University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene: A garden, with stately adornments, opening back upon the main hallway of King Arthur's castle. On one hand are the towers of the castle, crowding high up into a moonlit heaven. On the other hand we have a glimpse of the moonlit moat, and beneath it an iron door, closed. Defensive battlements are visible still farther on, at this side of the royal demesne. The time is a little before midnight. Distant music is heard, and the lights of a revel are seen, beyond the archway at back.
Enter Sir Galahad, musing pensively.
Sir Galahad.
(He sings.)

(Sir Galahad moves mournfully away, while a chorus of revellers begins from within the castle.)
Chorus of Revellers.

(Merlin now slowly enters, and pauses in revery.)
Merlin.
The tenor of their wine-song likes me not.
Modred was right. My old prestige is lost.
They rank me half in jeer with Arthur's fool,
That grinning Dagonet, whose wry wit can strike
With random malice, like a smitten snake.
Oh, well it is temptation comes my way;
Had Lancelot failed to tempt, I must have made
Some other shift to work my vengeful spleen.
I wonder, now and then, if dame or lord
Have chanced, by rumor led or by surmise,
On the cold ugly truth that I am not
Wholly the same miraculous personage
I rate myself ... Who's there? 'Tis thou, sir fool?

(Dagonet, the fool, has cautiously entered.)
Dagonet.
Hats off, good Merlin, when the fool draws nigh.
He's king, thou knowest it well, when t'other fool,
His royal master, doth fool otherwhere.
Nay, I miss terms; thou dost not don a hat;
Thou hast but several centuries of hair,
White as the whitest plume the goose can vaunt.

Merlin.
Peace, peace, thou fool. The seneschals within
Will give thee cakes and comfits of thy fill.
Get hence. I muse.

Dagonet.
Nay, Merlin, so do I.

Merlin.
Pray, fool, on what large matter dost thou muse?

Dagonet.
On my huge age. That I, last birthday, reached
Three thousand years of life—and live to tell't.

Merlin.
Thou mockest me, thou wriggling eel of man.
I think thy head is like the viper's own—
The brains of it pushed out by venom. Go!

Dagonet.
Now, marry, if a man hath skill enough,
I see not why he should lack power to be
Immortal ... till he dies.

Merlin.
What saidst thou, knave?

Dagonet.
Nay, never knave, good Merlin—always fool;
A most complaisant fool, withal, and one
That knows to keep a secret jealously,
As magpies keep their spoil.

(He laughs gleefully.)
Merlin.
What secret, pray?
I warrant 'twas a worse fool than thyself
Who gave thee one.

Dagonet.
(He sings.)

Chorus of Revellers
(heard within).
O Merlin sage,
All gray with age,
Dost thou know more than prince or page?
Go teach thy spells,
Where wisdom dwells,
To Dagonet, with his cap-and-bells!

Dagonet
(dancing scornfully).
O mighty mage,
Believed so sage,
We both are fools, and earn our wage.
O seer most high,
You're young as I;
You say you're not, but you know you lie!

Chorus of Revellers.
O Merlin, school
By rote and rule
Thy learning with King Arthur's fool;
For Dagonet now
Can guess, we vow,
The riddle of life as well as thou!

Dagonet
(dancing before Merlin while he recedes).
Ah, go to school,
From now till Yule,
To Dagonet, good King Arthur's fool.
For when you cry
You'll never die,
You don't prevaricate—no, you lie!

(Merlin disappears into the castle, Dagonet dancing before him.)
Dagonet
(alone).
By these white moonbeams folding these gray towers,
It needs not even so apt a fool as I
To note some wild work is abroad to-night.
Thrice did I see Sir Modred scowl by stealth
At our brave king, while subtle Vivien
Stood at his arm and whispered in his ear.
Then, too, the Queen ... her pallor while she went
Between the tapestries of the great South hall,
With Lancelot at her side in quick hot speech
What means it all? Ah, well, a fool hath ears
Too large his ears, they say, too long his tongue.
Howbeit, I know a fool who hath listened much
Already, and can listen more, betimes.
A very wise and comfortable fool
Is Dagonet, since he loves to serve his lord,
King Arthur, and with all his lack of wit
May serve more wisely than some wise fools dream.

(Queen Guinevere has meanwhile appeared from archway.)
Guinevere.
What dost thou, Dagonet, moping in the moon?

Dagonet.
I mope not, sweet my lady, but compose
A soft love-ballad to the maid I love.

Guinevere.
Lov'st thou a maid? In mercy wed her not.
Bedlam doth brim with madness, as it is.
There, get thee thence; that gargoyle leer of thine
Jars on my mood—nay, tarry not to bow.

Dagonet
(aside).
(If I but loved thy lord the less, fair Queen,
I'd show thee, who hast ever used me ill,
How fools can hate. ... But no; I serve the King.
Though curses be my thanks I still will serve.

(Dagonet goes out.)
Guinevere.
(She sings.)

(Lancelot now appears, joining Guinevere.)
Lancelot.
My Queen, it lacks not long of twelve o'clock.
Thy knowledge, as I trust, is now complete,
By just what means to grasp and gain the sword.

Guinevere.
Yes, yes ... Oh, Lancelot, should I quite break down!

Lancelot.
Break down? Ah, that would break me up, my Queen!
Forgive the jest, which hath a modern tinge,
Unseemly in our quaint Arthurian age.

Guinevere.
Oh, Lancelot, I'm a very foolish queen!
Thou knowest I am; deny it not ... Pray tell,
Shall not my altered tresses and new skin
Find many to admire them in your realm?

Lancelot.
Myself above all others, glorious Queen!

Guinevere.
How many others?

Lancelot.
We in family
Are seven, if I count fair the list of us.

Guinevere.
What! seven! And shall no more than fourteen eyes
Pay homage to my beauty every day?

Lancelot.
Yes, vassals, village-folk, and—

Guinevere.
Out on thee!
What care I whether these admire or no?
Shall I be Queen of Love and Beauty, then,
At no more jousts? or head no cavalcade
Of merry falconers in forests green?
No court, no knights, no ladies, as of yore!
Only the secrets of old Merlin's flasks,
The face-wash and the hair-dye, and—

Lancelot.
(He takes a lute from near by, and sings.)

(Merlin has now appeared.)
Merlin.
A tender song, but this were scarce the hour
For ditties tuned in such a lightsome key.
The Queen hath full instruction of her task?

Guinevere.
Ay, full, and will perform it if her nerves
Can possibly endure the dreadful stress.

Merlin.
Nerves, madam? Dost thou not anticipate
Thy time by several centuries too soon?
Nerves feminine, if right I prophesy,
Will not importantly develope till
Somewhere about the nineteenth century,
When ills of strange name, like neuralgia,
Dyspepsia and hysteria, wide should rage.

Sir Lancelot.
Great prophet!—fit Prime Minister indeed!

Guinevere.
Nathless I now do feel what nerves are like ...
Oh, Merlin, Lancelot, why do we commit
This reckless deed, when all have much to lose,
When none, in losing much, may safely count
As absolute result on winning more?

Merlin.
I cannot give the answer you exact;
It is immersed in psychologic mist;
And yet I will advance it as a fact
That many people stalk
From virtue's proper walk
Because of some obscure cerebral twist.
And therefore what we do I would explain
By venturing the clause
That it is done because
All three of us are morally insane.

Guinevere.
How thoroughly delightful to be told
This welcome and invigorating news!
With altered gaze my conduct I behold,
When on the grim affair
At last I bring to bear
Your liberally scientific views;
Since now 'tis far more easy to explain
The reason of our lapse
By saying that perhaps
All three of us are morally insane.

Sir Lancelot.
Extenuating circumstances ought
Undoubtedly to help condone our crime,
And possibly you've neither of you thought
That we have been compelled
To live in days of eld,—
A most romantic yet barbaric time!
So this consideration may explain
The mischief we are at
More lucidly than that
All three of us are morally insane.

Guinevere, Merlin and Sir Lancelot.
Oh, yes, though we are keenly picturesque,
Our casuistry may appear amiss,
And stimulate sardonical burlesque
For persons yet unborn,
Who probably will scorn
Our total want of moral synthesis.
And so this new reflection may explain
Our object of debate
Much better than to state
All three of us are morally insane.

Sir Lancelot.
Let us return, my Queen, else all within
Will gossip of our absence from the rout.

Guinevere.
Sir Lancelot, for the last time thou and I
As Queen and subject will together dance.
And then ... Why, then I shall be Queen no more—
Only the most ungrateful wife on earth!

Sir Lancelot.
But think—you may be morally insane.

Guinevere.
Alas! that plea may legally excuse
The brazen indiscretion I commit.
But can it salve the wound of conscience?—no!

Sir Lancelot
(to Merlin).
Thou hast no salves for wounds of conscience, eh?

Merlin.
There grew a field-herb hereabouts, wherefrom
I once distilled a physic for remorse.
But scarce the people of its use had learned
When I was so besieged by calls for it
That roundly at last I cried to them, “Go cure
Your own remorses,” and I spilled my drug.

Guinevere.
Let us pass in, Sir Lancelot, thou and I—
The wicked courtier and his foolish Queen!

Sir Lancelot.
Remember, Merlin. On the stroke of twelve
All three of us do meet where now we stand.

(Sir Lancelot and Guinevere go out.)
Merlin.
Small marvel that the Queen should hate her fault
Ere consummate! I cannot well decide
Wherefore she lets herself slip into it.
True, Lancelot is a comelier make of man,
Steps freer and hath more majesty of build.
Then Arthur is a most transcendent prig;
I think 'twere hard for one to ever find,
Not though he lived three spans of mortal life,
A more self-centred prig than is our King.
Not Galahad may compare with him in this,
For Galahad's glory of self is like a child's.
And yet I think some motive sways the Queen,
Unguessed by any one save Lancelot.
Nor is it her regard for Lancelot,
Nor yet ...

Vivien
(who has covertly approached).
Great seer, the revel tempts not thee?

Merlin.
Nor thee, it seems, fair Lady Vivien.

Vivien.
Thou call'st me fair; I would be fair indeed,
Had I that face-wash and that hair-dye, kept
In separate flasks of crystal by thyself
This many and many a year. O give them me!

Merlin.
An idle tale. No charms like these are mine.

Vivien.
Denial is easy, but I know .. I know!
(Now, could I win these flasks ere twelve be struck,
I would play false to Modred and inform
The King what treachery menaces his realm!)
Nay, Merlin, hide the treasures if thou wilt,
Yet Vivien, who already holds thee dear,
For such an act of generosity
Would pay thee all her heart in recompense!

Merlin.
(I never had such flasks, as Heaven could prove!
Yet I have heard this rumor, and it served
My purpose to augment authority
And fame for witchcraft by a mute assent.)

Vivien.
What mutterest thou so weirdly to thyself,
Great Merlin? Is it bane to hurt poor me?

Merlin.
Nay, lady. Rather would I strike the dust
From some rare moth's voluptuous-colored wings,
Than send a sorrow to thy guileless life.

Vivien.
I beg from thee those magic flasks, kind seer!

Merlin.
Would I could give them! Yet it may not be!

Vivien.
Then grant me but a few dear drops from each!

Merlin.
(I never felt so hollow a fraud as now!)
A few drops, Lady Vivien? No, not one!

Vivien.
Not one! ... What symmetry thy nose conveys,
Here in the dubious moonlight's dreamy dusk!
I always yearned to love a man who had
Importance, dignity and wisdom, all
Blent in the single compass of a nose!

Merlin.
I have been told ere now my nose was not
Contemptible ... Yet seek not for the flasks!

Vivien.
And then thy beard, thy patriarchal beard!
Always from early girlhood I have longed
To win the love and loyalty of a man
With beard so admirably white as thine!

(Galahad now appears from ramparts of castle, where he has been walking, and overhears Vivien's last words.)
Sir Galahad.
O faithless girl, for shame!
O girl of trick and feint!
O clever young tactician!
You make love just the same
To Galahad, the saint,
As Merlin, the magician!

Merlin.
Has Vivien then made love
To you, my spotless child?—
I scarce the tale can credit!
Yet Galahad, my dove,
My lily undefiled—
Remember that you said it!

Vivien.
O Galahad, I see
Your eyes upon me beam
With look intensely haughty;
Yet sometimes we are free
From blame, although we seem
Immeasurably naughty!

Sir Galahad.
No wonder, wily friend,
That I esteemed your mind
In lore of love omniscient;
I now can comprehend
The causes that combined
To render you proficient.

Merlin.
A censure so severe
From this most mild of men
Should wound its object sadly.
From all accounts, I fear,
My Lady Vivien,
You've been behaving badly!

Vivien.
Of course I feel the stings
Of all this fuss and buzz,
As would not be surprising.
And yet so many things
One innocently does
Are counted compromising!

Galahad.
I fail to catch the sense
Of your rejoinder dark,
Though all its wit conceding;
I rest on evidence
(As lawyers would remark)
The case that I am pleading.

(King Arthur now appears from archway of castle.)
King Arthur.
What, lords and ladies, chanting i' the moon?
Wise Merlin here? and thou, Sir Galahad?
And Lady Vivien? Where, then is the Queen?

Vivien.
We know not, good my liege. Does she not dance?

King Arthur.
She hath not danced this hour, I will be sworn.
I thought to find her here. Why look ye all
At your most royal sire thus bitingly?

Merlin.
Not bitingly, your Grace, yet with due leave
We all have dread lest you be half in wine.

King Arthur.
Half, think ye? I am nigh three quarters in't.

Vivien.
My lord!

Sir Galahad.
King Arthur—thou!

Merlin.
Incredible!

King Arthur.
Nay, credible enough. I like it, too,
This being in wine the first time o' my life.
How sits the mad mood, Merlin, on thy King?
Say quick, or I'll have Dagonet here, my fool,
To answer in thy stead.

Merlin.
It suits thee well,
My lord, as all moods. (Even in wine, still prig!)

King Arthur.
Am I not blameless knight and gentleman,
Quite as before? I warrant you I am!
Where's Galahad? ... Ah, so thou hast kept from wine,
My prodigy? Alas! thou hast no more
A rival in thy King, but reignest sole
For all abstemious habits under sun.
(Guinevere and Lancelot now appear, and afterward Modred.)
Sir Lancelot and the Queen! So, Guinevere,
Thou'rt found at last. Now, by the saints, I ask
Is this nice courtesy to leave thy lord,
So late returned as victor from dread wars,
And while the jubilant revel misses thee,
Steal with a knight of ours to watch the moon
Float pensive over Camelot's thronging towers?

Guinevere.
I do beseech thy clemency, my liege.
Sir Lancelot kept at heart an eating pain,
And sought my counsel with desire to use
What help alleviative I could lend.
(Some falsehood must I coin, and why not this?)

Vivien
(to Modred).
Mark how the King doth gaze on Lancelot.
Can this be jealousy's hot stab and cut,
Or do the wine-fumes breed mere flitting wrath?

Modred
(to Vivien).
'Tis neither. Wine doth make him jest—no more.
The King could never bring himself to dream
That any spouse of his preferred him not
Before all men, live, dead or yet to be.

King Arthur.
What pain of soul could my good Lancelot have
He would not tell his King, yet trust his Queen
To-night in gallant confidence withal?

Modred
(to Vivien).
What said I? Go persuade the swan her plumes
Are soot-black ere thou couldst make Arthur think
The woman breathes who does not worship him!

King Arthur.
Ah, now I think, my Lancelot, thou perchance
Dost grieve remembering that fair girl, Elaine,
Who floated down to Camelot in a barge,
Quite dead for love of thee.

Guinevere
(to Lancelot).
Say yes—say yes.

Sir Lancelot.
Why, yes, my lord. This was and is my grief.

King Arthur.
A sorry and pretty tale; I mind it well.
Elaine, the lily-maid of Astolat,
Died all for love of thee, who loved her not.
Ah me! how worse than foolish in the maid!
Had she but seen ourself, now, all were changed.
We had consoled her graciously. Perchance,
On noting that she loved us to excess,
We would have given her our Sir Galahad,
The lily of men to wed the lily-maid.

Sir Galahad.
Thanks, thanks, your Majesty. (What gross conceit!)

Sir Lancelot.
(Was ever such a pattern of a man,
So drenched and steeped in arrant egotism?)

King Arthur.
I made a ballad on the lily-maid;
How goes it? Let me con it in my thoughts.

Modred
(to Vivien).
(Twelve soon will strike, and if the King bide here,
'Twill ruin the whole conspiracy they plan.)

Merlin
(to Sir Lancelot and the Queen).
(If he should sing the ballad, draughts of time
Were drawn, ere midnight, that we ill can spare.)

Guinevere.
(I know ... Yet when he wills to sing, he sings.)

Sir Lancelot.
(He deems his ballad sweet; 'tis trivial stuff.
Peace rest thee, lily-maid of Astolat!)

King Arthur.
(He sings.)

Chorus.
O you captivating Lancelot,
So clever to advance a lot
Of pleasantries that ended but in pain!
Though your conduct was inviolate,
With love you did annihilate
The lily-maid of Astolat, Elaine.

King Arthur.
How her rosy ears did hum
As she oped the castle-door,
And besought the knight to come
Where her family of four
Had been lunching upon nothing in particular!
It was certainly no sin
For Elaine to ask him in,
Though already somewhat off her perpendicular!

Chorus.
O you captivating Lancelot,
You're capable to glance a lot,
Yet from imprudent speeches you refrain!
To your graces not insensible,
She found you indispensable,
The lily-maid of Astolat, Elaine!

King Arthur.
To her brothers he was kind,
And the aged Earl, her sire;
All the culture of his mind
He induced them to admire,
While the lily-maid was watching and was listening.
But he failed to see the blush
That her tender cheek would flush,
Or the lights that in her lovely eyes were glistening.

Chorus.
O you captivating Lancelot,
You owe to circumstance a lot,
For making you excel in brawn and brain;
But unhappy was the day with her
You had a word to say with her,
The lily-maid of Astolat, Elaine!

King Arthur.
By necessity the stay
Of Sir Lancelot was brief,
And he shortly rode away,
To the girl's exceeding grief,
And the flattering regret of all her family;
But before a year had fled,
Poor Elaine was lying dead—
On her modest little bed was lying clammily!

Chorus.
O you captivating Lancelot,
You've added to romance a lot,
Yet still you've every reason to complain
Of the mournful notoriety
She gave you in society,
The lily-maid of Astolat, Elaine!

King Arthur.
But the luckless lily-maid,
By her ante-mortem charge,
Had her beauteous body laid
On an ornamental barge,
That to Camelot floated sombre and funereal;
And the lords and ladies here,
When they saw the barge appear,
Thought they scented very scandalous material.

Chorus.
O you captivating Lancelot,
In Italy or France a lot
Of similar events we could sustain,
But in England we have froze a bit
And fear she meant to pose a bit,
The lily-maid of Astolat, Elaine!

King Arthur.
Yet Sir Lancelot was sound
In his conduct as a knight,
For the evidence was found
To exonerate him quite,
In a posthumous epistle most poetical.
It was hid within her breast,
And intelligence expressed
Of a passion unrequited and pathetical!

Chorus.
O you captivating Lancelot,
Your manners may entrance a lot,
Yet all ignoble dealings you disdain;
For to smile upon and fascinate
Was hardly to assassinate
The lily-maid of Astolat, Elaine!

King Arthur.
Pardon, dear Lancelot, if our verse offends.
We think that we ere now have sung it thee.
Our mood is merry at whiles, as thou dost know,
When onerous cares of state engross us not.

Sir Lancelot.
The greatest have been merry amid their cups,
And therefore why not thou? (My sarcasm stings
No more than would a nettle sting an ox!)

King Arthur.
True, I am great. No greater yet has lived.
I sometimes marvel at the plenitude.
Of mine own greatness—just as thou, I know,
Sir Galahad, marvellest at thy pure fame.

Sir Galahad.
Nay, sire, I rank my virtue with naught else
That lives on earth. I draw my line at earth.

King Arthur.
Come, now, Sir Galahad; and I rank my strength
Of greatness well above thy sinless life.

Sir Galahad.
Then does thy majesty in error dwell,
Nor wouldst thou speak like this except in wine.

King Arthur.
Thou darest thus to brave my royalty?

Sir Galahad.
Yes, for if angry thou wouldst cease to be
A blameless knight and stainless gentleman.

King Arthur.
I had forgot. I must be always those.
Yet, Galahad, dost thou positively think
Thyself mine equal? Candidly respond.

Sir Galahad.
Hadst thou my purity, thou wouldst excel
As never king excelled since time began.
Had I thy force in fight, I would be more
Than thou this hour canst ever dream to be.

Modred
(to Vivien).
(Mark how they wrangle now in discourse hot.
Forsooth, a pair of kings, the realm of each
His own immeasurable love for self!)

Sir Lancelot
(to Guinevere).
('Twill soon be twelve. Must we stand here and list
To interchange of vanities like these?
Address the King; persuade him to return
Ere languor in the revel he has quit
Shall mar its joy and spoil his worth as host.)

Guinevere
(to Sir Lancelot).
(Fain would I speak, yet fear my wariest phrase
Might wake the alert distrust I would avoid.)

Chorus of Revellers
(heard within).
Oh, dance with glee,
For what know we
Of things that are and things to be?
Oh, pour anew
The wine, for who
Hath power to part the false from true?

King Arthur.
Thy hand, my Galahad. Heardest thou that strain?
The knights and nobles call us. Well, agree
We both are almost, in our separate ways,
Pre-eminently perfect, yet not quite.

Sir Galahad.
It seems to me, my liege, that I am quite.

King Arthur.
Incorrigible Galahad! Farewell.
I go to join the dance again. And thou,
Sir Lancelot, hast thou ended with the Queen?
Come all—thou, Merlin, too, our seer and priest,
Come, taste the flashing wine from golden cups,
And dream thy lore its jocund wisdom mates!

(They all retire except Modred and Vivien.)
Modred.
A happy chance. The wine-song from within
Has lured King Arthur back. Now, Vivien—quick;
Hide yonder with me in the buttresses.

(The form of a cloaked man steals along back of stage.)
Vivien.
Look, Modred. What strange flitting shape was that?
Nay, saw you nothing?

Modred.
Nothing, as I live.

Vivien.
Well, well, perchance I only dreamed I saw.

(She goes with Modred into ambush.)
(An interval. The stage is empty. Guinevere appears from castle. Sir Lancelot and Merlin soon follow.)
Guinevere.
I bade the pages ply the King with wine.

Merlin.
Right hast thou done, my Queen. 'Tis twelve. Prepare.
Here are the keys, and yonder is the vault.

Sir Lancelot.
Go bravely and go firmly, Guinevere.
How art thou shod? In overshoes, I trust.

Guinevere.
Look. Are these queenly feet thou dost behold?

Sir Lancelot.
O desecrated feet! ... And yet endure
The ordeal; it will not be for long. Farewell!

(Twelve o'clock sounds from one of the towers.)
Merlin.
Farewell, my Queen. Haste ere the final stroke!

(Guinevere hurries to the door of the vault, unlocks it, and disappears.)
Modred
(heard from the dimness).
Look, Vivien. She has gone to seek the sword.

Vivien.
And art thou sure to seize it first of all,
When she emerges? What if thou shouldst fail?

Modred.
I shall not fail. Nor Lancelot nor the sage
Dream we are here. Take courage; all is well.

Sir Lancelot.
Merlin, what voice was that? Or did my sense
Entrap me with the semblance of a voice?

Merlin.
Sir Lancelot, I heard nothing. All is still.

(A noise of thunder is heard, and the vault is redly illumined.)
Sir Lancelot.
Heaven save us, Merlin! Is the Queen beset
By peril that we had not counted on?
What mean this glare and sound?

Merlin.
Allay thy fears.
'Tis but the Lady of the Lake, whose wrath
As guardian of Excalibur we rouse.
Thus far hath Guinevere her task achieved;
Each minute, now, is big with fateful chance.

(The moonlight becomes obscured; the thunder grows louder.)
Sir Lancelot.
Alas! the imperilled Queen! We both were mad
To let her dare those diabolic spells.

Merlin.
This last wild crash gave signal that the sword
Was lifted from his chest below the moat.
All future risk threats only her return.

Sir Lancelot.
And see ... the vault grows ruddier; that is well.
If now no actual flame shall touch the Queen,
This fairy wrath will dissipate the dark,
And so make easier each new step she takes.

(Guinevere soon emerges from the vault, staggering, and dragging the sword, whose hilt she clutches with both hands. The darkness becomes denser, and the thunder-peals are of greater volume. She utters a shriek as the sword is seized from her hand by some one whose face she cannot discern, and who instantly afterward vanishes. The darkness is diminishing when she encounters Merlin and Sir Lancelot.)
Merlin.
Thou hast secured the sword, heroic Queen!

Sir Lancelot.
Flower of all courage feminine art thou!
I kiss thy hands—and yet ... they bear no sword!

Merlin.
Excalibur? What hast thou done with him?
Just ere the darkness grew so dense, I saw
Thee bearing him, close-clutched, from out the vault.

Guinevere.
Nay, some one seized him from me, vanishing
So swiftly in the lurid dusk, I keep
No record of his lineaments or shape.

Merlin.
O dire misfortune! Ruin is now our doom!

Sir Lancelot.
O dread fatality!
(Encountering Modred.)
Traitor, it was thou!
Thou hast Excalibur! Confess, or feel
My sword forever make thine answers mute!

Modred.
By every saint I swear to you, the brand
Excalibur I have not, nor conceive
Whither he has been spirited, or by whom!

Vivien.
What Modred utters is the whitest truth.

Guinevere.
Some grewsome mystery lies beneath all this.

Merlin.
Excalibur has disappeared! Oh, shame,
Disaster, punishment unspeakable!

Sir Lancelot.
The King approaches. Modred, we are all
Conspirators against him; that is plain.
Vivien and you in ambush were concealed,
Knowing our plot to rape Excalibur,
And hoping to secure him for yourselves.
Confess that you, as we, were deep in guile.

Modred.
We do confess!

Vivien.
We both are black with blame!

Sir Lancelot.
So be it. Then let us all stand firm of front,
And cleave, each one, to what the other says.
Our single hope of safety dwells in this.
Let all cry innocence with common tongue,
And fight it out hereafter as we may,
When watched no longer of the royal eye.

(King Arthur now appears from castle, with many knights, ladies, retainers, etc.)
King Arthur.
What sounds are these
That break upon our joy,
Our blood to freeze,
Our revel to destroy?
What means, where all was recently so quiet,
This horrid elemental roar and riot?

Chorus.
What means it all?
(We thrill with nameless fright.)
Has somebody, with boldness to appall,
Done something that offends the rules of right?
Who, then, is the delinquent? Let us meet him,
And with the proper indignation greet him!

King Arthur.
We danced, we sang,
Our hearts were filled with peace.
This dreadful clang
Began, and would not cease.
And while with merriment we strove to shun it,
We feared, each one, lest what we drank had done it.

Chorus.
Oh, no, a little wine
Of brand exceeding dear,
Could never make the intellect incline
To such a strange deception of the ear.
Habitual intemperance might do it,
But as for that, we all of us eschew it!

Merlin.
Some impious hand, my lord, hath dared to steal
Thy sacred sword, Excalibur. The vault
Flared red with light a moment since, while bursts
Of thunder shook the heaven, and darkness veiled
The journeying moon. Sir Modred thought he saw
A cloaked shape dart away at headlong speed,
Bearing the sword; but who the dastard thief
We dream not, and the keys that ope the vault
I keep, as always, guarded with my life.

King Arthur.
My sword, Excalibur! Blood, flame and death!
Where are thy magic arts, astrologer?
Catch me the knave, and I will see him swing
This very night from Camelot's tallest tower.

(Dagonet now appears. He hurries to King Arthur with the sword, and lays it at his feet, kneeling.)
Omnes.
What, Dagonet! Then did Dagonet steal the sword?

Dagonet.
Nay, Dagonet saved it for his kingly sire.
My liege, they all are traitors—Merlin there,
And Lancelot, Modred, Vivien—yes, even she
Thou trustest with surpassing trust—thy Queen!

Sir Lancelot.
What insolence is this? Thou canst not, sire,
Believe the fool who babbles its mad tale.

Guinevere.
Nay, Lancelot, do not dream the king believes.

Merlin.
Thy fool, King Arthur, hath purloined the sword,
And fearing after, with a true thief's fear,
Flings this atrocious charge upon ourselves.

Modred.
I mind me now of what I had forgot,
My King, or deemed not worth remembering.
This fool, while Merlin dozed, some three hours since,
I saw emerging, with a cat-like tread,
From the seer's chamber in the northmost tower.
He paled and cowered when I confronted him,
Threading by chance the outer corridor.
'Twas then, past doubt, that he had filched the keys
From Merlin, afterward returning them,
I dare be sworn, when he had oped the vault
And made all ready for his midnight theft.

Guinevere.
And now, in terror, sire, he soils my name
With gross aspersion. Ah, 'tis horrible!

Vivien.
A fool's mere random transport. Who but scorns
To credit him, or deems his empty rant
Of weightier purport than the idle breeze?

Dagonet.
My lord, King Arthur, hear me when I say—

King Arthur.
That thou art crafty knave no less than fool!
Speak not another word! Already crime
By right has drawn the noose about thy throat!
That we can pardon thee is due alone
To thy scant wit, whose work may not be judged
Equal with villainies of sounder brains.

Dagonet.
Hear me, Lord Arthur! Mercifully hear!

King Arthur.
Get hence, poor Dagonet; liberty and life
Are compassed for thee in our pity, and this
We give from natural benignancy,
Being perhaps the most magnanimous king
That ever sat or shall sit throned to rule.

Dagonet.
My lord, I plead with you—

King Arthur.
(Dagonet is borne away.)

Sir Galahad.
I hope your majesty does not expect
Complete monopoly, when you are dead,
Of all the monuments that shall be built.

Guinevere.
I tremble, Arthur, at the indignity
Of that fool's reckless charge. Sir Lancelot, thou
Must feel the scorching wrong of Dagonet's words.

Sir Lancelot.
That jester's falsehood? Why, the tinkle of bells
Trilled through its gravity, making all mere masque
And mummery, till I scarce kept wrath to frown.

Merlin.
Sir Lancelot speaks in wisdom. Nay, to heed
Such fury of accusation were to clothe
Slander with dignity, had even our fool
Been other than the garrulous imp he is.
(My Queen, be wary lest thy lord should see
Thine overshoes peep forth below thy robe.
Trifles like these might sow calamity—
And rid the holy men of Dagonet's care.)

Vivien.
(Sir Galahad, canst thou never love me, then,
If I remain brunette? I promise thee
That no brunette of more domestic turn
Has ever lived as wife than I would prove.)

Sir Galahad.
(Hadst thou been blonde ... ah, well, I will not say
What joy has perished for all future time!
O Vivien, wildly, passionately loved!—)

Vivien.
(My Galahad! Dost thou mean it?)

Sir Galahad.
(No, not now.
I would have meant it, wert thou only blonde.
Farewell, my blonde that art not nor canst be
This woful barrier lies between us twain
Forevermore. I shall be virgin knight
Henceforth, with one long sorrow in my soul,
And all my dreams and thoughts to one sad tune
Set ceaselessly—“She might have been a blonde!”)

King Arthur.
Why should this rough mishap our joyance mar?
Let us forget that Dagonet's folly was.
It still wants hours of dawn. Come, ladies, knights,
With thanks that good Excalibur is saved,
Let us fare back to revel and high pomp.
(He sings.)
Excalibur, the sacred sword,
Back to his royal owner is restored.
Give thanks, with high acclaim, with loud accord;
Let Camelot's towers and halls their echoes deep
O'er buttress, moat and bastion rise and sweep.
Excalibur, that we could ill afford
To lose, has found again his rightful lord!
Give thanks, give thanks,
Our loyal people, of all grades and ranks,
Give thanks, give thanks!

General Chorus.
Give thanks, give thanks,
That by whatever curious tricks or pranks,
From out his awful chest
Some thief has dared to wrest
Our great Excalibur, the villain gains
Prompt punishment for all his evil pains.
Of course the present ode
Wherewith we celebrate this unsuccessful crime
Should mark an episode
That merits chronicling in future time.
And yet we greatly fear
That everybody here
Will merely prove the subject of romantic rhyme.
For none of us with surety can insist
That we at all exist,—
Nor knight, nor seer, nor lady!
It is our private feeling that we all are shady
As matter for the archæologist!
We somehow feel, although it may be fancy,
We soon will disappear by necromancy,—
Dissolved in something vague and legendary,
To puzzle every future antiquary!
But whether right or wrong
In this our supposition,
And whether we belong
To poet, to historian or to statistician,
We still with all due courtesy make bold
To call this New King Arthur of our song
As thoroughly authentic as the Old.
Nay, we will even go farther,
And say that no King Arthur
One bit of authenticity may hold
In his apocryphal and mythic mould,
Despite the songs that have been sung,
Despite the rhymes that have been rung,
Despite the tales nonsensical, like this that we have told!