University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene I.

—Camelot. The gardens. Morgause, Peredure, Lionors, Gawaine, Dagonet, Kaye, and others.
Morgause.
The day is dull. Shall we have music?

Kaye.
Ay,
A rousing song!

Lionors.
He's all for tavern catches
Or martial strains of braggadocio.

Dagonet.

It is the finitude of his wit, whereof he has neither enough to be merry without drinking nor to be silent when drunk.

Kaye.

Drunk, varlet?

Dagonet.

If I called it a finer name, you would not follow me.

Lionors.

Nay, for that would be false manners. Would you have the nobleman follow the fool?

Dagonet.

No more than I would have the ass

follow the driver. Let me but carry the whip and he shall take precedence as much as he will.

Morgause.
Peredure, is there not a madrigal
Knocking against your heart to be let out?
Our idleness feeds on the empty day
As a chameleon on the air. Come, sing
And give us richer nurture.

Peredure.
[Sings.]

Gawaine.
A silly song! That's not the way to love.

Morgause.
What do you know of love, Gawaine?

Gawaine.
Enough
To know that it is a silly song, my mother.

Morgause.
Are you but sixteen and know love already?
[Enter Publius and Ladinas.]
The age has grown so forward that our children
Will make us grandams ere our heads are gray.—
You join us late, Sir Ladinas.

Ladinas.
Royal Orkney,
The courtesy of Camelot to a guest
Must be my plea. Lord Publius comes from Rome
With weighty missives from the Emperor.
While he awaits the King's return from Cornwall,
He must not sigh for the Campagna.

Morgause.
Welcome.
Will you make one of our too idle party?
We have been merry with inconsequences,
Tossing our empty fancies back and forth
Like shuttlecocks, for wantonness. I fear
You are too serious for these bagatelles.

Publius.
Let me not spoil your entertainment, madam.
So many fair young faces are about me,
Such a spring-burst of beauty and of youth,
I shall grow young myself for sympathy.

Gawaine
[apart to Lionors].
What an old flub! [Aloud.]
Now, madam, if you like,
I'll sing a song I learned the other day
And wager twenty pounds against a shilling
Mine is the better love-song of the two.

Morgause.
What say you, ladies? Shall this fledgling sing?

Lionors.
I am sure he will sing well.

Gawaine
[apart to Lionors].
[Sings. Morgause, Publius, and Ladinas converse apart earnestly.]

Lionors.
Oh, fie! it is a jade's song. Naughty boy,
You must be good or you'll be sent to bed.

Dagonet
[to Peredure].

She cries “boy” too loudly. Oh, la la! Ostriches, ostriches!

Morgause.

Come, let's to tennis. [To Peredure.]
Will you play with me?

Dagonet
[aside].

Ay, that he will, and lose the game too, for all your faults.

[Some play and the others gather about as spectators.]
Ladinas
[to Publius].
What think you? Have
I not achieved an ally of great price?

Publius.
It is well done. And no one of the court
Suspects you are Rome's secret emissary?

Ladinas.
Suspect a Knight of the Round Table? They would
As soon suspect the blessed angels.

Publius.
Yet
There was a Lucifer—

Ladinas.
No more of that!
I do not mean to sell my contraband
For barren rank or tinsel decorations.
I am no barbarous chieftain of the Zaire
To trade my ivory for a string of beads.
I must have money; you must make me rich
Beyond the power of prodigality
To dissipate—rich, rich; the rest is toys
For babes to play with!

Publius.
You shall have your will.
But say what motive pricks the Queen of Orkney?

Ladinas.
She hates the King as none can hate but they
Who once have loved. It is the tale that ere
The mystery of Arthur's parentage
Was by his mother's oath made clear, he fought
With Lot of Orkney and defeated him.
Then came this queen, Morgause, the wife of Lot,
And Arthur's sister, but they knew it not;
And Arthur was enamoured, nor was she
Unwilling. And, indeed, men say a child
Was born and hidden somewhere in the hills,
And that by him his father shall be slain.
And others say the King is free from stain,—
None knows. But't is most certain that they loved;
And still the Queen of Orkney will not think
That Arthur is her brother, but believes
That for the crown he cast her love away.
Judge how she hates him.

Publius.
And you love this woman?

Ladinas.
Ay, as the lost knight in the hollow hill
Loves Venus!. ... See you the fair lady yonder,
Who leads the stripling prince, Gawaine, at heel
Like a pet greyhound?

Publius.
Well, and what of her?

Ladinas.
Her name is Lionors, and of old time
She was the mistress of the King; but now
The Queen of Orkney keeps her in her train
That she may flaunt in Guenevere's proud face
Her bridegroom's old adulteries.

Morgause.
Love game!
It is the set, my lord.

[A trumpet without.]
Publius.
Is it a herald of the King's return?

Ladinas.
He will not come so soon. We shall have time
To spread a snare that he cannot escape,
Though how is all uncertain yet.

[Enter Galahault.]
Galahault.
Good news!
Ladies, glad news! Sir Launcelot is returned.

Several.
What say you? Launcelot?

Galahault.
Launcelot and his kinsmen,
Lionel and Ector and the good Sir Bors.

[Enter Launcelot and Bors.]
Morgause.
All honor to the realm's pre-eminent knight,
Returned, I doubt not, from a glorious quest!
Honor and welcome to the good Sir Bors!

Launcelot.
Thanks, gentle lady. Joy be with you all!
Where is the King?

Dagonet.
Welcome to Camelot—
To my new capital of Foolery!

Launcelot.
What, Dagonet! [Aside.]
The Fool! Where is the lady?

Dagonet.

You have too good a memory, sir, for a man of place. But, indeed, I knew not it was you when I saved you. Nathless, without me you had

not done these great deeds; ergo, you must have done them with me. Now see what it is to be modest; I had no idea I was a man of this mettle.

Morgause
[aside].
What's this? What's this?

Launcelot.
Now, by my sword, I am
Right glad to see your merry face again.
Where is the King?

Dagonet.

Why, I am king now and these are my subjects. See you not how, like good courtiers, they mimic me?

Kaye.
How do we mimic you, sirrah?

Dagonet.
Marry, by making fools of yourselves.

Ladinas.
The King, sir, is in Cornwall at the wars.

Launcelot.
I am right sorry that he is not here,
For since I set my face toward Camelot,
For joy that I should see him I have been
Light-hearted as a boy. I would clasp hands
And wish him happiness with his young bride!
The rumor of her beauty has gone out
From end to end of Britain. I have heard
She moves among our gardens like a dream
Of empired loveliness in far Cathay.
Lead me to her, Sir Galahault. I must
Do homage to my queen. Ah, gentle lady—
She shall not find in Camelot, I swear,
A heart more leal to her than Launcelot's.
Henceforth I'll wear no colors in the lists
But those of Arthur's bride.
[Enter Guenevere and Ladies. She stops in the centre, looking at Launcelot.]
Dear Galahault,
'T is my first duty both to king and friend
To lay my good sword at his lady's feet.
Lead me to her—
Bors! Galahault! Is it—? It is—

Galahault.
The Queen!

Launcelot.
I shall be leal to her indeed. Just God!

[He recovers himself. As he steps forward with Galahault toward the Queen the scene closes.]

Scene II.

—The Apartments of Galahault. Enter Launcelot, Galahault, and Bors.
Bors.

Prithee, Galahault, a stoup of wine! I have the dust of seven kingdoms in my throat.

Galahault.

Some wine, ho!

Bors.

What, Launcelot, not a word? I have not seen thee so cast down since Ector was taken captive by that rude infidel, Sir Turquine, whom thou slew'st.

[Enter a Servant with wine.]

What, man, gladden thy heart with this.

[Drinks.]
Launcelot.

I think that wine will never be aught but bitter to me again, and that I shall hate the perfume of flowers and the melody of lutes and mandolins as long as I live. Oh, my friends, I am but the husk of what I was, and all that was savory in me is consumed.

[Exit Servant with cups, etc.]
Bors.

Thou'st not been thyself since we were

presented to the Queen. I mind me now how thou didst start then and heave thy sides, as if thou 'dst seen a spirit. What—Galahault—is 't possible?

Galahault.
O Bors, Bors, Bors, the maids of Camelot
Say rightly that thou hast not loved; for else
His sorrow were no riddle.

Bors.
Nay, to me
A riddle darker with increasing light.
What, is the Lady of the Hills forgot?
Have human hearts no stronger faith? For I
Had looked to thee, O cousin, as the type
Of faith. Wilt thou betray the King, thy friend,
Even in thought?

Launcelot.
Peace, peace! What ails that I
Should e'er be false to Arthur? Rest you safe,
I have no lady if it be not she
Whom I have called the Lady of the Hills.

Bors.
Nay, cousin, use me frankly.

Launcelot.
Betray the King?
Thou talkest of thou knowest not what. Is 't possible
That I betray the King?

Bors.
What name was it
You gave the jester that we met below?

Galahault.
What, here? His name is Dagonet. The Queen
Brought him with her from Cameliard.

Bors.
The Queen?
Dagonet? By heaven, it is as clear as noon.
This is the very Fool that saved his life
For he did call him Dagonet that day
He told the story to me. And the Queen,
The Queen herself's the Lady of the Hills.—
Thou lovest her.

Launcelot.
Ay, as the lost love heaven!

Bors.
Alas, I pity thee; thy stars are evil.
But thou art noble and wilt not forget
Thy triple duty, God, the King, thy friend.

Launcelot.
Duty? The word is colder than the moon.
Thou art an icy counsellor. Dost think
That love will, like a hound that licks my hand,
Down at my bidding? Nay, thou hast not loved,
Nor dost not know that when Love enters in,
He enters as a master, not a slave.

Galahault.
True, Launcelot, Love is tameless as wild beasts.
Chains for his limbs but leave his spirit more free
To think the thing it may not act. Hunger
Is his best nourishment and he grows apace
Upon starvation. If he die at all,
He dies of surfeit, not of abstinence.

Bors.
But shall our champion of an hundred fights,
Whose name is one with valor's, be o'erthrown
By an effeminate longing, like a girl?

Galahault.
Speak not in scorn of love, Sir Bors. There are
But two things under heaven unconquerable
And certain, Love and Death.

[Enter a Page.]
Page
[to Launcelot].
My lord, your brothers
Have sent to seek you.

Launcelot.
Good, my cousin Bors,
Go thou for me; I cannot see them now;—
I have no heart.

Bors.
Go, tell them I come quickly.
[Exit Page.]
You will be your great self and turn this love,
If it be true that't will not be cast out,
To something high and noble. It may be,
As I can hardly think but that you live
Under some special warrant, that God means
You should do great deeds in your lady's name,
And in the chronicles of Time be set
For an example to the yet unborn
How love may cast out love's disloyalties,
And lovers, marvelling at such sacrifice,
Shall say, “So loved the good knight Launcelot.”

[Exit.]
Launcelot.
“The traitor Launcelot!” for I hear them now,—
Cold, scornful voices of futurity
That speak so cruel-calmly of the dead!
Oh, Galahault, for love of my good name
Pluck out your sword and kill me, for I see
Whate'er I do, it will be violence—
To soul or body, others or myself.
You will not? It would be a kindly deed.
—And yet I saw her first. What right had he
To steal her from me? I have served her well
Two years, laid all my laurels at her feet,
Won all my victories in her sweet name,
Though yet I knew it not. What right had he—?
Nay, nay, she loves him—who could love him not?—
And I shall hate him, hate my dearest friend,
Because—oh, God! oh, God!

Galahault.
Why grieve so soon?
You know not yet if she denies your love.
What if she should not?

Launcelot.
Galahault! You make
My poor head dizzy with quick-coming hopes.
What!—you mean?—it cannot be—

Galahault.
Why not?
She does not love the King; of that I am certain.
Sure, you are worth the love of any woman,
Were she ten times a queen!

Launcelot.
She does not love him?
Are you sure, sir? Are you sure? I dare not hope it.

Galahault.
She is as virgin of the thought of love
As winter is of flowers.

Launcelot.
But he loves her;
And it would rive his heart. He is my friend,—
Think, Galahault, my friend!

Galahault.
Love knows no friend
Nor foe save friends and foes to his desire.
Seek not to palter with him, for he is
More tyrannous than Nero in his cups.
He will endure no bargains, so much love
And so much virtue. You must yield him all
Or he'll not grant you anything. What profits
The King if for his sake you let all slip?
Why, that were chivalry run mad, for though
She love not you, she ne'er will love the King.
Seek other rivals, for not all the charms
Of Merlin and the Lady of the Lake
Would now avail to quicken in her lone heart
A pulse of love for Arthur. Did she hate him,
That might turn love; but when a husband seems
A mere indifferent covenanted thing,
She's like to love the Devil sooner. And can
You calmly think that even your friend of friends,
Lacking her heart, should call her body his,
Should sting that throat with kisses and—?

Launcelot.
Damnation!
Her body?

Galahault.
Ay, I said so.

Launcelot.
Not if he
Were fifty friends or fifty hundred kings!

Galahault.
Why, now you are a lover. Come with me.
The Queen is in the orchard.

Launcelot.
Galahault!

Galahault.
Look through the casement here. See where she walks,
As if a rose grew on a lily's stem,
So blending passionate life and stately mien.
How like a lioness she steps and pauses,
With grand, slow-moving eyes—

Launcelot.
No more! no more!

[Exeunt.]

Scene III.

—A Bower in the Gardens. Guenevere and Ladies.
Guenevere.
You may withdraw, ladies.
[Exeunt Ladies.]
They did him wrong
Who called him but the goodliest of men,
For he is like a god. What did she say?
“There is not maid nor wife in Camelot
Whose heart is not a spaniel at his feet.”
Oh, I should hate them if they loved him not,
And hate them that they love him. What if he hide
Unworth behind that fair exterior!
And shall he add me to his list of slaves?
Yet, though I hate myself that am so cheap,
And love myself that he should be so dear,
And am a thousand things at once, each eyewink
In arms against its neighbor—what should I do,
If he—? I am too poor a thing to live,
And yet so happy that I am so poor!
And yet so wretched that I am so happy!
Why, had he laughed into my startled eyes
And asked “Dost thou adore me?” I had lacked
Power to keep back the “Yes” within my soul.
Or had he clutched my wrist and pulled me to him
And bade me love him, there before them all,
I would have put my lips up for a kiss.
... Yonder he comes. Why should he seek me out?
I am nought to him, one of a thousand women
Whose lives have crossed his somewhere and then passed
Into the dark. His Queen—a stupid word!
His Queen, when he may hear the lightest wish
Some other utters, as a Queen's command?
No Queen at all, unless his Queen in all!
I will not love—and he shall never know.
I would I had not sent my maids away.
I lie; I am glad they are not here. I felt
That he was coming when I bade them go.
[Enter Launcelot.]
Does he do reverence to the Queen or me?—
Good-morrow, sir. You like our gardens, too.
'T is a sweet place; June lays her heart bare here
And sighs her soul out through the passionate air.

Launcelot.
There is no garden like it in the world.

Guenevere.
I did not guess you were so fond of gardens.
I thought of you with lance and battle-axe
In the forefront of war—yet not as one
That kills his fellows with a savage joy—
But with pale brow where anger never writ
His ugly name in frowns.

Launcelot.
You thought of me?

Guenevere.
Who does not think of you? Your fame is blown
Further than Cameliard.

Launcelot.
And you thought of me
As hard and cruel?

Guenevere.
Never for a breath!
And yet I did not think that you would feel
The strange delicious sweet of such a place.

Launcelot.
I never felt it as I do to-day,—
Though I remember, when I was a boy,
There was a beautiful lady who would come
Across the lake and take me in her skiff
And tell me wondrous tales, tales which still make
A low confusèd murmur in my brain
Like the vague undertone of many bees.
I called her “fairy mother” then, but now
Men tell me that she was that Nimue,
The Lady of the Lake, whom Merlin loves.
I know not. I remember only how
I leaned my head over the boat's edge, looking
Deep through the water to another sky,
So clear the water was; and, as I leaned,
My soul went swooning down that crystal space,
Down, down forever, till sinking seemed to turn
To rising, with the sky not far away.

Guenevere.
Tell me more of your life. You must have seen
So much in its young course—have done so much.

Launcelot.
Nay, little that I can remember. I am
Strangely unable to distinguish one
Good or ill hap out of the blur of things,
Battles and tourneys, one much like the other,
And lost already in the murmurous past.
I feel as if I were just born to-day
With life before me like this summer air,
Hushed, as in waiting for a bird to sing,
Who yet delays, and all is fresh and fair,
And hope stands flushing like a rosy boy
Upon a threshold which he fears to cross.
But what I fear or what I hope, indeed
I hardly know—and yet I hope and fear.

Guenevere.
But surely some recognizable peak
Soars up among the mountains of your deeds
That you can show me.

Launcelot.
Indeed there is a height
So near me that it shuts out all my life;
But I have not attained it. One event
I well remember, but it was a vision,
Not an achievement. That was when I first
Beheld you.

Guenevere.
Have you seen me, then, before?
And you remember it and I forget?

Launcelot.
I should have died of faintness in the hills
If you had not stood by.

Guenevere.
What, were you he
Whom Dagonet the Fool saved?

Launcelot.
I am he.

Guenevere.
How strangely are the threads of life inwoven!—
Yet since you will not tell me of your deeds,
Tell me at least for whom you do them.

Launcelot.
Ah, me!

Guenevere.
I know that for some dame or damosel
You do them. Tell me, by the faith you owe me,
Who is the lady? For I know thou lovest.

Launcelot.
Say that I do so, were it not far better
That this new birth had never been conceived;
Since even while I babble of its joy,
Grief glooms above it like the shadow of death?

Guenevere.
What part hath grief in thee, Sir Launcelot?
I might as soon paint sorrow on the face
Of blessed Michael standing in the sun.

Launcelot.
Queen, that I love is true; and love should be
More joy on earth than Michael hath in heaven.
But I have been too much beloved of Fortune;
And she hath dowered me with all goodly gifts
Only in the end to turn them to a gibe.
For all my feats of arms were done for you,
And if you love me not, it had been better
My mother died a maid—and should you love,
Which yet I dare not hope, our lives must be
Like outcast angels, glorious with shade,
A bitter gladness and a radiant woe.
Ay, for 't is you I love. Love leaped to life
Within me when I saw you in the hills,
As Saint John leaped within his mother's womb
When Mary drew near, childing of the Christ.
Speak to me! Will you outstare marble? God!
I say, I love you. See, I crawl to you!—
I pray you pardon me. I see you are
Too merciful to speak. I give you pain;—
I have spoken wildly. Fare you well! I will not—

[Rushes off.]
Guenevere.
He loves me! Oh, how good it is to draw
Deep breaths of this rich-scented air. The odor
Seems to pass into me. Does love transfigure
The world like this? Nay, then it is a god,
That's certain.

[Enter Galahault at the back among the trees. Launcelot follows him, beseeching.]
Launcelot.
Oh, be silent for my sake
Or I shall die of shame.

[Throws himself on his face under a willow in the background.]
Galahault
[advancing].
O cruel Queen!
What have you done to my poor friend? Look where
He lies upon his face and heaves his sides,
Like a dumb animal hurt unto death.
Oh, what a loss were there, if he indeed,
Pierced with your scorn, should die!

Guenevere
[musing, unconscious of Galahault's presence].
The greater loss
Were mine. O heart, my heart, rememberest thou
What he has said?

Galahault.
What?

Guenevere.
If his words be true,
He has done all his deeds of arms wherewith
The sky's blue concave rings, for me, me only.

Galahault.
He may well be believed, for as he is
Of all men the most valiant, so he hath
A truer heart than others.

Guenevere.
They say well
That he of all men is most valorous,
For he has done such doughty feats of arms
As no knight else. And this, all this he did
For me.

Galahault.
Why, then, you should be pitiful.

Guenevere.
How pitiful, in sooth? The cliffs and crags
Of Cameliard have left me ignorant
Of much, I doubt not, that our Camelot dames
Suck with their mother's milk. But yesterday
Love was to me an idle poet's song.

Galahault.
This is not yesterday; for now you know
How more than all fair women he loves you,
More than his life, yes, more than his own soul;
And that for you he has done more than knight
Did ever yet for lady.

Guenevere.
More indeed
Than I can ever merit. Could he ask
Anything of me that I could deny?
—But he has asked me nothing. Only he is
So sorrowful that it is marvellous.

Galahault.
Then heal that sorrow, madam, for you may.

Guenevere.
He asked me nothing.

Galahault.
Nor would never ask,
Love is so fearful when it is new-born.
But I plead for him. This is what he would,—
That you should love him and retain him ever
To be your knight, and that you should become
His loyal lady for your whole life long.
Grant this and you will make him richer far
Than if you gave the world.

Guenevere.
I have given him all
The world I have, the world of my own thoughts,
Desires and aspirations, hopes and fears.
—You see, I trust you, sir. I know not how
You come upon my dream, like a strange shape
That casts a shadow where no shadows are.
But you are here, although you be but thickened
Out of the air before me, as my thoughts
In like wise now round to a definite orb.
I know that he is mine and I all his,
And that you somehow, strangely, have been part
Of things ill done and mended.

Launcelot.
No, I dream.
It is not she that speaks. Dear God, if this
Be but a dream, oh let me die and find
That heaven is just to dream forever thus.

Galahault.
Gramercy. Now 'tis fit you enter on
Love's service. Kiss him once before me, madam,
For the beginning of true love.

Guenevere.
Those yonder, sure,
Would marvel much that we should do such deeds.

Galahault.
No one will see.

[Turns away.]
Guenevere.
And if they did?—Why, Launcelot,
You tremble like a leaf. Will you not kiss me?
Are you afraid? Nay, then I will kiss you.

[She takes him by the chin and kisses him.]
Curtain.