University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

A Room in the Court at Cornwall. Eliduke.
Enter Blanchespee.
Blanch.
Where's Eliduke?—Letters from home, my lord!
Castabel writes to you; and for me too
There's one, from Blancaflor. Are you not glad?

Eli.
Yes, boy. Where's Walter? I must speak with him.
What news of the enemy? do they approach?

Blanch.
Fast, my good lord. The posted scouts come in,
Bringing us news that by to-morrow morning
They will have reached the pass into this plain.

Eli.
There will we fight them, then. Fetch Walter, boy!

Blanch.
I will but read my letter, and be gone.

Eli.
Ay, do. Must I read too? [Reads.

“Ever-dear Lord,—A loving greeting from your faithful wife! I did but briefly entertain your most welcome messenger, being vain enough to think your love would require quick tidings of my welfare and of your children's. There is rumour of war and invasion. Sounds that were before so hateful to my ear are now hopeful in their tone, as tending to your much-longed-for return. Lord Roland commends him to your friend-ship. Be not long absent, my most dear husband.”

Where is she now? Perhaps in her nursery,
Tending her pretty babes with anxious hand,—
My children! or in careful solitude
Leans her pale sorrowing head upon her hand,
From her brimmed eyes the tear-drops sadly falling,
While she paints me in her dear memory,
Weeping my long delay. O Castabel!
He that thou hold'st so dear is most unworthy.
Perhaps she is with Roland—hum!—perhaps—
No, it's not possible; even grant that Roland
Should be sucked in by passion, and turn false,
As I have proved too easy, yet in her
There's something deeper than the name of truth
Which he could never vanquish. Virtue's to her
Not outward excellence to be attained,
But something inborn and essential,
Which she can never start from. It holds her heart.
And I, meanwhile,—how stands the case with me?
Blanchespee! how he's wrapt!

Blanch.
A moment, sir.

Eli.
Blancaflor writes at length.

Blanch.
A scrambling hand,
That puzzles me to read. She sends me word
Picardy's up. The King would have us back.

Eli.
Speaks it for certain, or only like wild rumour?

Blanch.
Oh, for most certain. But we must not go
Till we have fought, and freed this King from fear,
And I've deviced my shield, and spread some colour
On my white sword; then, hey for home again!
Fancy them clustering at the castle-gates!
How Blancaflor will stand, with outstretched foot,
Leaned forward, and her face on fire with joy,
Throwing her hair back with her hand, and straining
To catch her soldier's eye! But she must not clasp me
As if I were a child, but rather fall
Gently about my neck, as Castabel
Greets you when you come home from war.

Eli.
Ay, boy.

Blanch.
Why d'you say “Ay, boy,” so? Oh, whose is that?
I would I had one!

Eli.
What?

Blanch.
Your favour there.
Whose is it?

Eli.
Whose? the glove? whose should it be?

Blanch.
Why, Castabel's; I cannot go astray.
Is it not so? She gave it you at parting,
And told you you must keep it safe in battle.
We'll bring it safe. I'll help you to defend it.

Eli.
It needs no sword but this.

Blanch.
Oh, but I'll help;
And if I see a villain stretching for it,
I'll lop his hand off neatly. By mine honour,
An oath I must not break, we'll bring it back.
Yonder comes Walter; I'll go plume my helmet.
I would it were to-morrow!

[Exit Blanchespee.
Eli.
A brave lad,
And lies most near my heart!

Enter Walter: gives a despatch.
Walt.
From Nantes, my lord.

Eli.
(reading).
The King was hasty, Walter—he regrets—
Slanderous, lying courtiers—shall be beheaded—
(I hope not that)—the Picards—Roland will not
Unless I come—there's none but me; I knew it.
Home again, Walter!

Walt.
What a king is this!

Eli.
Let's rule our thoughts; we are all weak in turn.

Walt.
Ay, but not slaves of passion; our love or anger
May for a moment, in some sudden charge,
Lay justice on the ground; but to be ridden by them
Against our nobler impulse and clear sense
Of what is just, is not to be a man.
Yet he's more pardonable; a king's vices
Are half, at least, his flatterers', and his virtues
Doubly his own. Sweet grass is more esteemed
Springing in weedy pastures.

Eli.
Shall we go back?

Walt.
D'you ask it?

Eli.
We are bound to serve this King.

Walt.
We shall have done his work to-morrow night,
Or reached our homes in earnest. Is exile's air
More pleasant than the native breath of Bretagne,
That with such leaden aspect you revolve
What sounds to me most welcome?

Eli.
Am I a dog,
To be chastised by this capricious hand,
And when he wants to tar me on his foe,
Straight whistled home—good dog!—stroked, and set on?
Let the Picards come!

Walt.
Nay, what you will, I care not;
Only I've some compunctious prickings here,—
Whisper like loyalty and patriotism;—
You're the best judge of that. But sure you harbour
Some terrors for your wife.

Eli.
News of the siege!
How do the enemy muster?

Walt.
At the least
Six times our number.

Eli.
D'ye shrink?

Walt.
My lord!

Eli.
What now?
Or any of the number?

Walt.
None, my lord;
We are not used to the word.

Eli.
Oh, your word's conscience!

[Exit.
Walt.
Conscience my word! What ails him; he seems bent
On stopping here. Most strange! He has lost of late
His old sobriety,—speaks, like a 'larum,
By starts,—none knows what next. Do I shrink? 'Sdeath!

[Exit.