| ACT III. SCENE II. A Council Chamber in the Castle of Carduel. Broad windows (CR) opening on to the ramparts. A curtained door (L). Arthur, Gawain, Cador. Arthur paces up and down, then looks out of the window. Gawain and Cador exchange glances. Presently Arthur comes back to table. |
|
| Arthur |
Truly, our time gives us but little ease, And scarce a space wherein to rest our limbs: No sooner have we slipped our wearied arms From their hacked harness than the trumpet breeds Another discord. Again, and yet again! They hunt us hard, these senseless, savage hordes Who waste their lives indifferent on our spears — And yet return new-hearted to their task. Where shall we soil — |
| Gawain |
Sire? |
| Arthur |
Where shall we be bayed? We shall soon lack the strength to meet our foes In the full field. Then shall we need to lurk Behind our walls or in the forest deeps. Then discontent, long drugged with victory, Will wake again. Our lovers will fall off, And all who nourish malice in their hearts Be quick and active. |
| Gawain |
There are none. |
| Arthur |
Gawain, Thou knowest well that there are many here Who love me not. The bondage of our fears And common ills hold many in my train. Let but success once turn her face from me, And then the substance of this state is gone, Its shape dissolved, and all its elements Content to snatch existence as they can. |
| Gawain |
You do not trust us? |
| Arthur |
Nay, I do, Gawain. I know thy nature; thine, good Cornwall, too, And many others: but I know the mass No less than you. No matter, let us turn To present measures. Thou art sure, Gawain, Of these advices? |
| Gawain |
Sire, there is no doubt The Picts are up, have crossed the Linnuis And march on us. Also the messengers Bring word the Angles are renewed and helped From out their coasts. |
| Arthur |
God! Is there no end To their resources? Let me think. The Picts Will prey and ravage: thus at Arthuret We may withstand them. Tell me now, Gawain: What forces have we? |
| Gawain |
Here? Geraint, alone, And his own levies. |
| Arthur |
They are now at hand? |
| Gawain |
An hour will find them. |
| Arthur |
They shall lead the van. The men of Cornwall? |
| Cador |
I shall need three days. |
| Arthur |
So much? |
| Cador |
Thy pardon, Sire, I had not thought That this occasion could have grown so swift. My men were weary with long services, And well deserved a little space of ease. If there be blame, I trust it may be mine. |
| Arthur |
Three days, Gawain. Send word unto Owain, To gather up the forces of North Wales. Send a swift summons to our own estate, Our personal adherents and all knights Who owe us service. |
| Gawain |
I will go. |
| Arthur |
No, stay. What think you, lords, shall we encounter first The painted men, or bend our courses straight Against the Angle? |
| Gawain |
Gainst the Picts, say I. They have a foothold in the northern lands, And ever hang upon our outer march, Primed for eruption. |
| Cador |
But the Anglian hosts Are numerous, well armed and grimly wrought. The Scots and Picts are but fierce savages Whose wild invasion has no cause or aim, But bloody instinct bids them burn and slay Like a disease. These we can cure in time, But the white Angles have a dangerous end; They mean our conquest and have interest in Our whole destruction. |
| Arthur |
True; and more, the force We have at Chester should make sure the pass Of Arthuret. Therefore, let us go Against the Angles. Go, Gawain, and raise Our utmost forces. I would march from here Within five days — |
| Exit Geraint. |
|
| Arthur |
O! I am tired, Cador. (Goes to the window.) I front the menace of this age alone. |
| Cador |
I serve you still. |
| Arthur |
Nay, I mean not that. You hear the murmur of my court below? |
| Cador |
I hear it. |
| Arthur |
Strange they cannot realise How close we lie to very bitter days. We can see far. |
| Cador |
The tower is high. |
| Arthur |
The woods Are deep in shadow. Clouds and ever clouds Lie on the rim that circles us. How long Before the storm burst? All my life is cloud, And I am like a shadow in a mist. The constant greyness rots my very heart And leaves me faithless. I have built my schemes Higher than this, and still I cannot see For clouds. |
| Cador |
Nay, Sire, this poor despondency Befits you not. |
| Arthur |
Eight battles have I won; Two fortresses; but I have lost as much In confidence. For there's a change, Cador, In quality, I cannot understand, Amongst my people. |
| Cador |
I am still the same. |
| Arthur |
I think you are; but we are growing old. The phantom outposts of a vanished world, The weary servants of a state long dead — Such are we. Time outstrides our slender use, And I have only striven for an end To find it worthless. God must have some plan Which we in faith most diligently baulk. |
| Cador |
What can I say? |
| Arthur |
Some comfort. No! More truth Lives in your silence than a wealth of words. |
| Cador |
(Laughs, and is silent for a time.) You look too far. As like as not this realm Is doomed! |
| Arthur |
I think so. |
| Cador |
Let it be. The end Is no great matter; it provides a phase Of pleasant action and sweet enterprise: If we are old, this ominous strange hour Should give us pleasure: we can round our lives With a fine end. Man lives too easily: His birth concerns him not; his youth Is spent in learning; often all his life Is waste incarnate. Therefore he is glad To make his end a picture and a grace He lacked before; so we'll end worthily And drag the mass in spite of them to act, Make cowards heroes, common men high souls: Thus shall we do more service to the world Than conquerors — |
| Arthur |
High speech! |
| Cador |
My King, be strong! |
| Arthur |
The stamped fire smoulders, and oppression fails To quench its ardency. I'll stand. I will persist: our breed's too hot to end! No more exalting: common measures now! We must make sure these Saxons gain no ground. After Mount Badon we did press them hard, And by our swiftness had the space to foil Their certain purpose. All's to do again! Since we must strike, let it be quick and sure! Therefore, I purpose to detach the best Of all my forces for thine own command To hold these Angles, till I am assured Of the true moment when I may deal well And strongly with them. |
| Cador |
I do understand. |
| Arthur |
Take whom thou wilt, for there's a need in this Of subtle leading. |
| Cador |
I'll take Lanval, then: After Mount Badon he served under me, And I was holpen better than I dared Expect of him. |
| Arthur |
He is a noble knight, Much loved of me. Your commendation proves That we have yet amongst our younger men Something of worth. |
| Cador |
For his nobility And all his virtues, whatsoe'er they are, I do not care. He has an eye for ground, The trick of leading and the qualities Which make a soldier. He may have as well A hundred traits most notable and fair. But virtues never won a battle yet, And noble thoughts are but poor armoury When steel's in question. |
| Arthur |
Cador, enough of this Stale babbling talk. I am now concentrate And set upon the problem of this hour. Trouble me not: I am at chess with fate, And faiths, opinions, personal device May be considered, weighed, but not abused By answering. I have my text and view, My sight of honour. I know well enough, The world is coloured different for each soul, That vice and virtue are convenience, But for the action of my simple self I have rough rules. There is a justice set Which, good or ill, suffices for the time, O'erstep it not! |
| Cador |
Pardon, Sire. |
| Arthur |
Go now, And haste our measures. No, no words, go now. |
| Exit Cador. |
|
| Arthur |
I grow too harsh. O God, I do not dread The chance of battle, favour of the field Strange as it is, so much as the grim fall That one endures by constant savagery. Strife gets a hold upon the growth of man As fire upon a thicket. There will stand But the bare trunks where once a forest swelled; Our leaf and flower will be all consumed, And all our lawns be ash, grey shifting ash. Flame could not bite, was not our herbage rank And dry and sapless? Let it go, the stuff Is better burned. Aye, all our imagery, Our time-worn fashions, fruitless, lush beliefs Shrivel and smoulder to enrich the soil. Still, there are roots — no fire can reach to them; Though we seem bare, our tangled strength remains The base of things. Plain service to the world, Common fulfilment, common life and blunt Plain honour. Off, all foul complexity! And folly reign! (Enter The Queen.) Ah! Guinevere, well met. I need thy presence to divert my thoughts, For I do feel this time looks hungrily Upon us all. But we will now forget Its sullen meaning. |
| Guinevere |
Thou did'st send for me? |
| Arthur |
True, I did so. We meet not often now, For 'twixt the pleasures of a gentle court, And the bare motion of a state at work There is much severance. |
| Guinevere |
Thou hast need of me For other usage than the tale of hours Of solemn counsel, measures, means and ends; At least I trust so, for I have no love For the gross detail of this governance. |
| Arthur |
Why, Guinevere, thou knowest all too well I irk thee not with aught of government; But bid thine eyes look gently on the world And see but fairness. All that's grim and harsh Becomes mine office. Do I use thee ill? |
| Guinevere |
Do I complain? |
| Arthur |
But thou art not so kind As thou wast once. I would not thus intrude Necessity upon thy pleasures' room Were I not driven. But a king's no man, His soul is swallowed in his offices, And though he guides he's but the instrument Of his endeavour. |
| Guinevere |
What is it? |
| Arthur |
We march Once more against our enemies, and thus I am compelled to close our Court again. There'll be no pleasure, feasting, tilt, or joy Within these Halls for many weary days. The age grows angry, and our climate turns To bitter autumn. |
| Guinevere |
If it must be so I shall not care. |
| Arthur |
So should every Queen Accept such knowledge. I am heartened now To front the worst our sullen fortune brings: Let us forget it. I have troubled thee With terms thou hatest; I'll do so no more, But turn myself into the gentle world Wherein thou livest. I will try to think Of pleasant phrases. In my mind break lance, Hunt in the forest, fly my hawks abroad, Assume the manner of steel sweetly hid In silk and samite. Will it please thee, sweet? |
| Guinevere |
How can I tell? |
| Arthur |
Nay, come, be kindly now, Forget the shadows that live over us, And be content to welcome the dull beams That glance between them. Tell me, did'st thou see The recent combat? Sir Lanval, I am told, O'erthrew with ease Sir Agravaine, his foe, And might have slain him. |
| Guinevere |
True, I did behold it. |
| Arthur |
He's a worthy knight. It is not often that I grant the field On such a question. Many make their name A cause of battle: hang their honour out As't were a sign to lure some customer To challenge it. Then they grow overbold, Assume a greatness from a lack of trade, And earn a lesson. |
| Guinevere |
Men can gain a cause By other methods than their skill or strength. |
| Arthur |
By what means? |
| Guinevere |
Foul means, Or else enchantment. |
| Arthur |
Nay, thou art unjust, And hast been so since the first day he came Into my court. I know I was at fault In my neglect of his good qualities, And came near losing some sweet services By lack of notice. That is remedied, And it doth shame me that I once forbade Him his advancement. |
| Guinevere |
It will shame thee more To lack discernment, find thy judgment false. |
| Arthur |
I shall not do so. There is none I trust More heartily. Why, I am even now Content to lay the safety of this realm Within his keeping. Cador of Cornwall asks For his assistance: is he too deceived? |
| Guinevere |
And wherefore not; is it the privilege Of kings to be deceived? This man That stands so high in all your estimates Is but a traitor. |
| Arthur |
This is intolerance Mated with folly. |
| Guinevere |
Can I not shew cause For accusation? |
| Arthur |
I will hear it out. |
| Guinevere |
Did not Sir Lanval leave this Court in wrath Two years ago? |
| Arthur |
Have I not said, I know I was at fault? |
| Guinevere |
He left in wrath unmarked Because his merit was unrecognised, Or that the wastage of his life had left Him no subsistence. Since in idle pomps He aped the manner and the shape of kings, Scattered his gold to all that asked of him, So came at last to be impoverished, His fellows' scorn! |
| Arthur |
Then they lacked courtesy To so disdain him. |
| Guinevere |
Beggared, he left the court; Within three months returned with Prince Geraint, Who swore to trace him for some wager made With Agravaine. |
| Arthur |
For the cause, I think, That Agravaine had called him coward, here During his absence. |
| Guinevere |
It may be so, I know That he returned enriched, who had been poor, Within three months: now, aided by Geraint, He climbs to honour, and his falseness masks In easy gifts and prodigal display. |
| Arthur |
This may be foolish but not treasonable. |
| Guinevere |
Whence came this wealth? He will not speak of it, Whither he travelled, how he fared or lived. |
| Arthur |
Is that a treason? Am I king to spy On free men's action; hoard the life and ways Of my own followers as a miser gold? Beyond the measure that our honour needs, And our state's standing, I have nought to do. Let cease this folly. 'Tis not well to cast Such calumny on any knight unless Some proof be present. |
| Guinevere |
But I have a proof. |
| Arthur |
Some dull suspicion born of prejudice. |
| Guinevere |
Not so, great King, but just that evidence Of nature's turning that will bring thee grief. Out of the shadow of suspected aims I would have woven some sufficient tale, Whereby the guilty might find punishment, And thine own soul remain unwrung by shame. But I have lost the counsel of thy heart, And lack thy kindness, even thy belief. |
| Arthur |
Nay, Guinevere, my fashion has not changed. If I am short, I pray thee, pardon me. The iron savour of these days is foul And clogs the palate. I stand like a hart, Bayed by such dangers and so many forms, I cannot watch them. Am I harsh? Forgive! But I would not that thou shouldst mingle with Such bitter business. |
| Guinevere |
I would not, my lord, Were I not hungry for thine honour's sake, Which I see threatened. |
| Arthur |
Thou? |
| Guinevere |
'Tis true. But one hour since I bade Sir Lanval come Into my presence. I did then intend To plead with him, since he had won the life Of his opponent. He had power and right Over his person. |
| Arthur |
That was not well done. These questions lie 'twixt men, and men alone, And ye the watchers have no part in them. I do not grant the right of the closed field To make a plaything. |
| Guinevere |
Sire, I found Lynette, One of my maidens, loved Sir Agravaine, And was so moved by pity to this course. |
| Arthur |
There was no need to fear so ill an end. |
| Guinevere |
I could not know, I liked Sir Lanval not, And thought him cruel. |
| Arthur |
Did he refuse thee? |
| Guinevere |
Nay. |
| Arthur |
Then be content: there's naught of harm in this. |
| Guinevere |
But after that I spoke with him alone. |
| Arthur |
And what of that? |
| Guinevere |
Canst not guess th' offence? Must I be forced to put my shame in words? Sire, thou dost know the baseness that's in man, And how success can feed his soul with flame, Until the fever of his arrogance Inflames his senses, and destroys restraint In all his nature. |
| Arthur |
In some men, perhaps, But not in this one. Nay, thou wast deceived, I'll not believe. |
| Guinevere |
Can I say nothing, then, With truth in it? |
| Arthur |
I cannot so believe. It is too easy in the air of Courts, When silken speech takes precedence of truth, And the world swings in a vain round of ease, To find lust hidden in most common words. Ye women live in a thick air of dreams, In talk of love, light music of the same, Until the thoughts become so bound by it They cannot wander. |
| Guinevere |
Yet thou wilt not believe Men grow infected? |
| Arthur |
All folly's possible, But I have trusted and will not believe A knight of mine can fail in fealty. |
| Enter Gawain. |
|
| Gawain |
Thy pardon, sire, I have sent forth the call To bid our forces gather with all speed; Also fresh news from Persant in the north. |
| Arthur |
What now, Gawain? |
| Gawain |
The Angles march in strength. |
| Arthur |
Whither? |
| Gawain |
Toward the wood of Celyddon. |
| Arthur |
'Tis not unlikely. Bid all haste, Gawain; Within five days we set our standards up, And if it be they seek the forest ways, We shall not fail them. Let our cause be known So may the fire of our intent take hold, And all the hate that smoulders in our souls Flame to fresh fury. |
| Gawain |
Sire, Sir Lanval waits To speak with thee if thou hast space to hear Of his petition. |
| Arthur |
Let him enter. Go And bid all barons that have love for us Or for their land, call up their vassalage. |
| Exit Gawain and enter Lanval. |
|
| Arthur |
Welcome, Sir Lanval, what would'st thou of me? |
| Lanval |
Permission, sire, to leave this Court at once, To render up my offices and place. |
| Arthur |
At such a time? |
| Lanval |
Sire, I have a quest That I would follow. |
| Arthur |
Strange, could'st thou Not find some leisure in our days of peace For such a purpose? |
| Lanval |
I would not have asked This boon of thee, did not my fealty Demand it of me. All the faith I have Doth urge me to it. |
| Arthur |
'Tis impossible At such an hour. I cannot spare a lance. The tide that threatens our existence Turns to its onset. I am not well pleased That thou, Sir Lanval, should'st ask this of me. |
| Lanval |
Sire, I entreat thee. |
| Arthur |
I will hear no more. Since I have use for thy slight services, The Duke of Cornwall shall have aid of them. Avoid my presence. |
| Exit Lanval. |
|
| Guinevere |
Now wilt thou believe? Nay! 'tis no matter, let all seek my love; Each battle-brute entreat me like a drab. How should mine honour or thine own outweigh One lance's value? Let him, being scorned, Taunt me with praises of his paramour, Swear her handmaidens are more fair than I. What is an insult, or gross laughter's scorn, Beside the merit of a practised sword? The King of Britain, lauded through the world, Must prostitute his honour to the need Of keeping servants. Oh, the shame of it! |
| The Queen breaks down and weeps. |
|
| Arthur |
Come, Guinevere, what need is there of tears? |
| She turns away from him. He walks up and down irresolutely. |
|
| Arthur |
God! How misfortune and ill chance attend My course together. Why should Lanval come And ask this of me? Shame, perchance regret, It may be; yet, the gateway of my faith Was barred so firm with confidence in him, It hardly yields to reason. Oh! I could Be parched with anger, had not life withdrawn All wrath from me and poured into my soul Nothing but sorrow. I am sick to think Of this base happening. (To Guinevere.) Dearest, trust in me: If I have been thus slow to apprehend Thy cause of grief, I will be swift to heal. |
| Guinevere |
Nay, touch me not, for I have lost thy love — For such a loss there is no remedy — And I am lonely, left to be the butt Of scorn and insult. |
| Arthur |
Nay, I have not changed, Come, tell me all, for surely there should be No shame between us. (He sits down by Guinevere.) I can scarce be wroth That men grow mad, with such a fairness close Unto their being. |
| Guinevere |
I did so believe, And had such comfort of the fancied love, Thou might'st have borne me, that I cannot bear The trickery of words that have no truth. |
| Arthur |
Nay, Guinevere — |
| Guinevere |
I think thou would'st be kind, But it is better to be honest now. |
| Arthur |
Indeed, I love thee as I ever did. Thou art to me a very favoured isle, Full of sweet shadows and kind silences, Where, by good chance, the sea-chafed mariner May call at times. Alas, that voyages For the grim commerce of disordered life Make me infrequent! |
| Guinevere rises and goes apart. |
|
| Guinevere |
The same farce of words. |
| Arthur rises to follow her. |
|
| Guinevere |
Nay, touch me not, for I will not be gulled By any speech. |
| Arthur |
Come, what is this strange mood? |
| Guinevere |
I do refuse thy love. Now be assured And tell me that denial matters not, And thou dost love a hundred fairer maids Than I. So slow! Thy very lackeys hold That answer at their lips. |
| Arthur turns away. |
|
| Guinevere |
Nay see, my lord, Since love is perished I must use this shame To trick thy quiet to a nobler fire. |
| Arthur |
(Turning to her.) Have I not said that I remain unchanged, The same bewildered servant of thine eyes, As when thy father King Leodegrance First led thee to me? Hast forgotten, sweet, That war and wonder? |
| Guinevere |
And thou lov'st me still? |
| Arthur |
How should I not? |
| He tries draw her to him; she stays him. |
|
| Guinevere |
No, touch me not. |
| Arthur |
How strange! Thou'lt not believe me faithful? |
| Guinevere |
Well, perchance! Yet how can I believe it, give me proof. |
| Arthur |
(eagerly) What proof you will! |
| Guinevere |
Some earnest that this love Looks further than its consummation, and enrings My life. |
| Arthur |
What then? |
| Guinevere |
If protestation's true, Its act is fulness. If our lives are twin, My shame is thine. I come to sanctuary, Hang to the ring of honour and demand More than protection. I have been ashamed, Hunted of clashing, careless, stranger knights, Both sought and scorned. Shall I appeal in vain? The King is justice and my husband's man, Surely, I cannot be denied of both. |
| Arthur |
What would you? |
| Guinevere |
Judgment. Is it not enough That I should love — that one should offer love And thus offend me? Must I bear as well His constant presence, the vile memory Of insolence? |
| Arthur |
(aside) He was of gentle birth, Of good condition, learned in all arts That live with honour, and I have found in him Many sweet gifts and gentle qualities. |
| Guinevere |
And I have none! I am not gentle, sweet, Nor worth a kindness! I was sure thy love Ran not beyond the sating of thine hours Of leisure. Now at least we have this gain: Henceforth we shall not any more pretend, But hold our course apart. (She goes away from him.) |
| Arthur |
(Attempting to restrain.) Nay, Guinevere — |
| Guinevere |
I'll not be handled. If thou must fondle, send For this beloved and foul-speaking knight. Nay, let me speak. Since thou wilt do for me Nothing, since nothing is the very weight Of all my honour, since all ill conceived Against me's nothing, let this nothing be Hereafter our relation. So from this time forth Between us — nothing! (She moves away.) |
| Arthur |
Must it be so? O God! Why will the lust that lurks in living things Afflict men's being. What's the man to me? Stay, Guinevere, I grant thy cause! (Going to door) Gawain! |
| Enter Gawain. |
|
| Arthur |
Arrest Sir Lanval, keep him in thy ward, Then bid Geraint, Owain and Cornwall here. I have a cause which must be tried of them, And swiftly. |
| Gawain |
Sire! |
| Arthur |
Go, bring them here, I say. |
| Arthur sits down sorrowfully. Exit Gawain. |
|
| Guinevere |
My King, I thought thou hadst forgotten me And feigned a love from kindness. |
| Arthur |
An ill thought, And a harsh proving! |
| Guinevere |
We'll forget it. |
| Arthur |
Aye, Perhaps we shall, for time's a thief of thoughts; But it is bitter to be told of deeds That sully knighthood, and to hear of men Of noble bearing fallen into fault. How many souls wilt thou drag down to death Before the end? Me, too, perhaps! |
| Guinevere |
(Flinging her arms round him.) My King! |
| Curtain |