University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

—In the edge of a wood a cavalcade has dismounted and the horses are tethered among the trees. In the background Merlin sits alone on a high place, looking at the towers of Cameliard, which are seen hazily in the distance. A group of Knights, seated in the foreground under a large oak tree, have just ended their repast and the attendants bring them beakers of wine. In this group may be noted Sir Lionel, Sir Ector De Maris, Sir Bors De Ganys, and Sir Galahault. King Arthur and Sir Launcelot walk apart in private talk.
Ector.
Thou hast not loved, Sir Bors.

Lionel.
But I love, cousin—
As fair a maid as e'er wore taffeta.
By the Round Table, lords, I think no knight
A truer lover! Yet hold I with my brother,
Friendship is nobler.

Ector.
Were thy lady here,
Thou durst not say it.

Lionel.
Why, who tells truth to women?
They love us better for a soft deceit
And feed on lies like sweetmeats.

Ector.
There are friends
Who play the rogue too and are branded false.
But false in love too often is a jest
Or flaunts itself for virtue. Still my faith is
That loyal love is the most goodly fruit
That grows out of men's hearts.

Bors.
But loyal friendship,
A fruit let fall by angels out of heaven,
A thing to die for!

Galahault.
Ay, at need; but love
A thing to live for—this is bitterer.

Lionel.
Call you life bitter?

Galahault.
Is the rind so sweet?
I can conceive a man so weary of life
That he would quaff mandragora to the drains
As revellers drink wine. Do you conceive,
His nearest friend beseeching, such a man
Would forego his carouse? But if his love
Came to him saying “Live, for I bid thee live,”
Though life and love alike were bitterness,
He would pour out the sweet death in the dust.

Bors.
Love seeks a guerdon; friendship is as God,
Who gives and asks no payment.

Galahault.
Tut, ye are boys.
Ye deem of love as children play at arms
And wit not what a slain man is. Heard ye
Never of Arcite and of Palamon
That were good knights of old and as true friends
As e'er faced death together? Yet one day,
Seeing a fair lady in a garden close,
They fell a-wrangling. Faith, they were as twins,
Inseparate from the womb; and yet swift love,
In less space than a man might look and say
“Lo there!” hath sundered them.

Bors.
Look where the King
And Launcelot walk together. Think you that they
Would fall out for a girl?

Galahault.
Strange things ere now
Have happened and the memory of men
Outlived them. Yonder, dreaming in the sun,
Behold the towers of Cameliard! Think you
The King, for love of Launcelot, would yield
The white enlacing arms of Guenevere,
Who waits there for the splendor of his coming
To make her Queen of Britain?

Lionel.
Launcelot would,
If he were Arthur and Arthur Launcelot.
And yet I think that Arthur's love is thin
And substanceless to that which Launcelot
Bears the mysterious Lady of the Hills
Whom none have ever seen.

Galahault.
No fickle lover
Can prove the glory and the might of love.
The King has loved—and more than twice, I think.

Lionel.
Ay, he has been a gay dog in his day.

Bors.
He is the sun. If there be spots in him,
I will not look upon them.

Lionel.
Nay, brother,
God shield I speak ill of the King. No man
This side of dotage loves him more than I.
I spoke of trivial faults. What one of us,
Unless it be yourself or Launcelot,
Hath not the like to answer? Even the tale
The common tongue hath of the Queen of Orkney—
How is it more? They knew not of the bond
That made their sin more than the heat of youth
Might—

Bors.
Hush! it is half treason but to think
What we give words to.

Ector.
Morgause, the Queen of Orkney!
A strange dark woman!

Galahault.
But a beauteous one.

[The Knights rise at the approach of the King.]
Arthur.
We almost touch our journey's end, my lords.
Expected joy is like a maid that nears
With coy delay and timorous advance,
Eluding our stretched hands. So have I thought
To-day would never reach us; yet it dawns.
And ere the sun sets in the western sea,
Your swords shall serve a Queen.

Ector.
Long live the Princess!

Lionel.
But not as princess long! Long live the Queen!
A beaker to the bride!

All.
Long live the Queen!

[Enter a Lady, attended by a Dwarf. She throws herself at the King's feet.]
Lady.
If ever you inclined your ear to sorrow,
Be pitiful and hear me!

Arthur.
Pray you, rise.

Lady.
Nay, I will statue here until you grant
My prayer.

Arthur.
You wrong yourself. What is your grief?

Lady.
Far back within the impenetrable hills
The mighty Turquine dwells—of those fierce tribes
Who yet acknowledge not our Saviour Christ
But worship barbarous and obscure gods,—
A wicked knave!—a cruel, treacherous villain!—
One whose delight is chiefly to work wrong
To all that call on Mary and her Son!
This unbelieving dog in his foul lair
With momentary tortures racks the bones
Of my true lover. Me, as well, he seized
And set his love on me—if that be love
Which such a beast so names—and swore an oath
To bind us each, if I received him not,
And make my living lord the pillow to
His savage purpose. But I, by God's help,
Beguiled him and escaped; and with this weak
But faithful servitor, through lidless nights
And days that burned like fever in my brain,
Lurked in the caverns of the hills and made
The wild goats my companions.—Now, for thine oath's sake
And in the name of all fair ladies wronged,
O King, I cry you, do me right.

Arthur.
Now by
My sword Excalibur, it were great shame
Forever to all knighthood if thy plight
Went unredressed. But I have that in hand
To-day which more imports me than the wrongs
Of all the world. To-day I take a wife.
It were a great dishonor if the feast
Were furnished and the bridegroom came not. Therefore
Set on with us to Cameliard. To-morrow
We will set forth with all our chivalry
To hawk at this foul quarry.

Lady.
Oh, my lord,
Think how each lapsing moment the quick groans
Of my chained lover clamor for release.
Wilt thou be like that recreant who said,
“I have a wife and therefore cannot come,”
When the Lord of Heaven bade him? Nay then, I see
You are even as other men, whom I had thought
To be almost divine. I know I come
Unseasonably. Grief hath, my lord, a license
To overpass the bounds of courtesy.—
Oh, is there none in all this chivalry
To piece his prayers to mine?

Launcelot.
My lord the King,
I claim this quest. Go you to Cameliard
And have no care at heart. I, with three others,
Will seek and slay this Turquine, and set free
His mangled captives.

Lady.
Thou and but three else?

Launcelot.
It is sufficient.

Lady.
Alas, you do not know
The peril of the enterprise!

Arthur.
Fear not.
It is Sir Launcelot of the Lake. He wonts not
To fail of his pledged word.—My Launcelot,
I had wished that you should be on my right hand;
But since it may not be—Our Lady speed you!

Launcelot.
Amen. Fair joy be to your bridal, Arthur!
Farewell!—Now who's with me?

Lionel.
I.

Bors.
I.

Ector.
And I.

Lady.
You are brave men. Come victory or defeat,
I am bound to you forever.

Launcelot.
Nay, we do
No more but our mere duties. Lead us on.
I know the mountain paths of old. Armor
And steeds would cumber us. We'll go afoot,
Armed no more heavily than now we stand.
Farewell, my liege! And farewell, gentlemen!
We'll drink your healths ere long in Camelot.

[Exeunt Launcelot, Bors, Ector, Lionel, the Lady, and the Dwarf.]
Arthur.
Ah, Galahault, with fifty men like that,
I would shape this old world like a putty-ball.—
Set on to Cameliard.

[Enter a Messenger.]
Messenger.
My lord the King!
King Mark of Cornwall has renounced his fealty
And with a mighty army is encamped
Upon your borders. Sir Godmar, the Lord Marshal,
Has ta'en the field against him, but beseeches
You haste to his relief.

Arthur.
Now, by my crown,
I will not go. The heavens conspire to block
My progress to the towers that hold my bride.
But stood the Archangel Michael in the way,
This marriage should not wait. We will go on;
To-morrow morn is time enough for Mark.
Sir Galahault, our Queen shall be your charge
Until these wars are over. Come, set on!

[While the cavalcade is preparing to move the scene closes.]