take hold
             Upon thy speech.
TRI.                                  Thou wilt not hear me?
LAN.                                                                     No;
             For such a beauty is too dangerous
             For mortal feeling.
TRI.                                    I am shamed. Unkind
             Thou art and cruel.                   (She moves away. )
LAN.                                  Can I endure it so,
             Or will my lips enforcèd cry the words --
             My soul compels them! I have but my soul
             To stake on it. Stay, Triamour!
TRI.                                                      Farewell!
             My own state waits me.
LAN.                                         May I not attain
             Unto that world?
TRI.                                  But by mine aid alone;
             And since no pleasure or sweet feeling comes
             Of this my presence, let us be apart.
LAN.    Stay but a moment.
TRI.                                     We shall meet no more
             At any time!
LAN.                        Nay, be thou merciful.
             Forgive my failing. 'Twas my craven soul
             That shrank in doubt from this dread novelty,
             But for a time. The fashion of my fear
             Was more amazement than true dread. So swift,
             So strange was thy sweet coming that my mind,
             But half awoken from fantastic thoughts,
             Lost mastery upon itself. But now
             My fear is swung to terror of long days
             Without thy presence.
TRI.                                        This is no constancy,
             To spurn me first and then implore mine aid.
             Have care, Sir Lanval, this is no slight quest;
             And slender souls that are not steeled of love,
             May fail their entry and be ever lost
             In the cold void that lies about these gates.
             Art thou my knight, sworn to my services?
LAN.    Let me be so, though I had never thought
             To do love-service. I will pledge my soul
             Unto thy being.
TRI.                              Bear witness to it, dreams,
             All evil hauntings that infest the air!
             Now shall remorse and foul disaster watch,
             And blasting visions hang upon thy course.
             See that thou fail not.
LAN.                                     On my soul be it!
TRI.      Look on the world, for it may be henceforth
             Thou shalt not see it. Bid the earth farewell
             And all its usage.
LAN.                                I'll not mourn for it.
             Sour and displeasing it has been to me,
             Unfriends of mine most of its habitants,
             And I can leave it with no pain at heart.
TRI.      Ours is a better and a stranger world,