SCENE I. Camelot. The great hall of the castle. Sir Tor, Sir Ector, Sir Pelleas, Sir Breuse, and other Knights.
Sir Pelleas.
Now drain a beaker to Lord Arthur's love
And England's queen that shall be, on a day;
The fairest mistress and most worshipful
Betwixt the borders of the Scottish king
And grim Tintagail by the southern sea.
The Lady Guenever!
Omnes.
Hail, Guenever!
Sir Breuse.
Forget not Launcelot! Come, good my lords,
And drink oblivion to Launcelot
Lest he rebel. 'Twere safer for the State.
Sir Tor.
Missay him not. As any loyal knight
He yields before the king, not stretches forth
A hungry hand to grasp the thing he gave.
Sir Breuse.
A noble knight! yet may the gift return
For very liking; he will scorn it not.
Sir Pelleas.
Out on thy lewd and bawdy tongue, Sir Breuse,
That dares missay a maid with scurrile japes;
Thou art forsworn, thou false, felonious knight!
Sir Breuse.
Meseems I hear the voice of Launcelot,
But by the Ma**, I look not on his visage;
Yet is he champion of Guenever
By right of earliest holding, and I crave
His pardon that I mocked his paramour.
Sir Pelleas.
That word against thy teeth, thou lying knave!
Sir Breuse.
How now, 'tis not Sir Launcelot that speaks,
But Pelleas? Why, thou most orgulous boy,
Art thou then of the blest? This makes amaze
Fall heavy on me.
Sir Pelleas.
Draw thy cankered sword,
Thou shame of knighthood, for I prove the lie
Upon thy body!
Sir Breuse.
Must I fight with babes?
Strange portents loom in England, when a maid
Forgets to favour men, and for a whim
Is fain of boys and makes them champions.
Sir Pelleas.
Wil't fight or no?
Sir Tor.
Stand back, good Pelleas!
Breuse saunce Pité this overleaps a jest:
Guard thou thy tongue: we brook no calumny
Against a maid.
Sir Ector.
Curb thou thy ba*tard blood
Or thou shalt lose it lightly; we are knights,
Not savage churls, and slander likes us not.
Sir Breuse.
Is any here would have to do with me?
My sword is ready!
Sir Tor.
Worship is not won
For fighting misbegotten savages.
Hold hard thy tongue, or lightly as ye may
Get thee again into thy wilderness.
Sir Breuse.
Fair manners find I in the haughty Court!
Sir Ector.
Thou'lt straitly cope with deeds as well as words,
An' thou dost silence not thy railing speech.
Avoid him, Pelleas, and you, Sir Tor.
Come hither where the air is sweeter; sirs,
What know ye of the rumour in the Court
Touching the deed that Arthur does to-day?
Fame is that some unwonted fortune falls
On England through that King Leodegrance,
We freed of Welsh Rience, but of what temper
The merit is, or how the boon shall come,
Whether of gold or knights or land, none knows
That I have coped with. Wit ye ought of this?
Sir Tor.
Naught save that never ransom matched with his.
Sir Pelleas.
And I o'erheard the seneschal the while
He muttered awsomely: "And I shall see
Our glory grow again; Leodegrance,
By thee comes England's dawn!"
Sir Ector.
'Tis very strange;
A fleeting memory, like fading smoke,
Slips lightly by me of a magic tale
My father told me very long ago
When Arthur was my brother, of a thing
The dead King Uther had whereby the State
Waxed wonderly, until a doleful day
Whereon a king did wrest it from his hold,
The which was England's ruin.
Sir Pelleas.
That, mayhap,
Was Joseph's sword, Excalibur.
Sir Ector.
Not so,
For I remember me the legend well
Of that most holy brand Lord Arthur won
In London at King Uther's burial.
(Enter: Sir Kay.)
Sir Pelleas.
Would well we knew.
Sir Tor.
Look where the seneschal
Comes well besene in honour of the day.
Ask him, Sir Ector.
Sir Ector.
Father, by thy leave
I pray thee tell us of this wondrous thing
King Arthur gainèd of Cameliard,
The which works fame for England.
Sir Kay.
Curb thy zeal,
Nor strive to sound the secrets of the king.
I promise thee he tells ye when the time
Has reached its term, but I can say ye nought,
Nor will for all your asking.
Sir Pelleas.
Fair Sir Kay,
Play not a churlish part, it ill beseems
Thy gentle bearing and so gracious heart.
Tell us, good seneschal.
Sir Kay.
Prevent me not,
Nor vex me with your prying inquiries,
I must attend the king. I tell ye nought.
Sir Pelleas.
And brave and hardy is the reason, sir;
Thou knowest nothing.
Sir Tor.
I'll be sworn of that.
Sir Kay.
How now, ye insolent and saucy knaves,
"Know nothing?" By the Ma**, I know enough
To make your swelling hearts burst through the ribs
For exultation. I know nought forsooth!
Sir Pelleas.
Then go your ways, Sir Kay, unto the king,
And we will tell thee ere a little space
What ransom King Leodegrance did give,
For certes thou art ignorant.
Sir Kay.
I know,
Ye shameless knights!
Sir Pelleas.
Nay, nay, Sir seneschal,
The king has told thee nothing.
Sir Kay.
Aye, he has,
And rounded my old eyes with wonderment. --
But I must to him --Stay! Ye think I boast
Of that I know not -- but I must away,
The king has summoned me.
Sir Tor.
Our high devoir
Unto his lordship, and our humble praise
That he did tell thee nought, wise seneschal.
Sir Kay.
This pa**es bearing! King Leodegrance
Cedes the Round Table for his ransom. Hush,
No word of this to any eager ear
In Camelot. Farewell!
(Exit.)
Sir Pelleas.
In sooth, Sir Kay
Guards well the treasured secret of the king,
Yet I do think he gave us little light.
What boots a table to us?
Sir Ector.
'Tis the same!
I do remember now; the Table Round
That was the pledge of prowess in the field,
The guaranty of valour unexcelled;
But how and why I do remember not.
Sir Pelleas.
Meseems I win small wisdom from thy words,
For to the full they are as tenebrous
And blind of meaning as thy father's speech.
Sir Tor, I count on thee, for thou art merged
In gloomy seas of studious debate.
Read us the riddle!
Sir Tor.
As a mariner
Contending with the rough and burly waves,
Gropes blindly for the rope outflung for aid
Nor grasps it ever, so I clutch in vain
At fleeting phantoms of forgotten things.
The great Round Table of Pendragon, -- aye,
My father told me of its awful worth,
So much I know.
(Enter: above, Merlin.)
Sir Pelleas.
And that is nothing! -- Hail,
Thou fearsome Merlin, I did think thee near,
For on a moment all the hall grew dim
With murky darkness, as a cloud had drawn
Athwart the merry visage of the sun.
We stand at gaze, magician, dumb with doubt,
But thou art come to bring us blessèd ease;
What is the ransom of Leodegrance,
The great Round Table?
Merlin.
What is that to thee?
Where heard ye ought of this?
Sir Pelleas.
Where else, fair sir,
Save at the bubbling mouth of gossip's well,
The prudest seneschal, that strongly swore
He would tell nothing, and then lightly told.
Merlin.
Confide thy secrets to judicious age
That like a withered bawd goes up and down
To hawk her wares along the market-place!
Sir Pelleas.
A truce to mouldy saws; tell us of this!
Merlin.
Since ye do have the half, take ye the whole.
The great Round Table of Pendragon comes,
And so is England armed against the world.
Sir Ector.
That much we know.
Sir Tor.
But not the cause thereof.
Merlin.
When blessèd Joseph came from Palestine
Unto the sacred isle of Avalon,
He brought the awful Sword, Excalibur,
And that most precious Thing, the Holy Grail.
Long time he lay in Avalon, and they
That came with him from looking on the face
Of Jesu Christ, did build a little church
Where stands the solemn pile of Glastonbury,
And daily did the brothers sit at meat
Around the Table.
One by one the Lord
Callèd them to Him, till the latest left,
Alone and watching, heard the welcome voice.
Yet ere he answered he did give the Sword,
The Holy Grail, and this same Table Round,
Unto the king from out whose mighty loins
Sprang great Pendragon's line. A little while
Pendragon guarded well the sacred gift
And England waxed in glory. On a day
He proved unfaithful, and the Holy Grail
Returned to heaven, yet the Sword remained,
And eke the Table. Slowly rolled the years
Until King Uther's father's father reigned,
By whom the Sword was lost. The evil hap
Swept darkening over England; pestilence,
Famine and battle blasted all the land,
Until the king stood in such sorry plight
He gave the Table to Cameliard
For aid and succour 'gainst the paynim kings.
So fell great England's glory, and the shame
That scorched her fields burned out the memory
Of ancient honour.
Glory be to God,
That did withhold His wrath, the Sword is come,
And now the Table once again returns.
The night is broken, and Pendragon's seed
Shall reign, Pendragon, on Pendragon's throne.
For 'round the Table knights invincible,
Seven score and ten, each thronèd in his siege,
Shall round a ring that none shall cope withal.
Sir Pelleas.
And are we chosen?
Sir Ector.
Are we summoned here
To see the founding of the Table Round?
Sir Tor.
Who names the knights to form this wondrous ring,
Who marks the sieges, Merlin?
Merlin.
God Himself!
Whoso shall sit beside the sacred board
Gains double prowess by His sovereign grace.
But none may claim a siege save only he
Whose sword is stainless: who has won renown
In joust and tourney: who can bring the proof
Of some adventure, knightly, worshipful:
And in whose heart the flame of honour burns
Untroubled of the breath of any shame.
So once again the fame of England soars
On beating wings into the farthest height
Of earthly majesty. So God He sends
Unto King Arthur endless victory,
Rimless dominion, and a steadfast crown.
No longer England chafes within the curb
Of fretting seas, but leaps the narrow flood
And wins the world, Pendragon's heritage!
(Exit.)
Sir Ector.
Ye mock us, Merlin!
Sir Pelleas.
He is gone again
And as he came, unmarked of any eye.
How think ye, Tor, did Merlin jest with us,
Or is this wonder rising to its dawn?
Sir Tor.
I doubt me nothing, now King Arthur reigns;
No marvel balks me.
Sir Ector.
Hark, what horns are these,
Didst hear them?
Sir Tor.
Aye, look where Duke Lucas comes
Forspent with haste. What word?
Sir Pelleas.
Lord duke, what word?
(Enter: Duke Lucas.)
Duke Lucas.
Good sirs, I come from looking on a thing
So pa**ing wonderful I lack the heart
To give it forth, for ye will cry me down,
And mock me for a madman.
Sir Tor.
Nay, no whit.
We take thy word, for wonders with the sun
Rise brightning over England on this day.
Sir Pelleas.
Hast thou descried a comet in the noon
Fighting the sun with greater glory?
Sir Ector.
Speak,
Duke Lucas of the Southfolk, nor defraud
Our hungry ears of marvels.
Duke Lucas.
As I rode,
But now to answer to the king, I spied
A little army wonderly arrayed,
And decked with trappings alien to mine eyes.
No banners blew along the morning air,
All blank the shields that swung beside the knights,
But fashionèd of bra** that mocked the sun
With emulating fire. For a space
I halted, dumb with wonder; moving slow
The pageant pa**ed, and in the midst thereof
I saw twelve aged men, most reverend
And grave of countenance: within each hand
A branch of olive spake the peaceful quest,
The which a**uaged my doubt, and so with spur
Unspared I galloped here to Camelot
To warn the castle.
Sir Ector.
Emba**y from Rome!
So far the fame of England's name has fled.
Sir Tor.
Call out the knights! Advise the heedless king
Of this most gracious advent.
(Trumpets without.)
Duke Lucas.
Follow me!
Hark, how the trumpets signal Rome's approach,
Make we what show we may. Come on, Sir knights!
(Trumpets.)
Sir Pelleas.
I know that song: the horns of Camelot
Give England's greeting to Imperial Rome.
Cry royal welcome, knights!
Omnes.
Hail, Rome! All hail!
(Exeunt: leaving Sir Breuse.)
Sir Breuse.
So, like a mob of silly, gaping boys,
The fawning hounds troop off to mouth and stare.
I rest me here and watch; I have her word,
Queen Morgan's word, that I shall wear the crown
That Arthur ravished from the rotting skull
Of Uther. Shall I gain it then to-day?
Ha, Morgan!
(Enter: Morgan le Fay)
Morgan.
Hail, Sir Breuse saunce Pité
How like ye Camelot?
Sir Breuse.
As ba*tards love
The house forbid them by their father's lust.
How else?
Morgan.
Thou art discourteous of speech.
Dost owe me nothing?
Sir Breuse.
No!
Morgan.
How now, thou knave?
I promise thee the crown.
Sir Breuse.
And give it not.
Morgan.
Thou puling child, a crown is hardly won
For asking.
Sir Breuse.
But by taking. Mark the king.
Morgan.
The king? The crown is topling to its fall
From off his vaunting head. Hold thou thy hand
And wait on me; when thou dost see it roll
A trundling circlet to thy shambling feet,
Then grasp it! Thou art king and I am queen.
Sir Breuse.
And Uriens?
Morgan.
Falls with Lord Arthur's crown.
Sir Breuse.
How long must I abide?
Morgan.
Until the king
Has married Guenever, and Launcelot
Makes noble horns sprout on the royal head
To crowd the crown!
Sir Breuse.
And on the word he comes.
Bid him bestir.
(Enter: Sir Launcelot.)
Morgan.
Hail, Launcelot du Lake,
Thou art o'er kind to wait upon the king
That lightly triumphs over thee.
Sir Breuse.
Be sure
He'll not attend thee, knight, in gentle wise
The night thy triumph falls!
Sir Launcelot.
Hark ye, Sir Breuse,
I am not tempered to abide thy words
This day or any when, as slimy snails
Defile a rose, they do befoul the name
Of Lady Guenever. Look to it, sir.
Sir Breuse.
Before to-day I've seen a monkish cowl
Serve as a cloak for cunning lechery,
Nor ducked devotion for the seeing.
Sir Launcelot.
Peace!
Or on the word thou art an unshrived corse.
Sir Breuse.
By God! I lie no longer in the hail
Of ribald railing that King Arthur's Court
Holds high in honour!
Morgan.
Sheathe thine eager sword,
Thou testy brawler, lest it cut the cord
That binds thee to good hap. Sir Launcelot,
Small worship gainest thou of conflict here,
But haply misadventure.
(Exit Morgan and Sir Breuse.)
Sir Launcelot.
Go thy ways,
Thou mock of chivalry, I k** thee not.
(Trumpets. Enter Duke Lucas, Duke Brastias, Sir Tor, Sir Ector, Sir Pelleas, and Knights. With them twelve Amba**adors.)
Duke Lucas.
Upon the stroke comes now great England's king,
Most reverend amba**adors. Be sure
He will of his great gentleness be pleased
To have Rome's message in his royal hands
Before the task that waits him. Stand ye here
Beside the throne.
Sir Tor.
Hark, how the warning call
Of brazen-throated trumpets doth proclaim
His happy coming.
Omnes.
Hail to England's king!
God save King Arthur!
(Enter: King Arthur, with him va**al Kings, Nobles, Knights, and Pages, preceded by Sir Kay. When the King comes before the throne the Amba**adors kneel.)
First Amba**ador.
Hail, most mighty king!
Receive our homage, and of royal grace
Be pleased to listen to the solemn words
Imperial Rome has spoken.
King Arthur.
Who are ye,
Most venerable, that do stay the course
Of England's kign upon this blessèd day?
We give ye royal greeting. Let it serve
Until the high fulfillment of the hour;
Then shall we hark with unabated ear
Unto our cousin, Rome. Go on, my lords.
First Amba**ador.
Stand, England! for our duty may not wait.
King Arthur.
How say ye, may not? Yet perforce it must,
Since we are prompted not to stay our course
For any king in Christendom. Go on.
First Amba**ador.
Bethink thee, England, Rome speaks through our lips,
Disworship unto her is sacrilege.
King Arthur.
We are not wanting in fair courtesy,
Nor would we suffer semblance of the lack.
So be it, sirs. My lords, we crave your grace
The while we wait on these amba**adors.
Now sir, speak on.
(He ascends the throne.)
First Amba**ador.
The mighty emperor,
Lucius, Dictator of the Public Weal
And Sovereign of the World, to England's king
Sends greeting, and commands him by the laws,
The statutes, and decrees that Caesar made,
He that did conquer Britain and was crowned
First Emperor of Rome, that he shall swear
Liege loyalty to him, as they have sworn,
His royal predecessors, out of mind.
Sir Pelleas.
My lords, must we sit silent under this
And hear our king missayed by Roman knaves
Nor lift a sword in answer?
Sir Tor.
By the Ma**,
Thou speakest as a man! My lord, my king,
Have done with this!
Sir Launcelot.
Dismiss the Emba**y!
Omnes.
Down with them!
King Arthur.
Silence! We are crownèd king,
And as a king we listen. Finish, sir.
First Amba**ador.
So runs Rome's high commandment: if ye fail
To render homage unto Caesar, fail
To pay the truage rightly due to him
As sovereign lord of England ---
Duke Brastias.
Stay thy tongue,
Thy life is forfeit if thou sayest more!
King Arthur.
Peace! Are ye knights, or knaves, that dare defy
Our royal will? Say on!
First Amba**ador.
If ye refuse
To bind yourself in va**alage to Rome,
He will forthwith wage such unkindly war
Against your realm, that to the end of time
Ye shall remain a warning to the world
Of that most fearsome chastisement that falls
On such as do deny him. We are done.
Sir Pelleas.
Knights, rally to the king!
Duke Brastias.
Hell seize the churls!
Duke Lucas.
By all the saints of God, we'll prove our king
The peer of any Roman!
Sir Pelleas.
Draw your swords!
King Arthur.
Here to me, spearmen! guard them with your lives
Or yours shall pay the forfeit. Hear me speak!
Am I a king of men, or lawless wolves,
That ye shall dare a**ail amba**adors
With olives in their hands? Strike back your swords!
Sir Launcelot.
They mocked your majesty!
Sir Pelleas.
They did defile
The honour of our kingdom!
King Arthur.
What of that?
We are no wanton, jealous of a name
That bears scant questioning, but England's king,
Raised on an eminence of such estate
That words are gadflies waging silly war
Against a mighty mountain. We will give
Such answer unto Rome as does befit
Our crown and England.
Lord amba**adors,
Ye shall return unscathed unto your king,
"Lucius, Dictator of the Public Weal
And Sovereign of the World." From England's king
Bear ye our greeting; say, "Thus England spake."
The great Round Table of Pendragon's House
Is 'stablishèd to-day. An hundred knights
And fifty, stainless, ignorant of fear,
Shall form a circle none may cope withal.
To-morrow we will wed with Guenever;
Upon the day thereafter we shall go,
With raging armies that shall shake the earth,
To take possession of Imperial Rome,
Whereof we are the king and overlord.
To them that do confess us emperor
We grant abundant pardon, but to him
That doth usurp our throne, and unto them
That dare deny our lordship we shall mete
Such chastisement as doth befit their case.
The audience is ended.
Omnes.
On to Rome!
God save King Arthur! Lead us on to Rome!
Curtain.