| ACT II. SCENE II. THE FOREST. (DAWN.) Geraint is sitting moodily over a dying fire, the men-at-arms are asleep behind him. Only Gyfert is awake. |
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| Geraint |
(to himself) A foul quest this. The world moves on apace. I sicken for the west, and the clean winds; These forests cramp the soul with silences. God, for an empty brown stone-studded space, And the faint seas beyond. Gyfert! |
| Gyfert |
My lord. |
| Geraint |
We'll turn again. We cannot find him here, And there are doings in the world to-day Which claim attention. |
| Gyfert |
We shall find him yet. |
| Geraint |
No doubt. His bones, a cap of steel, some links Of rusted mail, and rotting leather shreds, Foul with decay. Well! if that is the end Of my endeavour, I'll not waste my days In finding it. |
| Gyfert |
And leave it so? |
| Geraint |
How else? I am not glad to prove myself a fool, A butt for fools of my own sort. Enough; I'll never trust my judgment of a man Before my sense again. Rouse up These laggards. |
| Gyfert |
(Pointing to first charcoal-burner.) Prince, what shall we do with this? |
| Geraint |
He came near hanging: without cause, I think; Give him my purse and our protection hence, And if his absence has endangered him With his liege lord, our warrant for his cause. Rouse them. |
| Gyfert |
Up, Beric! up, ye sweltering dogs! Up, you! |
| Charcoal-burner 1 |
My lord, an evil spirit — |
| Gyfert |
(throwing him a purse) Take That dose to cure it. |
| Charcoal-burner 1 |
Good, my lord. |
| Geraint |
No thanks For such bare justice. I did never think To much believe you, but your talk of ghosts And bitter phantoms has persuaded me Enough to leave the forest. |
| A horn in the distance. |
|
| Geraint |
Why, a call! Answer them, Beric, if they sound again. |
| A horn, closer. |
|
| Geraint |
Sound, man! |
| The man-at-arms sounds a call. |
|
| Geraint |
Stand fast, we know not who they are. Loosen your blades. |
| Astamor and the second charcoal-burner appear (C). |
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| Charcoal-burner 2 |
Here, sir, they be — |
| Astamor |
Geraint? |
| Geraint |
Astamor, is it? |
| Astamor |
Surely. |
| Geraint |
Then well met, Sir Astamor. |
| Astamor |
Well met, Geraint, I come Hot-foot to bring you summons to our war. |
| Geraint |
War? |
| Astamor |
Aye, and no small one, in the pagan term. The fire is up. The northmen have come down, And the red Gaul from westward. Work's to hand. You have not found him? |
| Geraint |
No, nor shall I find Aught but the knowledge I was fool to seek. |
| Astamor |
I hoped to hear some better news than this. |
| Geraint |
It's pitiful. Three months of wasted search Prowling in thickets, wandering in groves, Hampered by fools, who blubber and protest That phantoms, vampires, ghosts, and all the brood Of silly spirits haunt this miry wood. |
| Astamor |
I can believe them. |
| Geraint |
I am willing to, Sobeit I get clear of this curst place, All mud and thorn. I tell you, Astamor, I dream of trees, long, endless, endless lines Of bleached foul trunks, and hills so cloaked in leaves They have no shape: but tell me, Astamor, How came this war? |
| Astamor |
In old and usual wise, A messenger from some far fort besieged, A rumour spreading from the common folk, And then appeals, reports, and fearsome signs. Then at the last plain statement of the case, Two towers have fallen on the Clyde, the Gaul Comes inward from the west, is helped By the winged northmen. |
| Geraint |
Is it so! How far Have they pressed on? |
| Astamor |
I know not. They say Caer Rhiddocks ta'en. |
| Geraint |
Then we can waste no time. Gyfert, our harness! Bid them saddle up And tend our horses. We have far to ride. My horse and arms! |
| Confusion and hurry. Gyfert proceeds to arm Geraint while he talks to Astamor. |
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| Astamor |
How is it, Geraint, Lanval has 'scaped you? |
| Geraint |
That I cannot tell. He has not taken ship, that much I know; I found his cloak and campment: then the gods, The fairies or the devils must have seized Upon his body. |
| Astamor |
You give him good scope. |
| Geraint |
I swore I'd rax the whole wide earth for him. Well! circumstance has made me break my pledge. The state a man is born to sets about His life like iron. He may wish and swear His hours to service of his own desires; But circumstance, position, and the rest Of the vain follies of the world rise up And sometime baulk him. I accept this war As recreation, but I shall come back To this pursuit. |
| Astamor |
Too much persistency To spend on such an object. |
| Geraint |
(aside to Gyfert) Closer still; The buckle's slack: — Well, I am not so sure Of its unworth. I do not stake my lands Without some faith: and I still hold myself As shrewd a judge of men as any. Let it be! God sparing me, I'll prove my estimates. |
| The two charcoal-burners wander off. |
|
| Geraint |
Meanwhile, I lose enough to whet my taste For further effort. Are your horses near? |
| Astamor |
Not far. No doubt some of these sullen dogs Did murder him. |
| Geraint |
I thought of hanging them For that suspicion. But they're innocent; I'm sure of it. |
| Astamor |
Well, if you think so — |
| Geraint |
Come! We waste the hours. How far to Carduel? |
| Astamor |
One day's hard riding, though I squandered ten In finding you. |
| Geraint |
To horse, then. |
| Enter first charcoal-burner, running. |
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| Charcoal-burner 1 |
Oh, my lord, A ghost! a spirit! |
| Geraint |
Yet another one? You are prolific. |
| Charcoal-burner 2 |
See, my lord, it comes. |
| Enter Lanval (C}; he stops abruptly on seeing the others, and they look at each other for a moment. |
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| Geraint |
Were I not schooled to madness, I might be Almost astonished. 'Tis the man himself. Welcome, Sir Lanval. |
| Lanval |
Welcome thou, Geraint. |
| Geraint |
(aside) There's the most heartfelt greeting of my life. |
| Astamor |
Welcome, Sir Lanval. |
| Lanval |
Welcome, Astamor. What do ye here? |
| Geraint |
I seek an errant knight, One who stole forth from Carduel its court, Who was too peevish or too proud to ask Aid of his friends. |
| Lanval |
And have you found him? |
| Geraint |
Aye, I think we have. Sir Lanval, 'twas ill done To slink from us in such a fashion. |
| Lanval |
I? Is't I ye seek? |
| Geraint |
Whom else? Think you we spend Our days in this dank brake in search of churls Or madmen who choose this as their retreat? But I'll not blame thee, though I lose three months. Suffice it all ends well. |
| Lanval |
Three months! Is it so long? |
| Geraint |
Hast lost the count of time? |
| Astamor |
He seems half dazed. Hast thou been wounded, man, Or in a sickness? |
| Lanval |
I am well enough. |
| Geraint |
Then the adventure! Come, the whole of it; We'll hear no less! |
| Astamor |
Aye, Lanval, tell it us. |
| Lanval |
What shall I tell you? Ye seem real men, And have the texture of this earth. But I Have touched such dreams and viewed such phantomry, That ye seem but the mist of being. God, How thin and vap'rous is reality! |
| Astamor |
This should be magic. |
| Geraint |
Wait. |
| Lanval |
I mixed My flesh with shadows, and I wrung my soul In impotent dumb conflict with a wraith That was myself. How quickly they can pass — The golden twilights and flushed dawns that turned Never to day. The ringed, wide, brazen lakes Shining in purple-shadowed forestry, And gaunt pale mountains fretted like the teeth Of some sea dragon. Oh, the wealth of it Dies in my mind ere I can find my words. |
| Geraint examines his armour critically. |
|
| Geraint |
Strange speech, indeed. Where have you gotten these New arms? They shame Bernardo's fairest craft. |
| Astamor |
What workmanship! |
| Geraint |
Aye, see this, Astamor. Come, Lanval, tell us. |
| Lanval |
How had I these arms? I had them of the fairest hands. — No more Can I forget so soon. I may not speak. |
| Astamor |
Thou dost but edge our interest — |
| Lanval |
I am In honour bound. |
| Astamor |
But surely we may hear Some outline of the tale. |
| Lanval |
E'en now I speak too much. |
| Geraint |
This is not gentle. |
| Lanval |
No; But still, Geraint, I have been put in bonds For silence. |
| Geraint |
Then thou hast the right of it. A knight may hold his peace if he so please, And a word pledged is better worth than all Our wondering. Keep silence if you will; I'll not regret it. For myself one word — I pledged myself to find you and return To Carduel. |
| Lanval |
And wherefore? |
| Geraint |
I admit My purpose would look fairer if I said, I sought you in pure friendship; but the case Deals more with hate than love. |
| Lanval |
What, then? |
| Geraint |
I swore myself to prove thy worthiness, And staked sufficient value in thy power To make me hot to see it shown. |
| Lanval |
'Twas kind To so uphold me. |
| Geraint |
I'm no flatterer, But even honest with myself at times; So the belief which I have held in you I put at issue. (He hesitates.) |
| Astamor |
Come, be short, Geraint, The sun is high. |
| Geraint |
I so upheld your cause That I have pledged you to the closèd field, And our twin honours are at stake. I claim This service of you. |
| Lanval |
Gladly I accept Such terms of service. |
| Astamor |
We do linger here While war's abroad. |
| Geraint |
I was too hot, perhaps, Thou wilt forgive me that I staked thy life. |
| Lanval |
Geraint, I thank thee; I am heartened now To try another cast with fortune. I am glad To meet occasion that my fate may bring, If I may gather honour. |
| Geraint |
We shall speak More of this later. Now to horse and war. God, how I hate this forest and its peace! I hate all peace and worship only change — Save in man's mind. For we have been becalmed, Lain stript and idle on the burnished sea Of dull existence, but the winds are up; Soon all our lives like labouring cogs shall dance Through trough and ridge of fortune to our port, With every rush of the torn restless waves To sharpen us. Our horses, Gyfert. |
| Geraint and Astamor go to back and call for their horses. |
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| Lanval |
So The stream's in flood, I must plunge into it, And be borne deathward. There are mysteries Which ring our purpose, flex our aims, and drape Our subsequence. But I have seen so much That I am baffled with strange lights. The course Of one unknowing is so simple clean, His quiet pleasure in an end achieved, His certainty of honour and his faith In gentle doings, I knew all of them. But I am meshed in a strange web of dreams, Limed to the thread of thoughts yet unconceived, And faced by Nature, the grim spider form, Who traps and spares not. O God, curse the hour I ever saw her! No, all gods be thanked That led me to it. Better it is to see And be a madman than to keep one's sense And happily be blind. But I am wrecked In all my hopes, for I, like any fool, Stand staked for ever on the motionless High rocks of love. All visions shift and veer, But there's a phantom stands beside my path Both loved and feared. |
| The horses are led on at the back. |
|
| Geraint |
Sound us a rally. |
| The man-at-arms sounds a call. |
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| Lanval |
Life! I think too much. My soul's a sanctuary For every folly: to accomplishment I lend my being. |
| Lanval rises and goes towards Geraint and Astamor. |
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| Charcoal-burner 1 |
Let him not come near. There's some devil gotten into his shape, and such company may be fit for knights, but it's o'er warm for us. |
| Lanval stops at the charcoal-burners, who shrink away from him. |
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| Lanval |
Why, 'tis the same. My old night-fearing friends Still in unease. Well, I do owe you much. Ye were the heralds of those fateful hours, Truly quaint guardians for the gates of night; But ye shall share my fortunes. (Throwing them a purse.) |
| Geraint |
Lanval, come, We've far to ride. |
| Exeunt all except the charcoal-burners. |
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| Charcoal-burner 1 |
Let the purse be, man; it's fairy gold, and turns ashes: aye, and brings ill luck with it. |
| Charcoal-burner 2 |
I would all our ashes were the same solid stuff. |
| Charcoal-burner 1 |
The half is mine. |
| Charcoal-burner 2 |
Nay, friend, ye can still think it's ashes. A very kindly devil it is. Think you they'll lose any more knights? It is a smooth, profitable business. |
| Charcoal-burner 1 |
I came near hanging in it. |
| Charcoal-burner 2 |
Well, I'm thinking I'd risk hanging once a year for this profit. |
| Charcoal-burner 1 |
I'm glad we're clear of 'em. The forest's ours again. Where's our stack. I'll follow you. |
| Charcoal-burner 2 |
Lead you for to-day. I'd rather see your back than show you my own. |
| The 1st charcoal-burner goes off sullenly. |
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| Charcoal-burner 2 |
Sure, some of them might be lost for charity to poor men, and no great harm. At least, the Saints be praised for a fair dawn. |
| Curtain |