Texts
Guenevere: A Play in Five Acts (Act II) by Stark Young (1906)
(Enter Sir Launcelot at the window.)
LAUNCELOT.
On yesternight to show my love for thee
I tore out of their sockets these iron bones,
Strove with might to show my love.
GUENEVERE.
Ah, my beloved, I have set thee as
A seal upon my heart, as a signet ring
Upon mine heart have I set thee.
But yet, Sir Launcelot, my blood is heavy
With misgiving.
LAUNCELOT.
And mine. I know not wherefore I am racked
With dread. But now I did see black shapes hurtle
Think upon the gust; the wind doth reek
With pests and fevers, rank and rotten fogs
Come from the sloughs. This stinking of the air
Liketh me not. The stars are stubborn, all
This darkness here is much too thick.
GUENEVERE.
'Tis so. But now the moon shined clear, now she
Is gone. The morbid air doth suck up humours
From the glens, a death-sweet perfume that
But half doth please me. The heaven is silent,
And round the world the mantle of the dusk
Cloaks heavily. What noise was that?
LAUNCELOT.
It was the clock at the postern gate that smote.
GUENEVERE.
What hour, didst thou take count?
LAUNCELOT.
Eleven, my lady.
GUENEVERE.
Think you it a lucky hour?
LAUNCELOT.
Nay, I know not, but I –
GUENEVERE.
My lord Sir Launcelot, it was a hapless
Hour that ever we twain met together.
I 'member me the day thou first didst come
To Camelot and the jousts. Ah, we were young –
LAUNCELOT.
And I did lack my sword and would have been shamed
Hadst thou not brought it to me wrapped in thy robe.
GUENEVERE.
And I did see thee fight so strong and seemly.
LAUNCELOT.
And I saw thee, Queen Guenevere, saw thee,
Fairest among all women and all queens.
And then as the rising moon looms like a white
Fire from the world's edge, flaming into heaven,
So burned up love through all my veins.
GUENEVERE.
And as the streams of Araby do nurse
The myrtle flower, and the wind and the rain lead up
Till it bursts with prisoned sweetness, so hath love
Opened my heart. And yet to-night have I
Fears lest no good will come of it.
How often have we made our promises,
Made prayers to the cross that never more we fall
In deadly sin – Alas, Sir Launcelot,
An 'twere not for this earthly taint, thou hadst
Succeeded in the quest.
(The sound of wind and distant thunder without.)
LAUNCELOT.
Yea, madam, I had seen the Sangreal
But for this stain to blot it from mine eyes.
Once I saw a great clearness in a chamber,
And in the midst a silver table held,
Covered with red samite from my sight,
The cup that bore the blessed blood of God,
With many angels singing nigh. And then
The holy vessel of the Sangreal passed,
And the fire smote me in the visage that
I might not see, but only stand, my poor
Eyes hungering, my nostrils filled with the sweet
Savour round. For never did I battle
For God's sake, but only to win worship
Or be better loved of thee.
GUENEVERE.
Many a night--
(Thunder. Guenevere goes to the window.)
GUENEVERE.
The aspect of the heavens groweth perilous.
LAUNCELOT.
How sweet is hearth and fellowship on such
A night. Together –
GUENEVERE.
Aye, frightened children cowering with dread.
Hark to the bellowing elements! Methinks
'Tis all the wrath of the world met here to-night.
Look how the wind heaves darkness past the window!
LAUNCELOT.
Come from the lightning's reach. 'Tis well. What was't?
Many a night, thou saidst?
GUENEVERE.
Many a night, Sir Launcelot, have I
Lain in the castle of silence, when, slowly
Dropping dew-like round the caves of sleep,
Came dreams and separate lives. And then I saw
That other life our younger visions painted.
Ah, one soul liveth many lives, my lord,
During our days' short span. Without this taint
The purity of the court were still unbroke,
And still unmarred were chivalry and worship.
But from our love I fear me there will come
Downfall and woe to many.
LAUNCELOT.
Grieve not thus o'ermuch. Dost not know well
God pardoneth all things sooner than despair?
GUENEVERE.
Methought there must be holiness somehow
When soul drinketh up soul for love. Somehow –
But since it may not be, we needs must grieve
And make but mournful cheer.
LAUNCELOT.
Not so, for all the quest and hoped-for heaven!
Surely God wearies of repentant wretches,
And the prostrate flesh of wailing men cumbers
The path of the world too much already.
Let me stand up till I be dead, I cry,
And if I sin I have eternity
To bide the punishment. I loved thee, thou
Art near me –
GUENEVERE.
Beware! Thou dost o'erleap thyself, as ever
At the moment's heat. Yet I do love thee sure
No whit less that thou canst forget nice counsel
In fond madness. Reason speaks to reason
But unto heart only the heart can speak.
LAUNCELOT.
Heart calleth heart.
GUENEVERE.
But who knows not man's heart is but Fate's tool.
And somewhere in the depths of space our separate
Fates call to each other through the void,
And draw them near.
LAUNCELOT.
Let us not reck of Fate!
GUENEVERE.
And life sweeps by us like a wind of flame,
While we do wait unseeing in the caverns
Of Fate, like blind things in the sea-caves.
LAUNCELOT.
Alas, why looms the shade of Fate thus on thee?
GUENEVERE.
I heard strange stories long ago amid
The leaping shadows of my father's hearth
And sea-howls echoed from the haunted crags,
And oft the dreaded of my Danish forebears,
Wyrd, great goddess of Fate, hath loomed on me,
Hath beckoned out of her marble mist, O Christ,
And I draw on but cannot read her face.
And 'yond her sitteth Darkness in the road.
O God, if Fate be in thy hand, let her
Not come upon me yet!
LAUNCELOT.
Nay, nay, thou art o'erwrought – who knows but I
May drive Fate back from thee with might of love?
Man's will is half his destiny.
GUENEVERE.
She hath loved long the nations of the North,
Sea-king and thane, how if she wait their daughter?
How if e'en now she smote me from the sun?
LAUNCELOT.
Thou'rt rapt!
GUENEVERE.
Lo, at the window there, 'tis she!
LAUNCELOT.
'Tis what?
GUENEVERE.
Wyrd! 'Tis Fate! See you not her face
There in the blackness? Do I not know thy face,
Thou Hell-Queen? Now do I learn its feature!
Spare me, O Christ, Christ may not spare me from thee!
LAUNCELOT.
'Tis frenzy come upon thee!
(Clamour without. Gauntlet strikes door.)
LAUNCELOT.
Nay, Thou'st said it!
(Thunder and wind. Flashes of lightning.)
VOICES.
Ah, traitor knight, we have thee! Come out! Open to us! Ho!
LAUNCELOT.
Madam, is there any armour here that I
May cover my body 'gainst their numbers?
GUENEVERE.
Alas, none, no armour here!
(Knocking and cries again.)
LAUNCELOT.
O God, this shameful cry I may not suffer.
Most noble Christian queen, if I am slain, good night,
And pray for my soul. Know well my kinsmen – they
Will save thee from the fire.
GUENEVERE.
Nay, wit thou well, Sir Launcelot, if thou
Art slain, I will take my death meekly as ever
Did any woman.
(Knocking. Cries. Sir Launcelot gets a bolt from the window. They are battering at the door with a beam.)
LAUNCELOT. Leave your dashing, cowards, and I will set
Open the door.
MORDRED.
As well ye may, traitor, for there be men
Here against all odds.
VOICES.
Eight! Twelve! Score!
GUENEVERE.
Nay, have I not my knights? 'Tis strange they
Stir not at such clamour.
(She opens the door to their chamber.)
LAUNCELOT.
'Tis no matter.
GUENEVERE.
Sir Colgrevaunce! Sir Gareth! Ho! Wake, wake!
They wake not, O God, they wake not,
'Twas the tankard! Oh, treachery!
(Sir Launcelot opens the door wide enough to admit one man. A big knight pushes in. Sir Launcelot fells him with the bolt, draws him in, and fastens the door.)
LAUNCELOT.
Off with his armour, help, madam! Do thou
Dash out the torches here when I am gone.
(Outside there is an astonished silence. Hammering and cries again. Sir Launcelot, now armed, opens the door and rushes into their midst. They fight on the stair and in the corridor. Guenevere has put out the torches. Darkness broken only by flashes of lightning. Mordred rushes terrified into the room, followed by Agravaine, whose helmet is broken off. They are revealed by a flash.)
GUENEVERE.
Ah, God, Sir Mordred!
(He is unbolting the door to the knights' chamber. She snatches the great tankard from the floor and hurls it.)
GUENEVERE.
Coward, have that for thee!
(Lightning. Mordred has escaped. Agravaine lies on the floor.)
GUENEVERE.
Dark! O God, dark! Oh, alas!
Who is it there that draweth nearer me?
Hell, is it thou revisitest me once more
To-night? Nay, it hath armour! Speak!
No armour but a mantle, speak, oh speak!
Thou wilt not speak – I know thee! Oh, oh, oh!
(Enter Sir Launcelot with torch. He places torch in sconce by door.)
LAUNCELOT.
What woe is this? Thy cry hath roused the very
Falcons in the mews.
GUENEVERE.
One touched me in the darkness! I am mad!
'Tis naught. Art thou hurt?
LAUNCELOT.
Nay, but do faint with dealing blows. Calm thee,
Calm thee! Thou shalt not come to harm. Hear
The wind moan!
GUENEVERE.
How if the king knows not what hath befallen?
'Twere fond to think they would not tell him.
But he is just and blind – and yet 'twas Fate
That came but now to my window.
(Footsteps without.)
LAUNCELOT.
Some knight returns to –
(King Arthur stands in the doorway.)
GUENEVERE.
Jesu Mari, it is – !
LAUNCELOT.
On yesternight to show my love for thee
I tore out of their sockets these iron bones,
Strove with might to show my love.
GUENEVERE.
Ah, my beloved, I have set thee as
A seal upon my heart, as a signet ring
Upon mine heart have I set thee.
But yet, Sir Launcelot, my blood is heavy
With misgiving.
LAUNCELOT.
And mine. I know not wherefore I am racked
With dread. But now I did see black shapes hurtle
Think upon the gust; the wind doth reek
With pests and fevers, rank and rotten fogs
Come from the sloughs. This stinking of the air
Liketh me not. The stars are stubborn, all
This darkness here is much too thick.
GUENEVERE.
'Tis so. But now the moon shined clear, now she
Is gone. The morbid air doth suck up humours
From the glens, a death-sweet perfume that
But half doth please me. The heaven is silent,
And round the world the mantle of the dusk
Cloaks heavily. What noise was that?
LAUNCELOT.
It was the clock at the postern gate that smote.
GUENEVERE.
What hour, didst thou take count?
LAUNCELOT.
Eleven, my lady.
GUENEVERE.
Think you it a lucky hour?
LAUNCELOT.
Nay, I know not, but I –
GUENEVERE.
My lord Sir Launcelot, it was a hapless
Hour that ever we twain met together.
I 'member me the day thou first didst come
To Camelot and the jousts. Ah, we were young –
LAUNCELOT.
And I did lack my sword and would have been shamed
Hadst thou not brought it to me wrapped in thy robe.
GUENEVERE.
And I did see thee fight so strong and seemly.
LAUNCELOT.
And I saw thee, Queen Guenevere, saw thee,
Fairest among all women and all queens.
And then as the rising moon looms like a white
Fire from the world's edge, flaming into heaven,
So burned up love through all my veins.
GUENEVERE.
And as the streams of Araby do nurse
The myrtle flower, and the wind and the rain lead up
Till it bursts with prisoned sweetness, so hath love
Opened my heart. And yet to-night have I
Fears lest no good will come of it.
How often have we made our promises,
Made prayers to the cross that never more we fall
In deadly sin – Alas, Sir Launcelot,
An 'twere not for this earthly taint, thou hadst
Succeeded in the quest.
(The sound of wind and distant thunder without.)
LAUNCELOT.
Yea, madam, I had seen the Sangreal
But for this stain to blot it from mine eyes.
Once I saw a great clearness in a chamber,
And in the midst a silver table held,
Covered with red samite from my sight,
The cup that bore the blessed blood of God,
With many angels singing nigh. And then
The holy vessel of the Sangreal passed,
And the fire smote me in the visage that
I might not see, but only stand, my poor
Eyes hungering, my nostrils filled with the sweet
Savour round. For never did I battle
For God's sake, but only to win worship
Or be better loved of thee.
GUENEVERE.
Many a night--
(Thunder. Guenevere goes to the window.)
GUENEVERE.
The aspect of the heavens groweth perilous.
LAUNCELOT.
How sweet is hearth and fellowship on such
A night. Together –
GUENEVERE.
Aye, frightened children cowering with dread.
Hark to the bellowing elements! Methinks
'Tis all the wrath of the world met here to-night.
Look how the wind heaves darkness past the window!
LAUNCELOT.
Come from the lightning's reach. 'Tis well. What was't?
Many a night, thou saidst?
GUENEVERE.
Many a night, Sir Launcelot, have I
Lain in the castle of silence, when, slowly
Dropping dew-like round the caves of sleep,
Came dreams and separate lives. And then I saw
That other life our younger visions painted.
Ah, one soul liveth many lives, my lord,
During our days' short span. Without this taint
The purity of the court were still unbroke,
And still unmarred were chivalry and worship.
But from our love I fear me there will come
Downfall and woe to many.
LAUNCELOT.
Grieve not thus o'ermuch. Dost not know well
God pardoneth all things sooner than despair?
GUENEVERE.
Methought there must be holiness somehow
When soul drinketh up soul for love. Somehow –
But since it may not be, we needs must grieve
And make but mournful cheer.
LAUNCELOT.
Not so, for all the quest and hoped-for heaven!
Surely God wearies of repentant wretches,
And the prostrate flesh of wailing men cumbers
The path of the world too much already.
Let me stand up till I be dead, I cry,
And if I sin I have eternity
To bide the punishment. I loved thee, thou
Art near me –
GUENEVERE.
Beware! Thou dost o'erleap thyself, as ever
At the moment's heat. Yet I do love thee sure
No whit less that thou canst forget nice counsel
In fond madness. Reason speaks to reason
But unto heart only the heart can speak.
LAUNCELOT.
Heart calleth heart.
GUENEVERE.
But who knows not man's heart is but Fate's tool.
And somewhere in the depths of space our separate
Fates call to each other through the void,
And draw them near.
LAUNCELOT.
Let us not reck of Fate!
GUENEVERE.
And life sweeps by us like a wind of flame,
While we do wait unseeing in the caverns
Of Fate, like blind things in the sea-caves.
LAUNCELOT.
Alas, why looms the shade of Fate thus on thee?
GUENEVERE.
I heard strange stories long ago amid
The leaping shadows of my father's hearth
And sea-howls echoed from the haunted crags,
And oft the dreaded of my Danish forebears,
Wyrd, great goddess of Fate, hath loomed on me,
Hath beckoned out of her marble mist, O Christ,
And I draw on but cannot read her face.
And 'yond her sitteth Darkness in the road.
O God, if Fate be in thy hand, let her
Not come upon me yet!
LAUNCELOT.
Nay, nay, thou art o'erwrought – who knows but I
May drive Fate back from thee with might of love?
Man's will is half his destiny.
GUENEVERE.
She hath loved long the nations of the North,
Sea-king and thane, how if she wait their daughter?
How if e'en now she smote me from the sun?
LAUNCELOT.
Thou'rt rapt!
GUENEVERE.
Lo, at the window there, 'tis she!
LAUNCELOT.
'Tis what?
GUENEVERE.
Wyrd! 'Tis Fate! See you not her face
There in the blackness? Do I not know thy face,
Thou Hell-Queen? Now do I learn its feature!
Spare me, O Christ, Christ may not spare me from thee!
LAUNCELOT.
'Tis frenzy come upon thee!
(Clamour without. Gauntlet strikes door.)
LAUNCELOT.
Nay, Thou'st said it!
(Thunder and wind. Flashes of lightning.)
VOICES.
Ah, traitor knight, we have thee! Come out! Open to us! Ho!
LAUNCELOT.
Madam, is there any armour here that I
May cover my body 'gainst their numbers?
GUENEVERE.
Alas, none, no armour here!
(Knocking and cries again.)
LAUNCELOT.
O God, this shameful cry I may not suffer.
Most noble Christian queen, if I am slain, good night,
And pray for my soul. Know well my kinsmen – they
Will save thee from the fire.
GUENEVERE.
Nay, wit thou well, Sir Launcelot, if thou
Art slain, I will take my death meekly as ever
Did any woman.
(Knocking. Cries. Sir Launcelot gets a bolt from the window. They are battering at the door with a beam.)
LAUNCELOT. Leave your dashing, cowards, and I will set
Open the door.
MORDRED.
As well ye may, traitor, for there be men
Here against all odds.
VOICES.
Eight! Twelve! Score!
GUENEVERE.
Nay, have I not my knights? 'Tis strange they
Stir not at such clamour.
(She opens the door to their chamber.)
LAUNCELOT.
'Tis no matter.
GUENEVERE.
Sir Colgrevaunce! Sir Gareth! Ho! Wake, wake!
They wake not, O God, they wake not,
'Twas the tankard! Oh, treachery!
(Sir Launcelot opens the door wide enough to admit one man. A big knight pushes in. Sir Launcelot fells him with the bolt, draws him in, and fastens the door.)
LAUNCELOT.
Off with his armour, help, madam! Do thou
Dash out the torches here when I am gone.
(Outside there is an astonished silence. Hammering and cries again. Sir Launcelot, now armed, opens the door and rushes into their midst. They fight on the stair and in the corridor. Guenevere has put out the torches. Darkness broken only by flashes of lightning. Mordred rushes terrified into the room, followed by Agravaine, whose helmet is broken off. They are revealed by a flash.)
GUENEVERE.
Ah, God, Sir Mordred!
(He is unbolting the door to the knights' chamber. She snatches the great tankard from the floor and hurls it.)
GUENEVERE.
Coward, have that for thee!
(Lightning. Mordred has escaped. Agravaine lies on the floor.)
GUENEVERE.
Dark! O God, dark! Oh, alas!
Who is it there that draweth nearer me?
Hell, is it thou revisitest me once more
To-night? Nay, it hath armour! Speak!
No armour but a mantle, speak, oh speak!
Thou wilt not speak – I know thee! Oh, oh, oh!
(Enter Sir Launcelot with torch. He places torch in sconce by door.)
LAUNCELOT.
What woe is this? Thy cry hath roused the very
Falcons in the mews.
GUENEVERE.
One touched me in the darkness! I am mad!
'Tis naught. Art thou hurt?
LAUNCELOT.
Nay, but do faint with dealing blows. Calm thee,
Calm thee! Thou shalt not come to harm. Hear
The wind moan!
GUENEVERE.
How if the king knows not what hath befallen?
'Twere fond to think they would not tell him.
But he is just and blind – and yet 'twas Fate
That came but now to my window.
(Footsteps without.)
LAUNCELOT.
Some knight returns to –
(King Arthur stands in the doorway.)
GUENEVERE.
Jesu Mari, it is – !
