 | The New King Arthur |  |
7
ACT I.
Scene: Courtyard of King Arthur's castle in Camelot. Troops appear, marching under command of Sir Bedivere, Sir Galahad, Sir Geraint, and other Knights of the Round Table, with banners, trophies, and all the pomp of a brilliant pageant.Troops.
It is not a pleasant matter
To endure the idle chatter
Sentimentalists who flatter
Will continually breed,
All about the battle gory,
With its legendary glory
And its fame in song or story
As the centuries proceed.
For we long ago decided
That the honor is divided
By the leaders who have guided
Not the men who urged the strife;
That the captains get the measure
Of all military treasure,
And the soldier's only pleasure
Is escaping with his life.
To endure the idle chatter
Sentimentalists who flatter
Will continually breed,
All about the battle gory,
With its legendary glory
And its fame in song or story
As the centuries proceed.
8
That the honor is divided
By the leaders who have guided
Not the men who urged the strife;
That the captains get the measure
Of all military treasure,
And the soldier's only pleasure
Is escaping with his life.
We are sensible of duty
And its highly moral beauty,
Though we've all an eye to booty
While we tread the martial plain;
Yet the monarch of our nation
Disapproves of spoliation,
And to win his approbation
We must quell the greed of gain.
Still, the history of Britain,
Howsoever it is written,
With the foes that we have smitten
Will in future time be rife.
And we think that our employment
Should be rid of more annoyment,
Since the soldier's one enjoyment
Is escaping with his life.
And its highly moral beauty,
Though we've all an eye to booty
While we tread the martial plain;
Yet the monarch of our nation
Disapproves of spoliation,
And to win his approbation
We must quell the greed of gain.
Still, the history of Britain,
Howsoever it is written,
With the foes that we have smitten
Will in future time be rife.
9
Should be rid of more annoyment,
Since the soldier's one enjoyment
Is escaping with his life.
While the battle-axe is crashing
And the cavalry are dashing
And the mighty swords are flashing
And the deadly arrow shoots,
We remember with dejection
(Though it smells of insurrection)
That we're simply a collection
Of compulsory recruits.
When the chances look most narrow,
'Tis a memory to harrow
That our grave may be a barrow
Far away from child and wife;
And we feel, without aspersion,
After every new exertion,
That the soldier's one diversion
Is escaping with his life!
And the cavalry are dashing
And the mighty swords are flashing
And the deadly arrow shoots,
We remember with dejection
(Though it smells of insurrection)
That we're simply a collection
Of compulsory recruits.
When the chances look most narrow,
'Tis a memory to harrow
That our grave may be a barrow
Far away from child and wife;
And we feel, without aspersion,
After every new exertion,
That the soldier's one diversion
Is escaping with his life!
10
You hear, loved Galahad, this thankless plaint
From warriors we have led to victory?
Sir Galahad.
I hear it, good Sir Bedivere. Forgive
Their strange dissent, since they have borne them true,
Even as the stanch legs of our Table Round.
Sir Geraint.
Myself, I would bring scourges for their dole,
Not being as meek and excellent as thou.
Sir Galahad.
Nay, let them cry their cry, since well they fought
For Cross and King with those wild heathen hordes
Chide not the fleet steed if he toss his mane,
Nor the brave lion if he at whiles may roar.
11
Too lenient art thou, Galahad. Harangue
This carping soldiery ere comes our King
Speak; thou art rich in oratoric tact,
Nor bluff and rude of tongue, like half thy mates.
Sir Geraint.
True, Bedivere; though best the surly knaves
Were taught to rule their spleen with lusty whips.
When dogs like these break leash it is the sting
Of discipline that proves the wiser curb.
Still, Galahad, speak forth; thy gentle art
Hath silver fluencies past common phrase.
Sir Galahad.
It is not with foolish arrogance
That I publicly report
I'm the paragon of paragons
To be found in Arthur's court.
I may tell with calm security
What a stainless life I lead,
For to paint my perfect purity
Would be difficult indeed.
That I publicly report
I'm the paragon of paragons
To be found in Arthur's court.
12
What a stainless life I lead,
For to paint my perfect purity
Would be difficult indeed.
It is true that once a pal I had—
An irreverential pal—
Who replaced my name, Sir Galahad,
By the name Sir Had-a-gal.
But the wag whose cruel witticism
Would have soiled this dove's white wing,
Overwhelmed with angry criticism,
Has been exiled by the King!
An irreverential pal—
Who replaced my name, Sir Galahad,
By the name Sir Had-a-gal.
But the wag whose cruel witticism
Would have soiled this dove's white wing,
Overwhelmed with angry criticism,
Has been exiled by the King!
At the seventh anniversary
Of my spotless birth and growth,
I had fainted in my nursery
When my nurse let fall an oath.
But at nine years old, humanity
Had impressed me as so weak
That I lectured on profanity
In the purest Attic Greek.
Of my spotless birth and growth,
I had fainted in my nursery
When my nurse let fall an oath.
But at nine years old, humanity
Had impressed me as so weak
That I lectured on profanity
In the purest Attic Greek.
13
As a boy of ten, so heatedly
I had yearned to soar the sky
That I bruised myself repeatedly
In the vain attempt to fly;
And the saintliest proclivities
Were so ardent in my soul,
That I went to all festivities
With a pasteboard aureole.
I had yearned to soar the sky
That I bruised myself repeatedly
In the vain attempt to fly;
And the saintliest proclivities
Were so ardent in my soul,
That I went to all festivities
With a pasteboard aureole.
Notwithstanding such firm tendency
To preserve unsoiled my heart,
I developed an ascendency
In the military art;
But as time with new vitality
Has endowed this noble frame,
My astonishing morality
Has continued just the same.
To preserve unsoiled my heart,
I developed an ascendency
In the military art;
But as time with new vitality
Has endowed this noble frame,
My astonishing morality
Has continued just the same.
And it now is no surprise to me,
Being wrought of such fine clay,
That the maidens all make eyes to me
In a matrimonial way.
For the charms that I disseminate
Are of manly sort, though mild,
And I'm not at all effeminate,
Though a lily undefiled.
Being wrought of such fine clay,
That the maidens all make eyes to me
In a matrimonial way.
14
Are of manly sort, though mild,
And I'm not at all effeminate,
Though a lily undefiled.
Sir Geraint.
Now, Galahad, by every martyred saint,
Call you this vaunt of self a fit reproach
For insubordination in our troops?
Sir Galahad.
Past doubt I call it so, my fair Geraint.
Sir Bedivere.
Not with good reason, Galahad, I vow.
Thy sinless character we all concede;
Thou never yet hast killed a foe in fight,
Save that thine eye let fall the briny tear.
Sir Geraint.
Especially we all do venerate
That briny tear of thine; 'tis national
And representative, that briny tear.
15
Of our most gentlemanly Table Round;
Nor less we place thine other virtues high
As civilizing standards of our realm.
But when we summon thee to chide our troops,
What profit may these grumblers hope to win
From hearing that thy soul is free of fault?
Sir Galahad.
Ye do me grievous wrong!
These erring sons of earth,
Reminded but in song
Of my surpassing worth,
Will cherish the reminder,
Will calmer grow and kinder,
Will feel what bonds belong
To their inferior birth.
Troops.
Already this is true; ...
For since we cannot fail
16
A knightly nonpareil,
With keen humiliation
We grant our lowly station,
And swear from further view
Our discontents to veil.
Sir Galahad.
How sensible you are
I scarcely need affirm.
The worm would be a star,
Yet still remains a worm.
For one the pain of pining,
While one is sure of shining;
One brightly beams afar,
While one must meanly squirm.
Troops.
In just this hateful wise
Does caste her laws dispense,
However we surmise
The wherefore and the whence!
17
'Tis even a shoulder-hitter;
Yet we philosophize
And own its common-sense.
Sir Bedivere, Sir Geraint, and other Knights.
To Galahad we pay
Respect for having filled
With penitent dismay
These churls of brawny build,
Who bow in due submission
To their depraved position,
And meekly from to-day
Will let themselves be killed.
Sir Galahad.
I wonder, mates, that ye should marvel thus
At my unfailing power to thrill with shame
All creatures on whose grosser lives I turn
The quiet splendor of my sinless gaze.
18
The awful rectitude and probity
That men have named Sir Galahad? Ah! when?
A Herald.
The King approaches.
Sir Geraint.
Galahad, beware;
It ill beseems thee so to laud thy worth
In presence of our blameless liege, the King.
(Enter King Arthur, in glittering armor. He wears the golden dragon of the Pendragonship on his jewelled helm, and is followed by Sir Modred, with other retainers.)
King Arthur.
In spite of my authority as England's chief executive,
In spite of those who compass me with service or salaam,
I can't repeat the list of my progenitors consecutive,
Explaining with lucidity exactly who I am.
For while it would be folly to declare me a nonentity,
Considering the hardihood and prowess all applaud,
It still is understood that there are flaws in my identity,
And that by certain skeptics I am feared to be a fraud.
In spite of those who compass me with service or salaam,
19
Explaining with lucidity exactly who I am.
For while it would be folly to declare me a nonentity,
Considering the hardihood and prowess all applaud,
It still is understood that there are flaws in my identity,
And that by certain skeptics I am feared to be a fraud.
'Tis argued I was this, and it's asserted I another was;
My places of nativity for number might appall;
'Tis doubted who my father and distrusted who my mother was;
It even is denied that I was ever born at all.
But I, with eager wishes in my subjects' brains to germinate
A rational solution of my origin as man,
Have found that all my memories poetically terminate
In visionary shadows on the Ossianic plan.
My places of nativity for number might appall;
'Tis doubted who my father and distrusted who my mother was;
It even is denied that I was ever born at all.
But I, with eager wishes in my subjects' brains to germinate
A rational solution of my origin as man,
Have found that all my memories poetically terminate
In visionary shadows on the Ossianic plan.
20
My own secure impression, I will say without apology,
Is that the times were favoring and summoned me from far,
A person who was picturesquely loaned you by mythology,
As persons of my prominence occasionally are.
However, if my lineage be earthly or ethereal,
If sprung from human parents or from spiritual hosts,
It strikes me I'm at present very palpably material,
With nothing in my biceps that would indicate a ghost's.
Is that the times were favoring and summoned me from far,
A person who was picturesquely loaned you by mythology,
As persons of my prominence occasionally are.
However, if my lineage be earthly or ethereal,
If sprung from human parents or from spiritual hosts,
It strikes me I'm at present very palpably material,
With nothing in my biceps that would indicate a ghost's.
I give delightful dinners, with the motive to propitiate
Believers and supporters who are grouped about my throne;
And frankly I exhibit there, whenever I officiate,
An Early-English elegance essentially my own!
In council I am clever, and in battle where the banners are
My trusty knights, my Table Round, will swear I lead them well;
But all agree in thinking how magnificent my manners are,
Since born however oddly I was born a perfect swell!
Believers and supporters who are grouped about my throne;
And frankly I exhibit there, whenever I officiate,
An Early-English elegance essentially my own!
21
My trusty knights, my Table Round, will swear I lead them well;
But all agree in thinking how magnificent my manners are,
Since born however oddly I was born a perfect swell!
The worst of evil tongues may neither whisper nor ejaculate
About my name as royal spouse a word that hints a sneer;
Connubially looked upon, my record is immaculate,
As also is the record of my consort, Guinevere.
I give the Queen's affections all the necessary twining-room,
Allow her to adore me as her wifehood may elect,
Approve of her appearance in my parlor or my dining-room,
And praise her taste in dressing, which is notably correct.
About my name as royal spouse a word that hints a sneer;
Connubially looked upon, my record is immaculate,
As also is the record of my consort, Guinevere.
I give the Queen's affections all the necessary twining-room,
Allow her to adore me as her wifehood may elect,
Approve of her appearance in my parlor or my dining-room,
And praise her taste in dressing, which is notably correct.
22
That I have deigned to wed her Guinevere is duly sensible,
Because, although she traces from a line of kings and queens,
There isn't any question that her race was reprehensible
In making ancient history by very shabby means.
And all, without exception, since the day when we were wed agree
That I, whose genealogy is lost in magic haze,
Decidedly surpass her with my mythologic pedigree,
And merit the fidelity she dutifully pays!
Because, although she traces from a line of kings and queens,
There isn't any question that her race was reprehensible
In making ancient history by very shabby means.
And all, without exception, since the day when we were wed agree
That I, whose genealogy is lost in magic haze,
Decidedly surpass her with my mythologic pedigree,
And merit the fidelity she dutifully pays!
Herald.
The Queen, my liege, approaches.
King Arthur.
Joy! the Queen!
(Queen Guinevere enters, attended by the ladies Enid and Vivien, with other dames of her Court. Sir Lancelot soon afterward follows. Merlin appears later.)
23
Welcome, Lord Arthur, fresh from victory!
Is it your gracious wish we should embrace?
King Arthur.
Considerate wife! Thou understandest well
The difficulty that these mailèd arms
Would meet in properly embracing thee.
Guinevere.
Most true, my liege. And then this gown I wear,
My mediæval milliner's last work,
Would surely suffer from thy clasp of steel.
How like you it? Sir Lancelot likes it well.
He—
King Arthur.
How? Sir Lancelot greeted thee ere I?
Lancelot
(bowing humbly).
My lord, by merest accident—no more.
The soil of march had stained these doughty hands,
And fearing lest our Queen should chance on us
Ere seemly cleansing helped them, I repaired
24
Thy pardon, King.
King Arthur.
'Tis granted easily.
Guinevere.
Greeting to all! This day is framed in gold
Forevermore within my memory!
Now is the last great battle fought and won!
Our castle here at Camelot shall to-night
So blaze with revel that the envying stars
Will wish their light the cressets of our feast.
Enid.
A hundred happy preparations wait
The gay return of our victorious kin.
Vivien.
Already the great oxen roast in hall;
The tawny wassail tempts the unsparing hand;
Fair garlands, wreathed o'er many a lintel, glow;
And all is prophecy of mirthful peace.
25
The Populace.
While you abroad were daring
The foemen's fatal spears,
Our hearts at home were bearing
The burden of our fears.
No cheerful news could brighten
Our sorrow, nor assuage;
No telegrams enlighten
This unprogressive age.
The foemen's fatal spears,
Our hearts at home were bearing
The burden of our fears.
No cheerful news could brighten
Our sorrow, nor assuage;
No telegrams enlighten
This unprogressive age.
One consolation served us,
More dear than you can guess,
And fortunately nerved us
To deal with our distress.
It was that war's dimension
Is yet of meagre span,
While powder's vile invention
Remains unknown to man.
More dear than you can guess,
And fortunately nerved us
To deal with our distress.
It was that war's dimension
Is yet of meagre span,
While powder's vile invention
Remains unknown to man.
26
With all its rush and riot,
The worst of war to-day
Is comfortablgy quiet
Beside the future's fray.
No clamorous bangs displeasing
Now vex your valiant lives,
With smoke to set you sneezing,
If still your nose survives.
The worst of war to-day
Is comfortablgy quiet
Beside the future's fray.
No clamorous bangs displeasing
Now vex your valiant lives,
With smoke to set you sneezing,
If still your nose survives.
Nor was it half a trifle
To thankfully recall
That no malicious rifle
Had bored you with its ball.
And well we recollected
Your risk was less extreme,
With bomb-shells unexpected
And dynamite a dream.
To thankfully recall
That no malicious rifle
Had bored you with its ball.
And well we recollected
Your risk was less extreme,
With bomb-shells unexpected
And dynamite a dream.
To hear the javelin whistle,
To shun the hurtling dart,
To dodge the desperate missile,
Will try the stoutest heart.
But would the thought not thrill you
More fearfully by far,
Of cannons that could kill you
Three miles from where you are?
To shun the hurtling dart,
To dodge the desperate missile,
Will try the stoutest heart.
27
More fearfully by far,
Of cannons that could kill you
Three miles from where you are?
Your fate were much inferior
If lumps of lead or zinc
Could wander your interior
Before you'd time to wink;
While dread that seldom ceases
Would bid you curse your lots,
Going up in little pieces
And coming down in spots!
If lumps of lead or zinc
Could wander your interior
Before you'd time to wink;
While dread that seldom ceases
Would bid you curse your lots,
Going up in little pieces
And coming down in spots!
O tenfold more terrific
Your danger, to a man's,
If war were scientific
In working out her plans!
And therefore, warriors plucky,
Appreciate the boon
Of having been so lucky
In being born so soon!
Your danger, to a man's,
If war were scientific
In working out her plans!
And therefore, warriors plucky,
Appreciate the boon
28
In being born so soon!
(The populace and troops retire, singing.)
King Arthur.
Since wine and feast shall blithely hail us home,
You, Lancelot, lead the dance in hall to-night
With our loved Queen ... What, Merlin, it is you?
Merlin
(who has shown great agitation).
My lord, 'tis I, even I, who thankfully
Greet your return from hazard in the field.
King Arthur.
Nay, kiss not thus our hand, astrologer,
Magician, seer, and all things mystical.
We reverence too much thy wealth of lore,
King as we are, to blush not while we take
Obsequious welcome from thy wizard lips.
Merlin
(in aside to Arthur).
Sir King, let not Lord Lancelot dance to-night
With Guinevere. The stars themselves forbid.
29
Nay, Merlin, art thou tricked with fantasies,
Bluff imps that make the goblin residue
From spells and incantations of thy past,
Nor leave thee yet, but haunt thy moods of rest,
As moths a blown-out candle's flameless wick?
Merlin.
Not so, my lord; thou art in error there.
'Twere seemlier that the Queen should lead the dance
With her true spouse, as courtly etiquette
By right demands; and therefore do I speak.
King Arthur.
Shrewd Merlin! and thy stars have told thee this?
Considerate and accommodating stars!
Have they no weightier counsel for thine ears?
Nay, pardon if I wag my beard in mirth,
Dread augur, since thy potent oracles
Grasp truths of such large import to our realm.
30
Sire, dost thou laugh at me?
King Arthur
(with much laughter).
No, by the Rood!
I weep, good Merlin, though I grant these tears
Less kin to grief than sources pleasanter.
Hail, Master of Etiquette at Arthur's court!
Wouldst clip thy robes to match a doublet's length,
Curl jauntily thy locks of snow, and don
Sword, plume and broidered hose? Why, so thou shalt,
If so thy choice, and that first knight who smiles
At seeing the awful Merlin grown a fop,
Shall forfeit straight our countenance and grace ...
Look ye, my lords and gentlewomen; here
Doth age put forth a flower of youth to shame
Your lustiest vigor! Merlin, mark him well,
Seeks new renown, and—
31
Pause, I do beseech!
(I dare not speak and tell him all I know!)
Ah, flout me not with raillery, since I warn
As eager friend and guardian of thy peace!
King Arthur.
Thy rapid tongue and that wild stress of gaze
Convince me thou art serious.
Merlin.
O my lord,
Bear with me but a little while till chance
Unloose my speech and I may name the fear
It irks me now to hide! ... No more ... we are watched!
Guinevere
(aside to Lancelot).
Didst thou note well how Merlin eyed the King?
I quake with terror lest the seer hath guessed
What treacherous truth lies hid between us twain.
32
These are but idle terrors, Guinevere.
Suspicion harms no man of my repute.
Great deeds of evil fit the great alone,
Who leap on them as they that mount a steed
Untamable to feebler hands than theirs.
Guinevere.
The deed thou hast in mind is horrible;
It plucks the sleep from off my lids o' nights,
And steals, a ghost of guilt, to haunt the gloom.
Lancelot.
The face-wash that shall lend those blooming cheeks
A pearlier beauty than of mortal tint—
The hair-dye that shall stain each silken strand
Of those rich tresses into sunnier sheen—
He has the secret of them, Guinevere,
He, Merlin, arch-enchanter, sorcerer, sage.
Guinevere.
I know. Yet Arthur deems me fair enough ...
I am his Queen. Oh, Lancelot, tempt me not!
33
The face-wash and the hair-dye—magic boons,
Whose baffling whereabouts alone he knows.
Men say that in the dusk of days remote
A daughter of the stars who reigned as queen
O'er an immortal race, loved foolishly
A mortal, and her subjects, wroth at this,
Fired up and slew her in her palace walls.
Guinevere.
I know the tale ... And afterward 'twas told ...
Lancelot.
That he, even Merlin, who has lived ten spans
Of usual life, and dies but when he wills,
Then being a wizard in that weird queen's court,
Snatched from her piteous eyes the dropping tears,
And from her piteous wounds the rushing blood,
In separate flasks of crystal hoarding each.
And these he yet retains, from that wild hour
Holding them sealed and hidden, and knowing well
Their marvellous uses ... And they shall be thine!
34
Mine at what cost? If I will filch for thee
The sacred sword, Excalibur, the King's
Unconquerable blade, his pride and joy.
Lancelot.
Even so, my Queen. Excalibur once mine,
Its fairy brand makes Merlin do my hest.
And I, securing it, will straightway force
Delivery of the flasks to thy fair hands.
Vivien
(covertly listening).
'Tis of the face-wash and the hair-dye, sure,
That these twain parley thus in whispers fleet.
Guinevere.
But if I steal it for thee, Lancelot,
Our realm will topple into anarchy.
Unkinged will Arthur be, and I disqueened,
Our Table Round a ruin, and all our fame
The jest of babblers in far future times.
35
Not so, my Queen. Possessing that famed sword,
I shall not linger here in Camelot.
Hence will I fare, with my own people reign,
Nor push my empery one jealous inch
Beyond the earldom fated me at birth.
Guinevere.
But this were wanton treason in itself ...
Hast thou not sworn to aid and serve the King?
Lancelot.
Thee will I serve instead. The precious flasks
Made thine, irrevocably thine, perchance
Thou wilt become my Queen in place of his!
Guinevere.
Elope with thee! O monstrous impudence!
(She sings.)
My father was King Leodogran,
An exceedingly meritorious man,
36
In a most distracting way.
There was never a king so hard-beset;
He was full of the cares that irk and fret;
He was head-over-ears in horrid debt
That he hadn't the means to pay.
But he brought me up in a style austere,
And he always advised me, “Guinevere,
If you ever fall in with a cavalier
Who should hint of an impropriety, dear,
There is only one thing to say:
‘Very, very witty—but I don't see the wit of it;
Awfully obliged—but no, not a bit of it;
Many, many thanks—good day!’”
Chorus of King, Knights and Ladies.
Her father was King Leodogran,
An unfortunate impecunious man,
Who was neither a prince of plot and plan,
Nor a tyrant of brutal sway.
37
But his creditors and his foes had met,
And the first had perished without regret,
While the last made him still their prey.
Yet he reared his child in a mode austere,
And he often remarked to her, “Guinevere,
If you ever fall in with a knight, my dear,
Whose deportment strikes you as insincere,
Be polite but firm while you say:
‘Very, very clever—but I don't see the wit of it;
Awfully obliged—but no, not a bit of it;
Many, many thanks—good day!’”
Guinevere.
My father was King Leodogran,
An aristocratic indigent man,
With an army at best a ragged clan
And a navy in sad decay.
He had only one or two courtiers left;
Of a parliament he was quite bereft;
38
His exchequer had gone astray.
But he still admonished me, “Guinevere,
Be discreet in your feminine career,
And if wily charmers would dupe you, dear,
So arrange that with conscience truly clear
You can lift up your head and say:
‘Very, very pretty—but I don't see the wit of it;
Awfully obliged—but no, not a bit of it;
Many, many thanks—good-day!’”
Chorus of King, Knights and Ladies.
Her father was King Leodogran,
A peculiarly disappointed man,
Whose reign with a flourish of drums began,
Though it ended in disarray.
Corruption and bribery made him ill:
His Lord High Chancellor robbed the till;
When the Royal Grocer sent in a bill,
Its amount he could not defray.
39
That he counselled his daughter, Guinevere—
“If you ever receive the suggestion, dear,
To behave like a moral mutineer,
Be decisive, and promptly say:
‘Very, very pleasant—but I don't see the wit of it;
Awfully obliged—but no, not a bit of it;
Many, many thanks—good day!’”
King Arthur.
Come, Guinevere. Let us fare palaceward.
Thy lyric candor hath less prudence in it
Than lightsome truth ... You, Lancelot, go with us?
Sir Lancelot.
Your Grace, one word with Merlin, I beseech.
(Omnes retire toward the palace, except Merlin and Sir Lancelot.)
Merlin.
Wouldst converse hold with me, Sir Lancelot?
40
Nay, Merlin, art thou angered? Speak, I pray.
Merlin.
Thou hast sent missives from the seat of war.
Sir Lancelot.
To whom?
Merlin.
Whom me no whoms. The Queen.
Sir Lancelot.
And thou hast read these missives, Merlin—thou!
Merlin.
Never! But if by magic art I learned
Their import, canst thou blame me that I did?
Sir Lancelot.
I see. Thy magic art is over-bold.
Wax melts in flame; my letters writ the Queen
Were slyly intercepted of thyself!
41
Mere son of earth, presume not on my rights,
Nor scoff them, lest thou writhe in punishment.
Sir Lancelot.
Enough. Thou hast read those missives. Then thou know'st
I would possess Excalibur for mine.
Merlin.
Conspirator! Dost thou dare tell me this?
Sir Lancelot.
Hark, Merlin. Once that mystic sword my own,
I rule instead of Arthur. For thyself,
Thou shalt, I swear, become Prime Minister
Where thou art now mere vassal to the king.
Merlin.
Prime Minister? ... What madness moves thy speech?
The sword from him who wields it may not pass,
Except the Queen herself, at midnight hour,
42
The earth would quake, hot lightnings rend the sky,
And she, its guardian Lady of the Lake,
Would rise in wrath, and bid the Table Round
Slay the fell traitor who had urged this act.
Sir Lancelot.
Meanwhile the sword were mine. And, Merlin, thou
Wouldst be Prime Minister in my new realm.
Does Arthur value thee at thy fit worth?
To-day thou scarcely hast his jester's rank.
As mountebank, even charlatan, he holds
Thy reverend self. Reflect ere thou refuse.
Merlin.
It was ages and ages and ages ago,
In an antediluvian time,
When my beard could as now patriarchally flow,
And my gaze had the same supernatural glow
Which at present is thought so sublime,
43
As his trusted Secretary of State.
Sir Lancelot.
I am far from objecting that then as that now
You extended six feet in your hose,
And that none could with honesty dare disallow
Your remarkably intellectual brow
And your magisterial nose,
When the King who is pre-historical dust
So distinguished you by a prominent trust.
Merlin.
To resume my remarks where you cut them so short,
I was not, as a statesman, exempt
From the fell office-hunter's insidious court,
From the perils and snares of malicious report,
Or from bribery's evil attempt;
44
By the withering glance that I now bend on you.
Sir Lancelot.
If I own that your glance has a singular stress
Which reacts on my chief spinal nerve,
I shall fail to make manifest, nevertheless,
How you equally mortify as you impress
By the probity that you preserve;
Yet I beg very earnestly still to insist
That you deal with no common corruptionist.
Merlin.
I remember that once when a knave had presumed
His perfidious views to expound,
Though of social distinction he blustered and fumed,
I arranged that alive in the earth he was tombed,
With his head poking out above ground;
And while slowly of thirst and of hunger he died,
I assure you I laughed till I really cried.
45
So unpleasant are vivid accounts like to these
When embellished with your dainty skill,
That I beg you will bear it in mind, if you please,
How my terrified marrow commences to freeze
And the roots of my being to thrill;
Yet I cannot deny, notwithstanding alarm,
That my villainy wears an exceptional charm.
Merlin.
Oh, if then you had shown me these poisonous plums
Which the branches of treason contain,
I perhaps would have had you hung up by your thumbs,
Or have put red-hot pins in your eyelids and gums,
While I gloated with glee on your pain;
For the impulse of gloating I seldom repress,
And I always have gloated with striking success.
46
That you gloat with a grace altogether your own,
You are wasting your words to denote,
And indeed a sincere admiration alone
Now impels me to have my depravity known,
For the purpose of seeing you gloat;
Yet an ominous feeling my bosom has crost
That you hesitate and are in consequence lost.
Merlin.
I regard your assumption as wholly unfair,
And conveyed with unmerited scorn,
Since the proud reputation I handsomely bear
I for ages and ages of much wear and tear
Have with noteworthy rectitude borne;
Yet the place of Prime Minister, all will admit,
Is a place that my talents would capably fit.
Sir Lancelot.
Strike hands, good necromancer. Thou at last
Consentest. Big the risk, yet big the prize.
47
My qualms of conscience still abide the same.
I feel myself provisionally bad,
And that alone. You tempted, and I fell;
But then you tempted fatly.
Sir Lancelot.
So I did.
Merlin.
Enough. My expiation may require
Perchance a thousand years. A trifle, that,
To me, the immortal Merlin, it is true.
Sir Lancelot.
A trifle weightless as blown thistledown.
Had I your same deep funds of earthly life,
By fits I would be virtuous and by fits
The bacchanal opposite. One century
The dusk of cloisters and the garb of serge,
The chill high-windowed cell, with loaf and jug,
The sandalled feet and prayer-worn rosary-beads.
48
Lights, music, diamond eyes amid the dark
Of velvet masks, with folly a gilded toy
And grim sin painted all of rainbow hues.
Monotony is pleasure's bane and curse,
Change and variety are its meat and wine!
Merlin.
Hollow philosophy, I fear, my lord;
Yet hollow things, like wine-cups, oft hold cheer.
Does the Queen will to steal this magic brand?
Sir Lancelot.
To-night, if thou wilt aid her in the act.
Merlin.
At set of sun with solemn pomp I bless
The sword for this great victory fought and gained,
While all our people voice their hymn of thanks.
Sir Lancelot.
Piously singing somewhat out of tune—
I know the ceremony; it has made me yawn
Eleven good times already. Afterward?
49
I bear the sword away and lock it up
In the huge vault below the castle-moat,
To symbolize its ancient years of rest
Deep in the bosom of the lake whence rose
An arm that held it forth as Arthur's boon,
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful.
Sir Lancelot.
Thy pardon, mage, but were not those last words
Quoted from some bard who has framed this theme
In verse? I fancy I recall the line.
Merlin.
Sir Lancelot, you are grievously at fault;
Whatever else I am or may become,
I am and always grandly will remain
Original.
Sir Lancelot.
Again thy pardon, seer.
Tell more, I pray.
50
The vault whereof I spoke
Hath seven huge iron doors, and each of these
Is opened by a separate massive key.
At end of all a flight of seven stone steps,
Thick-filmed with dank ooze and deceptive slime,
Leads to an iron chest whose every nail
Juts like the clenched fist of a giant knight
From ponderous bands of steel. The Queen's own strength
Must lift the lid and draw Excalibur
Out from the chest. If there she chance to fail,
The brand itself shall rise and smite her dead,
While thou and I, her arch-accomplices,
In half the thinking of a thought, are hurled
With hideous ruin and combustion down
To bottomless perdition.
Sir Lancelot.
Grace again ...
Thy last fine phrase—was that original?
51
Completely so, Sir Lancelot. Plagiarism
Has never soiled my native eloquence.
Sir Lancelot.
And must the Queen this dangerous journey take
In utter darkness? May she not have light?
Merlin.
None, save the light of her intelligence,
Never a torch of brilliance at its best.
Sir Lancelot.
You wrong her. She will put her wit to proof
This night, and if I err not, test as well
Her courage; I will answer you for both.
Merlin.
'Tis as clear to my mind as the commonest rule
Mathematical teachings beget,
That the Queen is a fool, and that you are a fool,
And that I am a worse fool yet.
52
But we can't keep along at a moderate trot;
We've a devilish fancy to see how it feels
When you break in a gallop and kick up your heels!
Sir Lancelot.
That is true not alone of the Queen, you and me,
But of all humankind, I am sure;
There is always one apple high up on the tree
That we'd tear our best clothes to secure.
Though in life, as it often occurs, we have got
All the tidbits we need floating round in our pot,
Spite of prudence and tact we must see how it feels
To kick over the pot while we kick up our heels!
Merlin.
You're a knight with a record for brain and for brawn—
Guinevere's royal rank who'll deny?—
As the great court-magician I weekly have drawn
From my monarch a salary high;
53
We've a strange inclination to wish they were not;
On the nice clean white paper, to see how it feels,
We must spill half the ink while we kick up our heels!
Sir Lancelot.
To obtain a king's throne fortune's favor I sue;
Guinevere wants a handsomer lord;
The portfolio of a Prime Minister you
Have a long time in secret adored.
Very likely 'twere best we should alter no jot
From the stations whose changes we privately plot,
Yet we've all a temptation to see how it feels
When at last you've concluded to kick up your heels!
Merlin.
What further speech hath issue on this head
We fitlier should hold otherwhere than here.
54
True, Merlin. These rude bastions, nooks and towers,
Were facile ambush for some envious ear.
Merlin.
And such an one is Modred's.
Sir Lancelot.
Fearest thou
Sir Modred, that sly cousin to the King?
Him of the uneasy eye, unechoing tread
And bright prompt smile? Myself, I like him not.
Merlin.
If covert foe we have, that foe is he.
Come, let us hence. Time fleets, and colloquy
Must further shape this dark wild plan for use.
(Merlin and Sir Lancelot retire through an archway of the castle. From another egress Modred cautiously enters, followed by Vivien.)
55
Their plot is mine! Now, Vivien, if the Queen
Shall get from Merlin's hand the seven great keys
And tread the slippery stairs until she clutch
The subterranean sword, Excalibur,
Returning safe with it to upper air,
Why, then, what easier than to crouch in wait
And seize it from her grasp ere Lancelot dream?
Vivien.
O wily Modred, wilt thou dare this thing?
Modred.
Sweet Vivien, for thy sake I would dare more.
Vivien.
Thou darest nothing. Flatter not thy soul
With fantasy of courage for thy spur.
Deceit alone is pith and kernel here;
All else is vaunt, ambition, treachery!
Modred.
Hast thou forgot love, too, or canst thou rate
Such love as mine a toy to toss and lose?
56
Mere boy and girl, together on sea-sands,
In sight of those gray beetling walls where dwelt
Our kinsman, that bluff Earl who loved us both?
Vivien.
Yes, I recall. We shaped amid the sands
Full many a castle, drawbridge, gate and moat;
But all were thine, or so thy mood would claim.
Modred.
All those pretty palaces of sand,
Swept afar so long by ocean's pride,
Were but meant, if thou couldst understand,
For the little maiden at my side.
She it was whose tender eyes and lips
All the mimic realm should sweetly sway,
When my fairy gold in fairy ships
From enchanted isles had found its way!
Swept afar so long by ocean's pride,
Were but meant, if thou couldst understand,
For the little maiden at my side.
She it was whose tender eyes and lips
All the mimic realm should sweetly sway,
When my fairy gold in fairy ships
From enchanted isles had found its way!
While her dimpled face, in childish thought,
Watched my eager fingers as they plied,
Happy was the toil with which I wrought
For the little maiden at my side.
Every tiny chamber should possess
Riches past all value and compare—
Pearls that beam amid the mermaid's tress,
Corals that the rosy sea-caves bear!
Watched my eager fingers as they plied,
57
For the little maiden at my side.
Every tiny chamber should possess
Riches past all value and compare—
Pearls that beam amid the mermaid's tress,
Corals that the rosy sea-caves bear!
Since those idle moments, many a year,
Filled with shade or sun, has dawned and died.
Mightier now the palace I would rear
For the statelier maiden at my side.
Here at last, in honor and renown,
She may dwell my treasured wife and true,
Wearing on her brows the queenly crown
That by dower of beauty is her due!
Filled with shade or sun, has dawned and died.
Mightier now the palace I would rear
For the statelier maiden at my side.
Here at last, in honor and renown,
She may dwell my treasured wife and true,
Wearing on her brows the queenly crown
That by dower of beauty is her due!
Vivien.
Modred, I wonder that thou trustest me
With this dread secret of thy coming guilt.
What earnest hast thou (nay, let go my hand)
That I will clamor not, with wrathful speed,
58
May crush it dead by dungeon, chain or block?
Modred.
Pah, Vivien, well thou knowest that if I hold
Excalibur, the power I wield with it
Makes Merlin serve me then as Arthur now.
Vivien.
What import to myself if he so serve?
Modred.
Nay, large, my subtle Vivien, I can prove.
The face-wash and the hair-dye Merlin holds
He would surrender if I held the sword.
Vivien.
The face-wash and the hair-dye? Thou in sooth
Hast heard of these long-hoarded talismans?
Modred.
Who here at Camelot has not heard of them?
The little dusk-haired page that trips through hall,
Bearing the flagon in his lifted clasp,
Wots of the charms and longs to test their worth.
59
And dost thou think that I, Sir Modred, I,
Would trifle with such witcheries? ... Thou hast called
Full many a time the Lady Vivien fair.
Would I be fairer, then, if tress and tint
Were fair indeed, as wrought so by these arts?
Modred.
No silkier could one strand of thy dear hair
Gleam to these eyes, my Vivien, if so steeped
In sun its gay gold matched the daffodil's!
No tenderer would the curve of that soft cheek
Seem to my sense if now its olive tinge
Were pinker than the frail wild-rose's leaf!
I love thee seeing that what I love no change
Of face-wash or of hair-dye may annul!
Thy smile—the beam of thy deep roguish gaze—
The sorcery of thy dewy lips—the arch
Of nostril or of brow—would bide the same!
And more, the intelligence—
60
Enough. 'Tis plain
Thou wouldst prefer me were I not brunette.
Modred.
(How sweet to rouse her dainty jealousy!)
Vivien.
(He does not dream the wherefore of my wish!
Yet once the face-wash and the hair-dye mine,
That languid saint, Sir Galahad, whom I love,
Might melt and thrill where now his mien is ice!)
Modred.
Hast thou forgot, sweet Vivien, that spring day
Scarce one year hence, when wandering the dark belt
Of beechwood nigh to Camelot's green domain,
I chanced upon thyself and heard thee sing,
Dreaming none heard save some stray thrush or merle,
That pensive song beside a shaded pool?
The limpid pool was mirror for thy face,
61
Thou to the shining mere didst pour thy plaint.
Vivien.
I have forgot. (No lie was gliblier told!)
Modred.
Nay, thou rememberest. Sing the song once more.
Vivien.
What were the gist and lilt of that same song?
Modred.
The gist I know; the lilt hath lost itself
In revery of the love it roused that day.
But this I keep as record of the song:
Thou didst deplore thou wert not born a blonde.
Vivien.
Tell me, tell me, tell me,
Quiet pool and clear,
Why it thus befell me
To be mourning here!
Why with unabated
Woe do I regret
That I was created
A confirmed brunette!
Why does hope expel me,
Like a child from school?
Tell me, tell me, tell me,
Sleepy little pool!
Quiet pool and clear,
Why it thus befell me
To be mourning here!
62
Woe do I regret
That I was created
A confirmed brunette!
Why does hope expel me,
Like a child from school?
Tell me, tell me, tell me,
Sleepy little pool!
Enid's locks are sunny
As the wheat's ripe stores;
Golden as new honey
Lynette's, Lyonors';
Here alone I linger,
Full of yearnings fond,
I, who'd give a finger
To have been a blonde!
Why so far excel me
Maud, Yseult, Gudule,
Tell me, tell me, tell me,
Placid little pool!
As the wheat's ripe stores;
Golden as new honey
Lynette's, Lyonors';
Here alone I linger,
Full of yearnings fond,
I, who'd give a finger
To have been a blonde!
Why so far excel me
Maud, Yseult, Gudule,
Tell me, tell me, tell me,
Placid little pool!
63
Heavy is the tax on
Patience when I see
That it is un-Saxon
To be dark like me.
Were I queen anointed,
Still my heart would fret,
As a disappointed
And aggrieved brunette!
Why despair should quell me,
Destiny o'errule,
Tell me, tell me, tell me,
Lazy little pool!
Patience when I see
That it is un-Saxon
To be dark like me.
Were I queen anointed,
Still my heart would fret,
As a disappointed
And aggrieved brunette!
Why despair should quell me,
Destiny o'errule,
Tell me, tell me, tell me,
Lazy little pool!
In my deep dejection,
Pool so pure to view,
Cast me my reflection,
Clad with brighter hue!
Weave the sunbeams in it,
While I thus despond;
Let me dream a minute
I was born a blonde!
Why should fate repel me,
Why should chance befool,
Tell me, tell me, tell me,
Silent little pool!
Pool so pure to view,
Cast me my reflection,
Clad with brighter hue!
Weave the sunbeams in it,
While I thus despond;
Let me dream a minute
I was born a blonde!
64
Why should chance befool,
Tell me, tell me, tell me,
Silent little pool!
Modred.
The song's true self; thou hast not missed a word.
Vivien.
(No hint of Galahad slept within the strain;
'Twas therefore safe to sing it as I did.)
(Sir Galahad now appears from the castle, with bowed head, as of one who muses while he walks.)
Modred.
Look where that smooth male vaunt of saintliness
Moves like the animate statue of himself,
Paid for ere death in charge to his leal heirs.
Vivien.
I see ... I would a word with Galahad.
65
So would not I ... Dear Vivien, ere I go,
Thou wilt swear help and secrecy to-night?
Vivien.
Stanch help and secrecy ... Why should I not
So swear? Alas! I was not born a blonde!
Modred.
Enough. I kiss thy hand in faith and troth.
Farewell, my blonde Queen that may shortly be!
Shalt dally long with that white peacock, love?
Vivien.
Nay, briefly ... I would question him by stealth,
Lest he dream aught of damage to our plan.
Modred.
Right, Vivien. Let me read those lucid eyes ...
And so thou lov'st me now I may be King?
Ah, woman, woman, weak as thou wert made,
What strength is in thy love for worldly power!
Well, if thou love the place I lift thee to,
I'll dream thou still dost prize the hand that lifts!
66
In that hand's grip thou hast a mighty faith.
Modred.
Why not? If I can seize Excalibur,
Much of the soldiery, this warrant seen,
Will join me in revolt, since I am held
As one of Arthur's family by near
Relationship—or shall I rather say
Pendragonship?—to our sworn liege, the King.
Ah, yes, that brand, once flourished, will convince
These dolts that Heaven with Arthur is at odds,
And that to me, his kinsman, Modred, falls
The right to lead and rule them how I list.
But Lancelot as an alien they would hold,
Nor pay his hest a shred of courtesy,
He being of other than the princely line ...
Note well this grade of difference in our states,
My Vivien, and so hug ambition close ...
Again farewell, my Queen that soon shall be!
Grant me one kiss ...
67
Nay, not till I am Queen:
Modred.
Unpitying girl! ... Well, be it thus indeed!
Ere the great pomp is holden we shall meet,
And in the dance thy white hand shall I claim ...
I trust thee with that self-swamped Galahad!
Again, remember—and again, farewell!
(Modred disappears into the castle, scornfully watched by Vivien.)
Vivien.
I mate with thee, thou soul packed thick with spites!
And thou hast trusted me! Even so we trust
The wave that drowns us or the drug that slays!
Sir Galahad.
What voice was that? Ah, Lady Vivien, thine?
Vivien.
Yes, mine. Did I hold converse with myself
Unwittingly? If so I crave thy grace.
68
Sure none were easier rendered than mine own.
Vivien.
Thou, too, wert lost in musing. May I seek
To learn what drooped thy head so sombrely?
Sir Galahad.
Sweet Vivien, if I mused it must have been
On mine own superhuman purity.
Vivien.
Ah, true. But purity and coldness wed ...
Sir Galahad, art thou cold as thou art pure?
Sir Galahad.
Meseems I am peculiarly cold ...
I know not ... Were I grosser I might tell
The measure of mine own frigidity
In way more accurate. Yet I do think
I am exceeding cold. What thinkest thou?
69
What think I? No bare northland berg that lifts
A glassy spire in arctic air is more
Cold to its clime's dim heaven than thou to love!
Sir Galahad.
Love? What is love? I oft have heard it named,
And oft have fancied that I lack it not.
Myself I love, and virtue—which are one ...
And nicety of deportment ...
Vivien.
Well, what more?
Sir Galahad.
And meats or fish in season, deftly cooked,
Especially with sauce of proper spice.
Vivien.
Thou questionest what love is ... I will tell!
Sir Galahad.
Pray, tell; and I with zest of heed shall hark.
70
Love is a temple all alone,
Pure-white and small of scope,
Not built of wood, not built of stone,
But built of something that is known
To human hearts as hope.
And here the lover's foot will steal,
And here the lover oft will kneel,
Perchance when no one cares,
His love in secret to reveal,
With tender tears and prayers!
Sir Galahad.
If love the soul endue
With loyalty so true,
Then surely love must be above
All joys I ever knew!
Vivien.
Love is a garden whose delights
May lovers only know;
71
Where westward from her starry heights
A summer moon drops low;
Where urns of glossy myrtles beam,
Where statues from the terrace gleam,
Where pale cool fountains pour,
And lovers in delicious dream
Go wandering evermore!
Sir Galahad.
If love may so invite
King Arthur's virgin knight,
Then love indeed must far exceed
The rhymes that poets write!
Vivien.
Love is a forest in whose deep
A stream's clear waters glide;
And many a mortal here doth creep,
His thirsting lips to lean and steep
Amid the crystal tide.
72
They linger by that river's brink,
And feel its waves accurst;
For ah, the longer that they drink
The deadlier grows their thirst!
Sir Galahad.
If love to such excess
May ban as well as bless,
Then love must hide a seamy side
Of curious ugliness!
Vivien.
Love is a land where dead leaves fall
And wild-flowers droop their blooms;
A land that ever feels the thrall
Of sorrowing winds that moan and call
Like voices out of tombs.
And here wan lovers roam forlorn,
Each with a rose-crown he has worn
In merrier moods than now;
73
That wounds its wearer's brow!
Sir Galahad.
If love through storm and sun
So strange a course can run,
Then love's a bane that any sane
Philosopher should shun!
Vivien.
Love keeps a joy to match its worst of woe,
And worst its woe when we have loved where lies
A blank of dead indifference .. like thine own! ..
Thou sighest, Galahad; wherefore dost thou sigh?
Sir Galahad.
I sigh to think how many maids there be
On whom my dead indifference must have wrought
This woe thou paintest in such dreary phrase.
74
Nay, thou art wrong. Thy comeliness perchance
Allures full many a maid, or touches her
With spleen of slighted vanity. But this
Means not the grief of loving without hope.
Sir Galahad.
Then no maids love me? Ah, how glad I am!
I merely rouse their wish that I would woo?
'Tis well; I hate to even account myself
As irresponsibly responsible
For broken hearts I had no aim to break.
Vivien.
Nay, Galahad, 'tis not entirely so!
I know one maid whose heart is bent for thee—
Bent cruelly, if not yet quite broke in twain.
Sir Galahad.
Pray, tell me of this maid. 'Twould pleasure me
To know her and console her if I could.
75
What balm of consolation wouldst thou bring
The sharp distemper of her troubled soul?
Sir Galahad.
I should advise her with due haste to seek
A nunnery, since having loved myself,
She could not stoop to lower than myself,
And therefore must win recompense alone
In pious raptures taught by holy deeds.
Vivien.
But if she were too worldly for this task
Of self-abasement?—if men deemed her fair,
And by the power of beauty, wit and grace
She dreamed of kindling from thy lethargy
A leap of flame as vital as her own?
Sir Galahad.
I should deplore her motive, were it seen,
And recommend a nunnery, all the same.
76
O pitiless! has fancy never shaped
From shadow a life whose love thou couldst hold dear?
Sir Galahad.
No, never ... Stay, thy question doth recall
A vision which at times hath haunted me.
It looked so pure and beautiful, I thought
At first it was my own similitude.
But later it convinced me that I erred,
And that the sex it bore was feminine.
Vivien.
And thou didst love this vision, Galahad?
Oh, tell me more! ... What color were its eyes?
Sir Galahad.
Strange, Vivien, that while closer scanning thee
I do remember, past a gleam of doubt,
That it had eyes both hued and lit like thine.
77
(O Heaven! Wild heart, thy riot pulses curb!)
Yes, Galahad—and what more? Pray, had it wings?
Sir Galahad.
It did not necessarily have wings;
I think wings were not indispensable
To its angelical anatomy.
But ah, its hair! ... a glory of living gold,
An aureole of splendor, like a saint's!
Vivien.
I mark thee well. This vision was a blonde.
Sir Galahad.
It was. An English, Early-English blonde.
Vivien.
And I, whose mortal eyes thou late hast called
Like to thy vision's—I am a brunette!
And yet, O Galahad, if my hair were hers—
78
Took radiance vivid as thy vision's owned,
Wouldst thou, or couldst thou, Galahad—O my star
Of knightly sanctity and manful worth!—
Wouldst thou, or couldst thou—?
Sir Galahad.
Lady, I could not!
Vivien.
At last the truth is clear to thee—at last!
Sir Galahad.
It is, at last, and thou hast made it so.
Vivien.
And all thine answer is thy silent scorn!
Sir Galahad.
Scorn? Nay, I recommend a nunnery.
79
I consider you, let me candidly to your face respond,
Not as perfectly satisfactory as I would a blonde.
Yet in ranking me as a personage who to wed were fain,
You have totally misinterpreted, I must here maintain.
Not to Galahad, as to Percivale, Bedivere, Geraint,
May the argument matrimonial its allurements paint;
For the solitude of a celibate I prefer—and so,
To a nunnery, to a nunnery—go, go, go!
Vivien.
An indifference more contemptuous you could scarcely reach,
And the magnitude of my misery is beyond all speech.
I am confident you'd reciprocate the regard I bear,
Could I possibly make it manifest in my head of hair;
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Opportunity being given me to become a blonde;
And you'd say to me self-reproachfully, with your heart aglow,
“To a nunnery? to a nunnery?—no, no, no!”
Sir Galahad.
'Twould be difficult to exaggerate the sensation strange
That I certainly should experience at so great a change;
But it seems to me that the quality of my pure repute
Should reveal to you how unpractical is your present suit;
For so thoroughly unconnubial are the views I hold,
Their solidity would be permanent if your hair turned gold.
And in consequence I reiterate the remark you know—
“To a nunnery, to a nunnery—go, go, go!”
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I am obstinate in the attitude which I now assume—
That a physical incapacity has pronounced my doom;
I insist upon being positive that my hair's dark tint
Is accountable for the prejudice that you more than hint;
And I prophesy, O my Galahad, that the hour draws near
When the evidence of your sympathy will at last appear,
And you'll say to me, self-accusingly, while your eyes o'erflow—
“To a nunnery? to a nunnery?—no, no, no!”
(Vivien now disappears into the castle.)
Sir Galahad
(alone).
What meant she by that mood of prophecy?
Poor maid! can she have dreamed her locks and face
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By Merlin through so many a century?
I dare be sworn the girl hath some pet scheme
To win these flasks of the great seer by trick
Of flattery, or mock love's insidious guile.
Ah, doubly foiled, if such indeed her aim,
Since one as well might hope that yonder towers
Would push from battlement or barbacan
A growth of living leaves, as Merlin thrill
To blandishments her smiles could whelm him with.
Age hath made pale the ruby in his blood,
As virtue long hath tamed the ripple in mine.
(King Arthur and all his knights, ladies, etc., appear from the castle, the populace also following. Lastly enters Merlin, clad in priestly robes, holding aloft the magic sword, Excalibur.)
King Arthur.
Now for the rites that will simply and totally
Mighty Excalibur's praises attest,
Ere he is once again put sacerdotally
Down underground in his magical chest.
Never was blade that excelled by comparison
This one in temper or finish at all,
Fit to extinguish the Turk or the Saracen,
Fit to eradicate Roman or Gaul.
Mighty Excalibur's praises attest,
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Down underground in his magical chest.
Never was blade that excelled by comparison
This one in temper or finish at all,
Fit to extinguish the Turk or the Saracen,
Fit to eradicate Roman or Gaul.
Nothing could vex curiosity crueller
Than to determine the source of his craft ...
Who was the antediluvian jeweller
Able to shape that magnificent haft?
Yet should my fancy endeavor to speculate
How such a marvellous weapon was made,
I should be tempted by falsehood to peculate,
Since, like myself, he's a fabulous blade!
Than to determine the source of his craft ...
Who was the antediluvian jeweller
Able to shape that magnificent haft?
Yet should my fancy endeavor to speculate
How such a marvellous weapon was made,
I should be tempted by falsehood to peculate,
Since, like myself, he's a fabulous blade!
Still, when we gaze on his exquisite mystery—
Steel, silver, jewels and gold interblent—
Something we guess of his actual history
From the appearance we see him present.
Much of him seems to conclusively indicate
That he resulted from some sort of queer
Silversmith-blacksmith-and jeweller syndicate,
Gone out of partnership many a year!
Steel, silver, jewels and gold interblent—
Something we guess of his actual history
From the appearance we see him present.
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That he resulted from some sort of queer
Silversmith-blacksmith-and jeweller syndicate,
Gone out of partnership many a year!
If he could speak, what a record of victory
Would there be found in the words he would say,
Causing so often, without valedictory,
Many a hero to vanish away!
He, of our commonweal chief representative,
Makes opposition disclose its weak joint.
And if inclined to become argumentative,
Doesn't beg questions, but forces his point!
Would there be found in the words he would say,
Causing so often, without valedictory,
Many a hero to vanish away!
He, of our commonweal chief representative,
Makes opposition disclose its weak joint.
And if inclined to become argumentative,
Doesn't beg questions, but forces his point!
Though at his doings (I mention with jollity)
Many the critics who cavil and carp,
Dulness at least is by no means his quality,
All guaranteeing him notably sharp.
Justice, moreover, should say with sincerity,
Ere its account of him properly ends,
That while he treats all his foes with asperity,
No one can charge him with cutting his friends!
Many the critics who cavil and carp,
Dulness at least is by no means his quality,
All guaranteeing him notably sharp.
Justice, moreover, should say with sincerity,
Ere its account of him properly ends,
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No one can charge him with cutting his friends!
Persons whose peaceable souls would abolish him,
As the rude symbol of rapine and fray,
Rude as he is, must allow they could polish him
Not any more than he's polished to-day.
Nay, while his coarseness and lack of gentility
Haters of war with invective would flood,
Who can refuse him the right and ability,
Odd though it seems, to be proud of his blood?
As the rude symbol of rapine and fray,
Rude as he is, must allow they could polish him
Not any more than he's polished to-day.
Nay, while his coarseness and lack of gentility
Haters of war with invective would flood,
Who can refuse him the right and ability,
Odd though it seems, to be proud of his blood?
Chorus of Knights, Ladies and Populace.
No more thy strokes we need,
Our foes in flight to stir.
Farewell, thou friend indeed,
Farewell, thou famous magic brand, Excalibur!
Our foes in flight to stir.
Farewell, thou friend indeed,
Farewell, thou famous magic brand, Excalibur!
Into thy vault below
The castle's moat, O sword,
To slumber dost thou go,
Desired no longer by our leader and our lord!
The castle's moat, O sword,
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Desired no longer by our leader and our lord!
Let Merlin bear thee hence,
Unlock the seven huge gates,
And drop with reverence
Thy stalwart body where its mystic chest awaits!
Unlock the seven huge gates,
And drop with reverence
Thy stalwart body where its mystic chest awaits!
Oh, down the seven steep stairs
Heed lest thou tumble not;
Firm be the hand that bears
Excalibur to his dark resting-spot!
Heed lest thou tumble not;
Firm be the hand that bears
Excalibur to his dark resting-spot!
O Merlin, let no rat
Thy foot too quickly curb,
No surreptitious bat,
No grim clandestine mouse thine equipoise disturb!
Thy foot too quickly curb,
No surreptitious bat,
No grim clandestine mouse thine equipoise disturb!
Be brave as thou art wise;
The stairs are slimed with ooze,
And therefore we advise,
O Merlin, that thou shalt put on thine over-shoes!
The stairs are slimed with ooze,
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O Merlin, that thou shalt put on thine over-shoes!
O think how shame would crush
Thy soul if thou shouldst wash
That sacred sword in slush,
Because thou didst not wear the requisite galosh!
Thy soul if thou shouldst wash
That sacred sword in slush,
Because thou didst not wear the requisite galosh!
The Lady of the Lake
With terrible despatch
Her stern revenge would take
If thou shouldst even employ a single sulphur-match!
With terrible despatch
Her stern revenge would take
If thou shouldst even employ a single sulphur-match!
Thy journey must be free
From any guiding spark;
By absolute decree
Excalibur must go to bed quite in the dark.
From any guiding spark;
By absolute decree
Excalibur must go to bed quite in the dark.
O noble sword, thy might
In happiness we shelve,
Since thou hast come to fight
The last great battle of the fated twelve.
In happiness we shelve,
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The last great battle of the fated twelve.
Farewell, secure from fray;
And shouldst thou crave, instead,
For further foes to slay,
We should reply, “Not any, thank thee—go to bed.”
And shouldst thou crave, instead,
For further foes to slay,
We should reply, “Not any, thank thee—go to bed.”
Superbly canst thou strike,
As we in memory keep,
Yet we confess we like
Thee best, Excalibur, when thou art fast asleep.
As we in memory keep,
Yet we confess we like
Thee best, Excalibur, when thou art fast asleep.
Of course on moor or fen
Thy prowess all aver,
But we've observed that then
The orphans and the widows frequently occur. ...
Thy prowess all aver,
But we've observed that then
The orphans and the widows frequently occur. ...
And so farewell, farewell, farewell, Excalibur!
In slumber's holy spell
Long may thy grandeur dwell,—
Yes, even till Doomsday's knell,
Farewell, farewell, farewell,
Our glorious and victorious sword, Excalibur!
In slumber's holy spell
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Yes, even till Doomsday's knell,
Farewell, farewell, farewell,
Our glorious and victorious sword, Excalibur!
(Merlin moves toward the castle, bearing the sword aloft, followed reverently by King Arthur, the knights, ladies and populace.)
END OF ACT I.
| The New King Arthur | |