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LAUNCELOT OF THE LAKE:
A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS
by
C. J. RIETHMÜLLER.
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Noi leggiavamo un giorno, per diletto,
Di Lancilotto, come amor lo strinse.
DANTE, Inferno, V.
-----------
TO
THOMAS HOVELL, ESQ.
OF THE FIVE HOUSES, CLAPTON,
TO WHOSE CARE AND SKILL
(UNDER THE BLESSING OF DIVINE PROVIDENCE)
THE AUTHOR IS INDEBTED
FOR THE LIFE OF A BELOVED PARENT,
THIS TRAGEDY
IS GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED.
1st JULY, 1843.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The following Tragedy, founded upon a celebrated Romance of the Middle Ages, was offered to the late management of Drury Lane Theatre, and reserved by Mr. SERLE (from whom the Author received the utmost
politeness and attention) for the perusal of Mr. MACREADY. But before it could be submitted to the last-named gentleman, the season was brought to a close, and our greatest living actor retired from the directon of that stage, which he had laboured with so much earnestness to exalt and purify. Under these circumstances, with the gloomy prospects of the drama in general, any attempt to procure the representaton of this play seemed for the present hopeless. The Author was therefore advised to run the risk of publishing; and it now only remains for him to return his sincere thanks, both to his friends, and to many before unknown to him, who have kindly sent him their names to be placed on his list of subscribers. In the difficult career of the drama, he is fully aware of the hazard of a first step: and, if he do not trouble the reader with any lengthened preface, it is because he feels, that the success or failure of a work of this kind, must depend after all on the text, and cannot be influenced by the commentary.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
ARTHUR -- King of Britain.
MORDRED -- his illegitimate son.
SIR LAUNCELOT OF THE LAKE.
THE HERMIT OF GLASTONBURY.
SIR GAWIN, }
SIR GARETH, } . . . the king's nephews.
SIR GAHERIS, }
SIR BORS DE GANIS, } kinsmen to Sir Launcelot.
SIR HECTOR DE MARIS,}
DAGONET -- the king's jester.
SIR KAY -- the seneschal.
SIR LUCAN -- the butler.
SIR BEDIVERE -- brother to Sir Lucan.
GWENEVER -- wife to King Arthur.
MORGAN LE FAY -- a sorceress, formerly beloved by Arthur, and mother to Mordred.
Knights, Ladies, Guards, Attendants, &c.
SCENE -- BRITAIN.
PROEM.
Gone is the antique age of knightly deeds,
The glory of the minstrel's day is past;
Now that in Beauty's cause no champion bleeds,
The visions of Romance are fading fast:
Yet dear to man, howe'er his lot be cast,
The old, heroic constancy of mind --
The courage unsubdued by fortune's blast,
And faithful love to every doom resigned;
And for their sake this tale may still acceptance find.
Or should thick shades of human guilt and woe
Blend with the brightness of the poet's dream,
Shall we forbid the pitying tear to flow,
Because a thrice-told fiction is the theme?
O priceless are those little stars, which gleam
Through the black night of time! -- for they impart
Some faint reflection of the morning's beam;
And simple tones, beyond the reach of art,
Speak from long-vanished years the language of the heart!
This was the tale, which DANTE loved so well,
That, when sad exile bowed his awful head,
And 'mid the ghastly phantoms of deep hell,
He could recall its pleasant image fled:
For this it was, which poor Francesca read,
With Paulo by her side, as bending o'er
The open volume on her lap, and led
By witchery of that sweet, entrancing lore,
Their lips all trembling met -- that day, they read no more!
Then if I dare to sound this note again,
O mighty Master of the Tuscan line!
Forgive the boldness, that would thus profane
Aught thou hast loved by numbers weak as mine:
No rash presumption, deathless Florentine!
Prompts me; but with due reverence I engage
In this my task. What moved thy soul divine
May yet have power to warm a sluggish age,
And live a second life on SHAKSPERE's noble stage.
Haply such hope will fail -- but, come what may,
Through many a sleepless hour, when all went wrong,
And harsh realities upon me lay
With leaden weight, and the dawn tarried long --
These bright creations of romantic song
Cheered me; and still I see them beckoning stand,
With rainbow wings outspread (a glittering throng!)
To bear me from the present's gloomy strand,
Back to King Arthur's court, and scenes of Fairy-land!
ACT I.
SCENE I. -- The Interior of a Gloomy Cavern in the Welsh Mountains, with various cabalistic figures dimly visible on the walls. MORGAN LE FAY seated at a low table, with a lamp burning by her side, and a roll of parchment half unwound before her.
MORGAN LE FAY.
It comes at last -- the day so long desired --
The day of vengeance. O ye righteous fates!
I thank you, that the memory of my wrong
Hath borne my spirit up through years of woe,
Till, from your dead abodes, the hour draws nigh
Of a just retribution. Speed its coming!
And then -- do with me as you will!
(She rises from the table.)
Arthur! thy life has been a summer's morn,
All bright, all glorious -- neither mist nor cloud.
Hero and king! thy fame hath filled the world,
And thou hast gone from victory to victory,
War thy purveyor, Conquest for thy minion,
Sceptres and crowns for spoil -- whilst I (lost wretch!)
Who, born a princess, for thy sake resigned
Virtue and peace -- have dwelt apart from men,
Neglected and forgotten. Still I watched,
With jealous eye, the progress of thy star;
And still it shone, mocking me with its beams.
But now, if art be true, and nature fixed,
And this, thy horoscope, be cast aright,
Thy planet soon will enter on a house
Of darkest doom. O that my spells might aid
The consummation -- that my curse might help
To drag thee from thy state -- and when, at length,
Thou liest in agony, that I might stand
Before thee, and shriek out in thy vext ear:
Behold! this was the hand that dealt the blow!
(MORDRED appears at the entrance of the cave.)
Ha! who art thou, that stealest, like a thief,
Upon my solitude? -- Rash stranger! learn,
That none have ever yet unpunished sought
To pierce the secrets of these awful shades,
Where I am queen.
MORDRED (advancing.)
Dost thou not know me, mother?
MORGAN LE FAY.
Thou here! -- I should have doubted even the stars,
If they had told me this: it mocks all augury.
Nay, never bend thy knee -- nor fawn -- nor shape
Thy lips to utter falsehood. Thou art here;
But neither love, nor duty brought thee hither.
Thou hast need of my assistance.
MORDRED.
Good my mother!
I would not have thee wrong thyself and me
By vain suspicions. If the powers of chance
(Which are the gods of earth) kept us apart,
Believe me, 'twas no wish or fault of mine;
And if they now unite us, I will take
No praise for that in which I most rejoice.
MORGAN LE FAY.
Subtle and smooth, as thou hast ever been,
And, like thy father, false! -- When thou wast born
(The child of guilt and shame) great Merlin's art
Saw in thy life a peril to his lord,
And doomed thee to destruction: thou hadst died,
Hadst thou been left to these same powers of chance
To save or slay. But, no! a mother's love,
Stronger than chance, watched o'er thee day and night,
Bore thee to woods and caves, guarded thee round
With magic spells -- until the enchanter's death,
And Arthur's late remorse, gave thee a passport
Back to thy father. What was my reward?
Such cold neglect as stings far worse than hate,
And turns affection into madness. Go!
The son is worthy of the sire!
MORDRED.
Madam!
I will not seek to banish a delusion,
Which time has strengthened. Yet, if not for love,
Then hear me for my news. King Arthur weds!
MORGAN LE FAY.
Art sure of this?
MORDRED.
I know it to my cost.
But yesterday I was the heir of kingdoms;
To-morrow I am nothing.
MORGAN LE FAY.
So! he weds.
He, who in youth denied me that poor justice,
Bends to the yoke in age. This explains all;
Thy coming now has pith and purpose in it.
Whom does he wed?
MORDRED.
A
maiden young and fair!
MORGAN LE FAY.
Alas for such an one! She thinks (poor fool!)
To mount a bed of roses, and will find
Nothing but thorns and briars. Now tell me, Mordred!
Hast thou the courage of a man?
MORDRED.
To thee,
I answer yes: to the best knight on earth,
I'd answer with my sword.
MORGAN LE FAY.
Waste
not thy breath,
Where none will tremble at thy vaunt; but hear me!
I am a woman -- yet I dare do as much,
To enforce a right, or to avenge a wrong,
As thou or any man. Before us lies
A difficult path, which thou and I must tread,
If ever thou wouldst wear thy father's crown,
Or I achieve my vengeance. Wilt thou be governed
By me in this?
MORDRED.
Why else did I come hither?
MORGAN LE FAY.
Then by the eternal stars I prophesy,
No genial fruit shall from this marriage spring!
When is the bridal-day?
MORDRED.
Perchance,
even now.
When I left Camelot, the general voice
Already hailed with shouts the festive time,
As at the very gate.
MORGAN LE FAY.
Would
I had known it!
But was the court assembled? Were the knights
Of the round table present?
MORDRED.
All -- save three,
Who, to fulfil their vow, had gone in quest
Of that mysterious vessel, sent from heaven,
The holy Sancgreal. Ere it touch their lips,
May it be drugged with poison!
MORGAN LE FAY.
What brave enemies
Can thus have stirred the venom of thy spleen?
MORDRED.
Knights, whom the world admires, and I abhor.
Sir Percival, the tamer of the lion;
Sir Bors de Ganis, terrible in arms;
The greatest comes the last -- a matchless name --
Sir Launcelot of the Lake!
MORGAN LE FAY.
Well, what of these?
Why dost thou wish them dead?
MORDRED.
Because, my mother,
From youth they stood betwixt me and the sun.
Never, in tilt or tourney, could I win
The prize from either -- no, nor do a deed,
That was not shamed by their superior prowess:
And, whilst they live, King Arthur will have room,
To wed or not to wed, set up, pluck down,
Just as he listeth; for those champions three
Are as a wall of brass about his throne.
MORGAN LE FAY.
Brass melts in fire. Not all their chivalry,
Not all the gathered might of Albion's isle,
Can shake my purpose. But we lose in talk
The precious hours of action: at this wedding,
I fain would be a guest.
MORDRED.
If
they should know thee . . .
MORGAN LE FAY.
Hast thou no faith in the powers of magic art,
To seal men's eyes? And, even if art should fail,
Have years and sorrows dealt so kindly with me,
That I retain one feature of my youth,
Or my youth's beauty? But away with doubts!
The time for action is arrived!
(She fetches her magic wand.)
Ye Spirits,
That dwell in the air, and in the womb of earth,
And in the elemental fire -- attend!
Ye, whose invisible presence girds me round
With a more subtle life -- whose voices fill
My ears with inarticulate music, soft
As night-gales dying on the strings of harps --
Ye, that still owe me true and loyal service,
Acknowledging the sovereign potency
Of this enchanted rod -- hear and obey!
(A strain of soft music.)
Ye answer to my summons -- it is well!
This be your charge: prepare some present means
Of sure conveyance, more than lightning swift,
To bear me with the uttermost speed of thought
From Wales to Camelot.
(Music. A Car, drawn by dragons, appears at the entrance of the cavern.)
See, Mordred, how my spirits do my bidding!
Stand not thus foolishly amazed -- but come
Where yonder fiery coursers chafe and fret,
Impatient of a moment's dull repose!
(They ascend the car.)
Be thou my charioteer, and grasp the reins
With fearless hand! My staff shall point the way
Through realms of air. And ye, my dragon-steeds!
Terrific harbingers of wrath and woe!
Spread to the breeze your thunder-cleaving wings,
Strong as my hate, and swift as my revenge!
(The scene closes upon them, as the car rises from the ground.)
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SCENE II. -- The Country near Camelot.
Enter SIR LAUNCELOT and SIR BORS.
SIR BORS.
At length, dear cousin, after all our pains,
Behold the welcome towers of Camelot!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Welcome in truth -- since there we hope to meet
Our friends and brother-knights -- yet not so welcome,
As if we brought our valiant comrade with us,
And had not failed in our mission.
SIR BORS.
All regret
On such a theme may well be counted vain.
Sir Percival has played a warrior's part,
And sleeps in glory: peace be with his soul!
And, if we failed, we have but failed in that,
Which none have yet accomplished. For myself,
I scarcely hoped a sinful man like me
Would be vouchsafed the privilege, to drink
Of that most hallowed cup: my only trust
Was built upon thy purity of life
(Unchallenged even by slander's faintest breath)
As worthy of such grace.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
My flattering cousin!
Let no man talk of purity. Here on earth,
The best of us might shun the angels' gaze;
Nor, till the hour of trial, can we know
How deep within us lie the seeds of sin!
Enter the HERMIT of GLASTONBURY.
HERMIT.
Heaven save you, gentle sons!
SIR BORS.
And thee, my father!
To journey thus alone might have been spared
Thy reverend age.
HERMIT.
When love and duty call,
The load of years sits lightly -- thanks to Him,
Who suits the back to its burden! -- I was summoned
From the poor cell, which holy Joseph reared
On Glastonbury's consecrated ground,
To bless the vows of a new-married pair:
That done, I may not bide the festive hour,
But straight return again.
SIR BORS.
'Twere a good world,
If all thus toiled for love!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Who weds at Camelot?
HERMIT.
The highest of the land -- your king and mine.
SIR BORS.
King Arthur sayest thou?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
All sweet saints befriend him,
And crown his bed with a most royal issue!
But who the bride?
HERMIT.
The beauteous Gwenever,
The king of Cameliard's unrivalled daughter.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Old man - 'tis false!
HERMIT.
Be not so rash, my son!
These aged lips were never stained with lies.
SIR BORS.
What ails thee, Launcelot?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Forgive me, father!
I scarce knew what I said. Yet speak again:
Tell me, it is not true!
HERMIT.
The truth lives on,
Though all the world deny it for a truth.
King Arthur weds the peerless Gwenever;
The fact remains, let me say what I will:
But are these tidings then so full of horror,
That they can drive the warm blood from thy cheek,
And make thy firm knees tremble?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Oh, 'tis nothing!
A passing spasm. I should laugh, methinks,
To hear thy news, good hermit. I am glad;
Yes, very glad. I wish King Arthur joy,
And his fair bride. Before, I did but jest.
HERMIT.
My son, I will not strive to penetrate
The secrets of thy bosom. Thou art moved
By some strong passion. Heaven support and guide thee!
But shouldst thou ever need the ghostly counsel
Of one, who, by his own experience taught,
Judges not harshly of his fellow-men,
Come to me without fear; and I will pour
Sweet balm into thy wounds. Till then -- farewell! (Exit.)
SIR BORS.
A wise and holy priest! But how now, cousin?
What mean those looks?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
There is no faith in woman!
None! She may be as pure as virgin snow,
Or crystal dew, that gems the morning-flowers --
Bright as the sun-beams -- beauteous as the stars --
But never trust her faith!
SIR BORS.
Why, who has wronged thee?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
O that a warrior should be thus o'ercome
By his soul's weakness! -- Cousin, dearest cousin,
We have been friends these many years together,
And thou shalt know the truth. This fair inconstancy --
This Gwenever -- whom the king takes to wife --
She was my first, last love -- my hope -- my heaven --
My own, affianced bride!
SIR BORS.
How could this be,
And I not know it?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
I will tell thee all.
Long years ago, in boyhood's early morn,
Whilst yet the gentle Lady of the Lake
Watched my young steps -- I used to shadow forth
My future life; and these two dreams were mine.
First, I would be a warrior, and my sword
Should cut my way to glory's topmost height,
And make my name immortal: next (vain hope!)
I thought to win the heart of some fair maid,
Who, knowing nothing of my worldly state,
Should prize and love me for myself alone.
'Twas a boy's folly!
SIR BORS.
Yet thy first dream came true.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Yes! I have had my share of blood-stained wreaths,
And glory bought with blows -- and, for a time,
This did suffice me -- till, one luckless day,
I chanced to hear, that a great tournament
Was held in Cameliard. Some busy devil
(That loves to sport with men) gave me the wish,
To break a lance at this same festival --
Not like myself -- but coarsely armed and clad,
Meanly caparisoned, with unblazoned shield
Like a poor bachelor. Thus, unknown to all,
I fought and conquered -- but myself received
A mortal wound; for, when I left the lists,
Where none withstood my charger's rapid shock,
'Twas the king's daughter that unlaced my helm,
And brought me food and wine. What need of more?
Love springs up in the heart we know not how,
A wild-flower in the desert. So I loved,
And, loving, lingered near my charmer's home
Till the sweet dream of youth seemed realized,
And the fair princess pledged her faith to one,
Whom she believed a poor and nameless knight.
SIR BORS.
But did her father sanction this?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
He sanctioned
All that he knew -- my presence at his court,
And humble service; for I deemed it vain
To avow a suit, which must have galled his pride
As coming from a low-born bachelor,
But which hereafter Launcelot of the Lake
Might urge without offence.
SIR BORS.
Why didst thou leave
The place that held thy treasure?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Absent long
From Camelot, my duty called me thither:
And so I parted from my love -- with sighs,
And eloquent looks, and vows of lasting faith.
O perjured woman! that such looks should lie,
And such fond vows be broken!
SIR BORS.
Since that hour,
Have you not met?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Alas! we could not meet.
The adventure of the Sancgreal drew me forth
To lands remote -- whence I return at last,
To find my hopes all withered!
SIR BORS.
Yet be calm!
Let not a woman's frailty shake thy soul,
And triumph o'er thy manhood! -- Rather deem,
That such a loss may well be counted gain:
Ere long, thou wilt be sure of it. Meanwhile,
If thou do lack the mastery o'er thyself,
Which the case needs -- go not unto the court!
Avoid this false one's presence!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
No, by heaven!
I will not shun the gaze of her who wronged me,
As though I were the wronger. I will join
This bridal-feast -- and no incautious word --
Not e'en a glance of the eye, or change of colour,
Or tremulous tone -- shall rob me of my secret.
I will keep down the pangs that gnaw my heart;
Nor shall the inward struggle, though it rend
My nerves with agony, force me to forget
That which I owe my king -- myself -- and her!
(Exeunt.)
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SCENE III. -- A Magnificent Hall in the Palace of Camelot. The shields and banners of the knights of the round table suspended from the walls. In the midst of a sumptuous banquet. KING ARTHUR on his throne, with GWENEVER seated beside him, whilst young pages, arrayed like Cupids, kneel before them, and serve them with various dainties. On the steps below, SIR KAY with his staff of office, and DAGONET with his cap and bells. SIR GAWIN, SIR GARETH, SIR GAHERIS, SIR HECTOR, SIR LUCAN, SIR BEDIVERE, with knights, ladies, and attendants, form groups at the different tables.
KING ARTHUR.
Pass round the wassail-bowl! Let every cup
O'erflow with wine! Who does not drink to-day,
He is my enemy. Out upon the knave,
That would be sullen at a feast like this!
And, ladies, you must pledge me to the bride;
Sir Lucan, thou art butler.
SIR LUCAN.
Good my lord!
I ne'er saw better cheer.
DAGONET.
Yet I'll be sworn,
Sir Lucan has seen double oft ere now.
SIR GARETH.
Thou dost belie him, fool!
DAGONET.
Not half so much
As I should thee, were I to tell the world,
Sir Gareth is a wit.
SIR KAY.
Say something new!
I cannot laugh at old and threadbare jests.
DAGONET.
Beshrew thy beard, good master gravity!
Did any bid thee laugh? -- Well! truth is old.
Were I to say, that those grave looks of thine
Betoken wisdom -- or that Sir Gawin there
Can rule his house, and keep his wife at home --
Or that I see one knight amongst you all,
Worthy to hold the stirrup for Sir Launcelot --
Why, this were new -- and false!
SIR GAWIN.
Let him bark on!
'Tis the cur's privilege.
SIR HECTOR.
Each comes in for a gibe.
Not e'en Sir Launcelot would have fared so well,
Had he been present.
DAGONET.
There's the difference
Betwixt you knights and me: I (being a fool)
Speak well of the absent, who ne'er give me thanks;
You keep your flattery for the lady's ear
That sits beside you, and her blushes tell,
That she will pay the debt.
SIR HECTOR.
In current coin?
DAGONET.
Why, yes! if kisses pass for such in the dark.
KING ARTHUR.
My Gwenever! thy brow is not so glad
As fits a bride. Thou join'st not in our mirth,
And my poor jester scarce can raise a smile.
GWENEVER.
O pardon me, my lord! I yet am strange
To this land's customs.
KING ARTHUR.
We will mend them, sweetheart,
If they displease thee.
GWENEVER.
Nay -- not so, my lord!
I do but crave indulgence for the manners
Of one just fresh from home.
KING ARTHUR.
Now blessings on thee!
I would not have thee change that bashful grace
For any other charm that decks a queen.
DAGONET.
Shall I sing a song, my lord?
KING ARTHUR.
What song, sir knave?
DAGONET.
How that an old man married a young wife,
And let her have her way. 'Tis a good moral,
And prettily set to music.
SIR KAY.
Peace, thou jackanapes!
What new arrival makes the people throng
About yon door?
SIR LUCAN.
It is the prince!
SIR GAWIN.
'Tis Mordred!
Enter Mordred with Morgan Le Fay (disguised)
MORDRED (kneeling.)
All hail, my king and father!
KING ARTHUR.
Welcome, son!
Thou shouldst have been, methinks, an earlier guest
At this solemnity.
MORDRED.
See my excuse!
I found this lady, captive in the grasp
Of a huge giant, who had slain her husband,
A prince of Scottish blood. I could not leave her
In that extremity, but, from my steed
Descending, met the giant hand to hand,
Fought with him through the space of half a day,
And strewed his limbs upon a green hill-side
To feed the carrion-crow. Then let her presence,
Whom I have rescued, plead on my behalf,
And save me from harsh thoughts.
KING ARTHUR.
Now doubly welcome,
Since thou hast proved thyself a worthy knight!
Receive him well, my Gwenever! and give
This gentle dame assurance of our friendship,
Which much she needs.
GWENEVER.
Prince! I rejoice to greet thee,
Both for thy father's sake, and thy own virtue.
Lady! we know, that kings have little power
To comfort in affliction such as thine;
Yet may we hope in time to assuage thy sorrows
By love and patience.
MORGAN LE FAY, (kneeling.)
How shall I thank thee, madam?
I have no words.
GWENEVER.
Not so, in any case!
I must entreat thee -- rise! -- Nay, I will have it!
(She raises her from the ground. They converse apart.)
DAGONET.
Tell me, magnanimous hero! . . .
SIR KAY.
What stuff's this?
DAGONET.
I speak to Jack-the-giant-killer yonder,
Not unto thee! -- Tell me, magnanimous hero!
Where thou hast laid the carcass of thy foe,
That we may give it burial!
MORDRED.
My good Dagonet,
The fowls of the air have done that office for me.
DAGONET.
Ay, but the bones! -- I fain would have a club,
Made of a giant's thigh. Is't far from here?
MORDRED.
Too far, methinks, for thee to reach the place
In a long summer's day.
DAGONET.
And hast thou brought
No warlike trophy home -- not even a tooth,
Or nail, or handful of his bristly beard?
How much did he measure from the tip to the toe?
MORDRED.
Pshaw! these are idle questions.
DAGONET.
Well, I know not:
I am a fool! but, had I slain a giant,
I would go fetch some token of my conquest,
Ere men should doubt my word.
MORDRED.
Who dares to doubt it?
KING ARTHUR.
Tush, Mordred! be not angry with a fool!
The hour is one of licensed revelry
To all my subjects. May this day be hallowed!
For in it I have drunk of the wine of joy,
Till my brain reels. What more can life bestow
Than I possess? The world's most honoured throne --
Wealth in abundance -- fame beyond my hopes,
Or my deserving -- peace, by victory sealed --
A bride, the loveliest of the flowers of earth --
A gentle son -- the kindest, truest friends --
And warriors matchless in the strife. O Fortune!
Thou hast no more to give!
SIR KAY.
Bethink thee, sire,
If nothing yet be wanting! -- 'Tis not safe
For human eyes to scan the boundless future,
And see no wish unsatisfied.
KING ARTHUR.
Now, in truth,
I scarcely know what more I could desire,
Unless it were to greet my faithful Launcelot
And his brave fellow-pilgrims.
SIR GAWIN.
In that wish
We all participate. Were Launcelot here,
'Twould add new lustre even to scenes like this!
(A great shout.)
KING ARTHUR.
What means that loud acclaim? Go forth, sir seneschal,
And learn the cause!
(Exit SIR KAY.)
DAGONET.
Oh, 'tis another giant,
Come to revenge his brother's death upon us!
Draw thy sword, Jack!
MORDED.
Beware thy coxcomb, fool!
DAGONET.
I'll give it thee, for thou canst crow the loudest.
Clap thy wings, cock! 'twill frighten away the ghost
Of that same giant. Should he chance to clutch thee,
I would not be in thy skin for twentypence.
SIR KAY, (returning.)
Thou hast thy wish, my liege! -- Launcelot is come.
KING ARTHUR.
I did not bargain for news half so good.
But is he close at hand?
SIR KAY.
He will be here,
As soon as he can cleave the mighty press
Of shouting people.
KING ARTHUR (rising.)
I will go and meet him.
To pay such honour to his noblest vassal
Doth well beseem a king. Keep your seats, gentlemen!
I shall return anon.
SIR KAY.
Make way for his highness!
(KING ARTHUR descends from the throne, and exit, preceded by SIR KAY, and followed by some of the attendants. DAGONET steals after them.)
GWENEVER.
I long to see this peerless Launcelot,
Of whom I have heard so much.
SIR GAWIN.
Believe me, madam!
He is the bravest knight in Christendom,
And perfect in the arts of peace and war.
SIR HECTOR.
And the most loving friend.
SIR LUCAN.
And best companion.
SIR GARETH.
Nor has the king a more devoted subject.
GWENEVER.
What says Prince Mordred?
MORDRED.
I am silent, madam:
These gentlemen have left me nought to say.
GWENEVER.
Well, silence gives consent.
SIR GAWIN.
See where they come!
They scarce can move for the crowd. The king walks with them.
Yet stay! there are but two.
MORDRED.
Which then is wanting?
SIR GAWIN.
Alas! it is the good Sir Percival.
Pray heaven, he be not slain!
GWENEVER.
The
crowd so wavers,
I cannot catch a glimpse of either face.
(Re-enter KING ARTHUR and his train, with SIR LAUNCELOT and SIR BORS. All rise to receive them.)
KING ARTHUR.
I'd give the brightest jewel of my crown
To have him back; but death will take no ransom,
And we must bear our loss. My gentle friends!
I will present you to my lovely bride,
And she shall bid you welcome for us all.
My Gwenever! this is that famous Launcelot,
Of whom men say . . .
GWENEVER.
O heavens! it cannot be!
'Tis all a dream -- a wild and terrible dream!
KING ARTHUR.
What ails thee, love?
GWENEVER.
Indeed I am not well.
MORGAN LE FAY.
Lean upon me! I will support thee, madam.
KING ARTHUR.
Why, Gwenever!
SIR BORS.
Be not alarmed, my liege!
The hall is crowded, and the heat o'erpowering:
A sudden faintness . . .
GWENEVER.
It will pass anon.
Loosen my girdle -- give me room to breathe!
I am sick at heart!
(She swoons.)
KING ARTHUR.
Look to the queen there, ladies!
Break up the banquet!
(All disperse in confusion.)
SIR BORS (to SIR LAUNCELOT.)
Come away with me!
Too many wakeful, curious eyes are on us.
Let's keep our secret, friend!
SIR LAUNCELOT (as he is led off.)
She loves me still!
What care I for the world, or the world's gaze?
I only know and feel -- she loves me still!
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
-----------
ACT II.
SCENE I. -- The Gardens of the Palace.
Enter GWENEVER and MORGAN LE FAY.
GWENEVER.
Now have I told thee all, and laid my sorrows
Bare to thy friendship. Now canst thou understand,
Why thus I seek to shun Sir Launcelot's presence.
MORGAN LE FAY.
I can feel with, and for thee. Yet methinks,
I would not treat him with such studied coldness
As to excite suspicion. All here favour him,
And it must needs look strange, that thou alone
Shouldst be his foe. Besides, men are so wayward!
They build their hopes upon a lady's frown,
As surely as her smile.
GWENEVER.
What
can he hope?
I am King Arthur's wife.
MORGAN LE FAY.
And yet Sir Launcelot
May have his dreams. Perchance, he argues thus:
We only fly, when we have cause to fear,
And if she love me not, she need not shun me.
Would that be wrong?
GWENEVER.
Heaven guard me from such thoughts!
MORGAN LE FAY.
Ay, but Sir Launcelot . . .
GWENEVER.
Is the pearl of honour!
I must not have him so deceive himself,
And slander me.
MORGAN LE FAY.
Why then refuse to speak?
It is the silence and the mystery,
That make the danger. Meet him face to face,
And let the future as the past be clear
In the broad light of the sun!
GWENEVER.
Would
it be safe?
MORGAN LE FAY.
Dost fear him still? -- but look! yonder he comes,
Just in the nick of time. With brow deprest,
And eyes bent on the ground (how like a lover!)
He sees not where we stand. Let's wait, and mark him!
Enter SIR LAUNCELOT.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
What, if it were -- she never can be mine.
Reason itself disowns the idle thought;
Yet, spite of reason, it will oft return,
To haunt me with its brightness. O my heart!
Hast thou forgotten all thy many wrongs?
Was she not false?
Ha! -- ladies -- pardon me!
I knew not, that I strayed so near your walk.
Permit me to withdraw! (going.)
MORGAN LE FAY.
Not so, Sir Launcelot!
The queen has sent me with a message yonder,
And till I come again, desires thy company. (To GWENEVER.)
Now is the time! -- Speak -- or be silent ever! (exit.)
SIR LAUNCELOT (after a pause.)
If there be aught, which thou wouldst tell me, madam,
I wait upon thy pleasure. (a long silence.)
Heaven is my witness,
I did not seek this interview. Many days
Have I gone wandering up and down these gardens,
Like a poor, troubled ghost -- but never once
Did I attempt to cast my gloomy shadow
Across thy sun-lit path.
Why should I do so?
Art thou not happy?
GWENEVER.
Happy!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Other women
Regard thy lot with envy. No advancement
Could raise thee higher than thou art. A queen
Of earthly queens -- a hero-monarch's bride --
Loved, honoured, almost worshipped -- what is wanting
To make thee happy?
GWENEVER.
Cruel! thou sayest this!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
And wherefore not? Is it for me to dwell
Upon the past? Did I first break the charm,
That clothed our life in beauty, and adorned
This common world with radiance not its own?
Did I tear down the temples of old faith,
Turning to mockery all things sacred else
By that one profanation? -- 'Twas thy choice --
Thy free, unfettered choice -- to barter love
For gems and gewgaws of imperial state.
If it were wise (and who shall doubt its wisdom?)
Thou shouldst be happy now!
GWENEVER.
Hold! I will answer thee.
Not that I would recall the past -- the dead --
But that hereafter thou mayst think of me
Without reproach or bitterness. Let's be frank
With one another! Both perchance have erred.
When first thou camest to my father's court,
I was a very foolish, innocent girl,
Who ne'er suspected harm; in thee I saw
The young, bright hero of a maiden's dream,
And trusted thee, and gave thee all my heart.
Nor did I stay to question, if such love
For an unknown adventurer, without sanction
Of friends or parents, could be counted wise,
Or blest of heaven.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
This then is all thy grief --
That thou didst love unworthily.
GWENEVER.
No -- ah, no!
My instincts did not err: I had chosen well.
But was it prudent -- was it kind -- to shroud
Thy ways in mystery, and thus leave me dubious
Of my own fate? Has lordly man the right
To ask a woman's fealty, yet keep back
His perfect confidence? Hadst thou but spoken
The simple truth -- hadst thou declared thy name --
My father would have pledged his kingly word,
And we should now be . . .
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Can this justify
A breach of faith?
GWENEVER.
I seek not to defend,
But to extenuate. Hear me -- and then judge!
Dost thou remember when we parted last?
Month after month I waited thy return,
Still hoped, and still believed; yet time rolled on,
And brought no tidings. What though my cheek grew pale,
I kept our secret in my aching breast,
And stifled my despair. At length it chanced,
That Erin's mighty chief assailed our coast
With such a force as made resistance vain,
Escape impossible: in his great need,
My father sent to beg King Arthur's help,
And like a thunder-bolt the monarch flew
To crush our haughty foes. The land was saved!
How could we ever hope to pay the debt
We owed the generous victor? All our gold
Would have been light, when weighed with such a service.
He was content with less: he only asked
For this one little hand.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
And I not there!
GWENEVER.
What could I do? I sought on every side
Excuses for delay, and still postponed
The fatal moment -- but my father urged
Obedience to his will, and all men prayed,
That I would grant their great deliverer's suit.
Could I have spoken out, I might have trusted
To the king's honour; but, even for maiden shame,
I durst not plead a rash, unauthorised love
For one, who (judging by his lengthened silence)
Had ceased to think of me.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
No more! no more!
Thy words are like swift arrows to my soul.
Leave all recrimination! What is done
Is done. Eternity will not undo it.
(MORGAN LE FAY appears in the background, listening.)
And is it then a crime to love thee, Gwenever?
And shall the past be void of memories,
The future without hope? Will it be sin,
To bear thy image ever as of old
In my heart's core, to worship thy sweet looks,
Wait on thy footsteps, kiss the hallowed ground
Where thou hast lingered, dream of thee in sleep,
And wake to bless thy name? O dearest love!
I'd freely shed my life-blood, drop by drop,
To save thee from a pang -- but never think,
That I can gaze on thee as I do now,
And yet feel nothing here!
GWENEVER.
Alas for me!
Alas for both of us! I will not feign
To marvel at these words. I too am weak;
And, being a woman, it were doubly strange,
If I could wish thee to forget so soon
All that once made us happy. 'Twas the hope
Of living in thy memory some few years,
That led me to explain the doubtful past:
But for the future -- Launcelot! -- gentle friend!
I am a wife -- the king, thy master's wife --
And may not, must not hear of love.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
O misery!
GWENEVER.
If thou couldst do me a great service, Launcelot,
Wouldst thou refuse me for the dread of toil,
Or sacrifice, or danger?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
I refuse thee?
Not if it cost a world!
GWENEVER.
I ask not much;
Yet more than I have any right to claim,
Save from thy pity. Leave us for awhile --
Quit Arthur's court -- get thee to thy own lands,
Or seek adventures on a foreign shore --
But come not here again, till time has healed
The wounds that now bleed fresh!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Mine must bleed on!
GWENEVER.
Not always -- for the peace of a good conscience
Will be thy balm. Let's bear our destiny
With patience: we shall have no guilt to bear.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
I will obey thee. Though the strife be hard,
The victory shall be won. To-morrow sees me
Far from this palace -- far from these haunted bowers --
Far from the dangerous witchcraft of thy presence.
This interview . . . .
GWENEVER.
Shall be our last.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Thou hast said it.
Farewell! farewell! May blessings fall like dew
Upon thy head; may heaven's bright angels guard thee,
And holiest thoughts make music in thy soul!
Reach me the hand I ne'er may clasp again;
Let me for one brief moment hold it fast,
And press it thus to my love-fevered lips!
Here, on the brink of parting, this at least
May be permitted me!
(DAGONET leaps over some bushes, and comes dancing up the stage. MORGAN LE FAY stops him, and points to GWENEVER and SIR LAUNCELOT. He makes various grimaces, and retires with marks of astonishment.)
GWENEVER (disengaging herself.)
Enough, dear friend! The worst is over now.
Depart while it is time! As thou art merciful,
Prolong not this dread anguish!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
I have done.
But who shall say, that we have seen the worst?
A black foreboding weighs upon my spirits,
And will not thence. O 'tis most horrible,
If life have keener agonies yet in store
To pierce our souls withal!
GWENEVER.
Do what is right;
And, for the rest, leave it to heaven's high wisdom!
Go -- I conjure thee, go!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Farewell to love!
And, love being gone, farewell to hope and fear!
When I have passed yon portals, think of me
As of the dead! -- Henceforth my heart is stone. (Exit.)
GWENEVER.
Would I were sleeping at my mother's side
In that low bed where none feel grief or pain!
Is he not lost for ever?
MORGAN LE FAY (advancing.)
How now, madam?
I thought to find Sir Launcelot here.
GWENEVER.
Anon,
Thou shalt know all; but leave me for an hour
To my sad self! -- Let me go in, and weep! (Exit.)
MORGAN LE FAY.
I know enough already for my purpose --
Too much for thee, thou fond and credulous fair,
Whom I could pity, had I space to think
Of aught save vengeance! -- Now, within my brain,
The nets are spun, that shall enmesh my foes,
And make all sure. What though some blood be shed,
Some frail hearts broken -- I have sworn to do it,
And will not turn aside for that poor weakness
Which drivellers call humanity!
Enter MORDRED.
Ha, Mordred!
Thou couldst not find me at a better time,
For I have much to tell.
MORDRED.
What then has happened?
MORGAN LE FAY.
Walk with me to the palace! I will teach thee
All that thou hast to do. Mark well my words --
See thou observe them duly, point by point,
Even to the letter -- and the day is ours! (Exeunt.)
----------
SCENE II. -- The King's Closet.
Enter KING ARTHUR, SIR GAWIN, SIR GARETH, and SIR GAHERIS.
KING ARTHUR. (delivering a scroll.)
These are the plans, which I have new-devised
For Britain's peace; and to your long-tried faith,
My gallant nephews, I commit the charge
Of seeing my will obeyed when I am gone.
If the loved partner of my crown and state
Bring me no children, Mordred will succeed
To all my honours; but if haply fortune
Should bless me with an heir in my old age,
I still make such provision for my first-born
As doth beseem his rank.
SIR GAWIN.
A generous policy!
KING ARTHUR.
Bare justice, Gawin! Is he not my son?
Besides, I owe him payment for the wrong
I did his mother, and for his own rough usage,
While yet a child. Most men have erred at some time;
But well, methinks, it fits our riper years
To cancel debts contracted long ago,
And, where we can, to offer an atonement
For the wild sins of youth. (A
loud knocking at the door.)
What means that noise?
SIR GARETH (going to the door.)
Who dares intrude on the king's privacy?
DAGONET (entering.)
One that is privileged by ancient custom.
What were a council of state without a fool?
KING ARTHUR.
Nay, counsellors should be wise.
DAGONET.
In fairy-land:
But, in this world, a fool is worth the hearing,
For he
has many brethren.
KING ARTHUR.
Well, sage Dagonet!
What counsel wouldst thou give?
DAGONET.
Doubt your own eyes,
And ne'er believe the eyes of other men!
KING ARTHUR.
Why should we so?
DAGONET.
Because
you then may sleep
Free from the nightmare, and enjoy sweet dreams.
KING ARTHUR.
Now, by Saint Paul, thy riddles are too profound
For us to fathom.
DAGONET.
Shallow -- exceeding shallow!
As, for example, should any tell your highness,
That our coy queen (the pattern of her sex,
Demure and shamefaced as a cloistered nun)
Who blushes at the cuckoo's idle talk,
And chides the breeze, for being over-bold
To wanton with her drapery -- that even she
Has known the hour, when all her bosom's ice,
Thawing beneath a youthful lover's glance,
Would hardly cool a kiss -- that some have seen her
(The delicate princess, too refined for earth!)
Listening with downcast eye, and burning cheek,
To such avowals, as Joan the pretty milkmaid
Might hear from Hodge the miller -- take my counsel,
And ne'er believe the tale!
KING ARTHUR.
In faith, I would not
For twice my kingdom's worth. And mark me, sirrah!
I have given thy tongue some licence, and must bear
With the dull trifling, that becomes thy office;
But henceforth learn to vent thy ribaldry
On fitter subjects than the stainless honour
Of Arthur's wedded wife!
DAGONET.
My Lord, I am dumb.
Shall I go doff this motley coat, and buy
A courtier's mask?
KING ARTHUR.
No, keep thy coxcomb, fool;
But wear it with discretion!
Enter MORDRED.
What brings Mordred
In such apparent haste?
MORDRED.
I have to entreat
A private audience of my royal father.
You will forgive me, gentlemen? My business
Admits of no delay.
SIR GAWIN.
We do but wait
For the king's pleasure.
KING ARTHUR.
It is well, my friends!
You may retire. When I've despatched this youngster,
I'll send for you again.
(Exeunt all but KING ARTHUR and MORDRED.)
Now for thy suit!
MORDRED.
Alas, my lord! the suit regards thyself.
Prepare for heavy tidings, my
dread liege!
If that which I must speak (woe worth the day!)
Did not concern
thy safety, honour, peace,
My tongue should rather cleave unto my mouth
Than I would utter it.
KING ARTHUR.
A black beginning!
But I am too old a warrior, to be scared
By sound of trumpet. Leave all flourishes,
And to the point!
MORDRED.
Treason is ever hateful;
But even this hath its degrees of foulness.
Bad in a common subject, 'tis more vile
In one of noble breeding -- baser yet
In servants we have trusted -- but most hideous
In friends we have dearly loved!
KING ARTHUR.
What dost thou mean?
Tell me forthwith, and let me know the worst!
MORDRED.
Recall to memory, how the queen did swoon
Upon her wedding-day: canst
guess the cause?
KING ARTHUR.
Simple enough, methinks. A natural weakness,
Born of sweet maiden-fears.
MORDRED.
No, my good lord!
It was the sight of Launcelot of the Lake,
That brought her pale and drooping to the ground,
Like a crushed lily.
KING ARTHUR.
What was he to her?
MORDRED.
What? -- why, the chosen idol of her youth --
Her own betrothed.
KING ARTHUR.
That is impossible!
They ne'er had met.
MORDRED.
Too often they had met.
Under a borrowed name, the knight had sojourned
Many a long month in her old father's court.
KING ARTHUR.
It cannot be -- and yet -- this would explain,
Why she has since appeared to shun the presence
Of him, who is admired and sought by all.
MORDRED.
It would explain a marvel yet more strange --
Why they have met in secret.
KING ARTHUR.
Mordred! Mordred!
Beware thou speak not false!
MORDRED.
In this I speak
What even thy jester would confirm, who saw them
Alone in the garden, not an hour ago.
KING ARTHUR.
Ha! it was then no mad buffoonery?
He had a meaning in his words.
MORDRED.
My father!
I have not told the worst. Now, whilst we talk,
A plot is hatching, dark as hell itself,
Against thy happiness. Ere another dawn,
The trusty Launcelot flies from this abode,
And the queen with him.
KING ARTHUR.
I will not believe it!
I know thee, Mordred! Thou dost envy virtues,
That soar above thy reach; wouldst pluck their wings,
And rob them of their glory. But beware!
Thou treadest upon hot steel.
MORDRED.
Mine be the risk!
I do not ask thee to confide in me,
But in thy proper sense. If I should fail,
This very night, to prove whate'er I've said,
Let thy just vengeance blot me from the earth
As a convicted slanderer!
KING ARTHUR.
Be it so!
And by the splendours of my crown I swear,
That, if thou lose in this most perilous game,
Thou shalt not draw the stake. Woe unto thee,
If thou have played me false! -- If thou speak truth,
Woe unto all the house!
MORDRED.
I am content
To run the hazard both of fame and life,
To guard thee from foul treason; but, my lord,
I have a right, methinks, to challenge help
In probing this deep wound. Order thy horse,
Take with thee but a few of thy best friends,
And be it known to all who eat thy bread,
That thou wilt not come back from a long ride
Till far in the night: when thou hast left the town,
Return as quickly and as secretly
As darkness creeps on day. Watch close by the palace,
And mark what passes: I will do the rest.
KING ARTHUR.
Mordred! thou art my son. Pause, ere thou strike
A dagger to my heart!
MORDRED.
To save thy honour
Is a son's duty. What wouldst thou have more? (Exeunt.)
----------
SCENE III. -- A Street in Camelot. Evening.
Enter SIR LAUNCELOT and SIR BORS.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
No, cousin! I have neither strength nor calmness
To bid the king farewell. Thine be the charge,
To give some fitting reason for my absence.
At midnight, when all eyes are closed in sleep,
I shall depart alone.
SIR BORS.
To
Joyous Gard?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Ah, no! my castle now would seem too sad.
I go beyond the sea.
SIR BORS.
Then hear me, Launcelot!
It may be long before we meet again:
We must not sever thus. Ride forth alone,
If so thy humour lead; but, ere thou sail
Upon the bosom of the salt sea-wave,
Let me, and others who have loved thee well,
Be privileged to grasp thy hand once more
In token of old friendship!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Yes! I promise thee.
Name thou the place, dear cousin!
SIR BORS.
Dost remember
The oak-tree in the forest, where so oft
We have stretched our limbs beneath the ample shade,
When weary from the chase? At noon to-morrow,
I will be there with our most valued friends,
To pledge thee in a parting cup.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Agreed!
I will not fail thee.
SIR BORS.
Until then, adieu!
I see thou wouldst prefer a silent walk,
And will not fret thee with my company. (Exit.)
SIR LAUNCELOT.
O thou! stern mother of all heroic deeds,
Imperious Duty! thou, who canst teach proud man
To bend submissive to thy changeless law,
And, in the spirit of self-sacrifice,
Renounce even life itself -- do thou sustain
My fainting steps, and guide me in the path,
Which, rugged though it be as mountain-crags,
Painful, and steep, and narrow -- yet, in the end,
Leads to the starry mansions of the blest,
Where thou sit'st crowned!
Enter MORGAN LE FAY.
But, for the false god Love,
What can he give save wreaths of poisoned flowers,
Which fill the brain with an effeminate languor,
And perish in their prime?
MORGAN LE FAY (approaching.)
Sir Launcelot! hist!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Who calls? What wouldst thou?
MORGAN LE FAY.
We have met before,
And thou shouldst know my voice. I come from the queen.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
From her! -- That word makes me a helpless child,
And I could weep for longing. Bear with me!
MORGAN LE FAY.
She fain would learn if thou depart to-night.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
So have I purposed.
MORGAN LE FAY.
Then she bids me say,
That she has yet a parting boon to ask,
Which she forgot erewhile.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Speak! it is granted.
MORGAN LE FAY.
She will reveal it to thyself alone.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
O heavens! I shall again behold her face!
But when and where?
MORGAN LE FAY.
Presently, in her chamber.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
How can this be?
MORGAN LE FAY.
Follow me to the palace!
I'll show thee a safe nook, where thou mayst lie
Hid from the telltale moon. When all is hushed,
Wait for the signal of a white rose falling;
Then boldly issue forth. A tiny ladder
(Such as the sailor climbs the mast withal)
Will be hung ready for thy use: mount quickly
Unto the open casement just above thee,
And take thy fortune!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Have I heard aright?
Can she have ventured on so rash a course?
Yet wherefore rash? Innocence guards her round
By night as day, and in her private chamber
As in the court. Besides, she may well trust
A subject's fealty, and a soldier's honour.
Why do I pause? Whether as queen or woman,
She claims the tribute of my utmost service,
And may command me as she will. I am ready.
Which is the nearest way?
MORGAN LE FAY.
Come! we lose time. (Exeunt.)
----------
SCENE IV. -- The Queen's Bed-Chamber. Moonlight.
Enter GWENEVER and LADIES.
GWENEVER.
Has the king left the town?
LADY.
I think so, madam:
He rode forth about sunset.
GWENEVER.
Gentle girls!
You may go laugh and chatter by yourselves.
I shall not need your help.
LADY.
Permit us, madam,
If not to disrobe, at least to bear thee company,
And, when thou hast laid thy head upon the pillow,
To read or sing thee into sleep.
GWENEVER.
&