The Tragedy of Etarre - Act Two by Rhys Carpenter Lyrics
SCENE: A room in the Castle of ETARRE. Tapestries upon the walls. The late afternoon
sun streams in through a solitary window. Its shaft of light falls full upon ETARRE, who sits
before a loom set in a recess. She is working at a tapestry, now nearly finished. A maid,
AILEEN, attends her.
ETARRE
And one more colour to enrich his crest.
Shall it be scarlet?
AILEEN
Would not blue lie well?
ETARRE
It shall be scarlet. He shall flash and burn
Like dew sun-kindled with a thousand sheens.
Where hangs the scarlet thread?
AILEEN
Here at the wing
From this last dripping stain.
ETARRE
The sun a-mist
On autumn afternoons so stains the world;
A noble colour for a crested plume.
AILEEN
Yet blue were softer.
ETARRE
You are bitten deep
With this sea-madness; in your own blue eyes
Nought's fair that is not blue.
AILEEN
The world's a-drip
With red and crimson, or you like it not.
ETARRE
But, look you, I have reason in my choice,
For red's the fairer colour. There is nought so brave
As scarlet banners or a crimson sky.
AILEEN
For them that like it. But the blue of streams
On summer afternoons 'neath summer skies
Gladdens my heart with deep and pure content.
ETARRE
And one lone spray of hooded red in flower
Cries louder than the murmur of your streams,
The quiet of your skies. They are fancy-poor
Who love not red.
AILEEN
And false of heart
Who love not blue.
[Sings.]
Love came to me in kirtle red,
(Honour's false and Faith is dead);
Came again in kirtle blue
(Honour's fair and Faith is true).
ETARRE
You're quick in mocking me with children's rhyme.
Make me a rhyme to mock this rainbow bird
Whose crest is finished. How he sweeps and flies!
Come, I'll begin it.
[Sings]
On the wind there flies a bird;
He is come from distant shores,
From the dawn's unopened doors
To the western gates unstirred.
In his wingèd flight there run
Colours of the setting sun.
Do you end the song.
AILEEN [singing]
Eyes and lips and sweet desires
Are but feathers for his wings,
Burning love the song he sings;
All thy hope and thought are fires
Giving light unto his eyes;
Life and youth,
Beauty, truth,
Are the strength wherewith he flies.
Snowy breast and golden hair
Are but plumes for him to wear.
He shall sing a summer's day,
Clap his wings, away, away.
ETARRE
Ill caught. You've made your bird too like to Time,
The raven dark who speeds across the world,
And dressed him in fine colours like a daw
Which steals strange ornament.
AILEEN [singing]
Silken raiment wherein dressed
Beauty shimmers half divine,
Glint of jewels, rare and fine,
Are but colours for his crest,
Crimson colours for his wings;
Hark! 'tis love whereof he sings!
Brave and gay, a summer's day,
Ere he flies away, away.
ETARRE
I like it not.
It troubles me with some half-dreamed lament,
An unknown broken promise, I know not
To whom, nor for what purpose, made. Poor bird
Here woven on the loom, thou are maligned!
Thou art pure fancy of mine inmost dreams,
Not touched with these gross images of earth.
Thy colours are imperishable light
Caught from the steadfast sun and held secure.
Thou'lt never fly away, but here remain
To be mine eye's interpreter of joy,
To hang upon my castle walls, and sing
Thy crimson colours in sheer ecstasy.
AILEEN
Ay, let him live in silken thread and woof;
There is a bird which flies from mortal grasp.
Most fair he is, to perch upon our wrist
With flashing colours, and from sunlit throat
Pour forth his flooding heart's high melodies.
In every word you speak, he trills and sings;
In every motion of your hand, he moves
With wings aflutter; in your brightening eyes
He lives triumphant: oh, beware, beware;
Too soon he's gone, and in the dusk and chill
No nightingale shall waken into song.
ETARRE
What mean you? Life and Youth and Happiness?
I have them in sweet surfeit.
AILEEN
And of love?
ETARRE
How many times did I forbid his name
And cast him from my highest battlement?
With subtle track you turn upon my words
And lead me toward that monstrous loathing, hid
In all your thoughts. Shall I not be content
With golden solitude, that I must bind
Love's naked body to my car of dreams?
AILEEN
A maiden's eyes, a maiden's wise,
The open gates of paradise.
ETARRE
What mask of rhyme holds revel in your brain
That you make mock of me?
AILEEN
A loveless fate, and Eden's gate
Is barred with double sword of hate.
ETARRE
Have done! have done!
AILEEN
Flame that burns not, stream that flows not,
Maid that loves not, Eden knows not.
ETARRE
This is an old wives' song, a ragged cloth
With halting stitches sewn in knotted thread,
And you would clothe me with it like a queen!
I am content with life; you'd stir the stream
To waters turbid as the floods in spring.
AILEEN
I pray for love's awakening, to end
This dream that hides its own poor solitude
In deep illusion of a soulless life.
My heart can do no more.
ETARRE
Not more, yet less,
And cease to weary me with hopes and tears.
Your tongue moves ever in the wells of speech
Drawing new wonders to the light of day;
And chief there-mid ther curling snake of love
Winds envious through all your words. Have done.
[MARIS enters.]
AILEEN
And here comes one to guide you in your ways,
To steep your heart in cold indifference,
And marble every living pulse and vein.
MARIS
I pray you, give me a moment's grace, to cross
Your silken fancy with rough thread of care.
I have been troubled with much thought of late;
Our silent halls have heard my pacing step
And stared in dark displeasure, matching frown
Of sullen stone to sullen brow of thought.
ETARRE
Has Care thrown nets within my castle-yard
Or brought us siege? We'll catch him prisoner
And show him forth. Speak on, lay bare his haunt;
Pull down his hiding place and hale him out.
MARIS
Your eyes have seen him, many a day that's past.
He will not be gainsayed, but comes again
With unstilled clamour to our quiet walls.
He carries armour like a knight, has shield,
A spear, a sword, yet will no battle bear;
We drag him out and cast him to the wilds,
Where nature tends him with her healing dew
And dries him with the sunshine and the wind.
ETARRE
Pelleas.
MARIS
The orbed and golden fire of day
With no more steadfast pace in heaven's track
Returns to us: yet one gives light and warmth,
The other is a flame within our fields
That must be quenched.
AILEEN
Flame quenches flame, but sword
Can cut it not.
MARIS
Here's parable enough
To quench the very sun in ignorance
And cloud the light of reason in our brains.
ETARRE
Her idle speech yields up its idle tale:
To all her riddles waits a single key,
A key which I have dropped in blackest moat.
MARIS
You've carved a rune to clear a parable.
Your words are like a flight of wingèd birds
Crossing from sea to sea above my head;
I watch them pass, yet know not where they go.
But as for Pelleas, we'll speak of him;
He has a malady which eats his life
Like rain upon a sword-blade, turning steel
From flash and splendour into edgeless rust;
Deeper and deeper sinks the water-drop
Till all's corroded and the biting teeth
Of slow destruction meet from either side.
And such a sword is worthless unto men,
Fit for quick burial. In short word and brief,
For Pelleas I come, to counsel death.
ETARRE
You'd have me slay him!
AILEEN
Overstepped indeed!
He runs with too great fury.
ETARRE
Shall my name
Be joined with murder's most ignoble rout
And brought to silence?
MARIS
Not in cruelty
I come. There are some souls so weighed with life,
So deep in sorrow, so oppressed with ill,
That death comes like a prison-keeper kind
To strike away the chains of their captivity.
The holy Church's covenant of hell and heaven
Is but a prophecy of that unmeasured dark
Wherein the dead find sustenance and life;
And men in their last hour come down unto the strand
With all earth's hills behind them, and the level sea
Ready for new emprise unknown and unexplored.
Death is the hand that sends them from the shore,
And death the wind that swells within their sails.
And unto them that walk with leaden eyes
Viewless and vacant as the staring blind
Through life's harsh country, weary and despaired,
To them, you call it cruelty and hate
To give them vision of th' eternal sea
Which leads into th' unknown? Oh, be assured
That Mercy, queen of heaven, with backward grasp
Beneath her grey-starred gown holds fast a sword,
And unto some poor souls, in gift of gifts,
Brings not fine balsam, but the edge of death.
ETARRE
What charge is this; am I then merciful?
Did mercy move me through the days and weeks
Of his imprisonment, when he was cast
To sleep among the nettled dungeon-holds
And pray for sunbeams in a lightless pit?
Did mercy move me when with jest and jeer
You dragged him in the dust of horses' hoofs
Or cast him in the sight of beast and bird
To be their mockery? Freedom I sought.
Slaves can be cruel, and I was worse than slave,
Tormented with the thought that I was strong
And he was weak, yet he with all his cries
Made day a nightmare, and within my breast
Dried up the wells of pity. Idle hope
That I should turn against myself, and walk
On paths of mercy!
MARIS
Slay him and be free.
ETARRE
Slay him, and hear the owl at nightfall cry,
And watch the rooks, wind-blown above the towers,
Circle and caw, while all with self-same voice
Say "Murderer?" Slay him, and think the dew
Is born of lamentation, and the wind
Is come on wings funereal and wild
To scream for vengeance from the fiends of hell?
Slay him, you say, and watch the lips of men
Curdle against me, till my frenzied hands
Are clapped above mine ears to hide the sound
Of spoken evil? O unhappy, I,
Laden with unpremeditated wrong
Which will not alter. Oh, unhappy grief!
AILEEN
How changed is your contentment, torn aside
To bare the inner sorrow of unrest.
Oh, leave these false pursuings; be at ease
With woven pictures and imagined scenes
And make not real the dreams of tragedy.
ETARRE
Dreams, dreams, false shadows, phantoms thoughts,
How I am wearied of their flapping wings
Across the twilight of imagined worlds!
There is a change within me of new hours
And other suns; I could be kind or cruel
With unsuspected tenderness and hate.
There's something born within me, great and strange,
A child of impulse, wakened in my veins.
I'll have no more of dreams; come take this loom
And set it forth to other hands. And now
We'll hearken, Maris, to your deathly plaint.
AILEEN
I wish you were not wrought of changeful mood.
But late, you spoke of solitude's content
And wove yourself a golden web of dreams,
And now you're torn it like a tangled fly
Within a spider's mesh that's spun too weak.
ETARRE
Too weak it was; I've torn it with a word.
AILEEN
And with a word rebuilt it many a time.
ETARRE
The spider's dead; he'll weave no more. And now
We'll listen, Maris, to your plea of hate.
MARIS
'Tis not in hate I urge it. Well you know
I bear no hate to mightier knights than I.
ETARRE
And well you know I loathe your Pelleas
And turn all praise of him to darker speech.
MARIS
Still darker speech has gone abroad, to stain
The honour of Etarre and all her knights.
There is a tale now told in other halls,
And false it rings, and yet, alas, is true.
It tells of one lone knight who puts to scorn
Dungeon and steel, a foe who will not fight
Yet always conquers. Men speak hard of you
And call you vampire, sucking might and power
From lovelorn men. If this continues on,
Before the year's end Camelot will hear,
For Arthur's knights ride fast through all this land.
If you would keep untarnished light of fame,
This Pelleas must vanish from the land,
And mouths of men gape empty of ill words.
ETARRE
And if they know I slew him?
MARIS
Not by guile;
By open battle in the sight of men.
ETARRE
And who is there in all this land of mine
To battle with Sir Pelleas?
MARIS
Even I.
For he is fallen from his ancient strength
Till I and he are grown one force in arms.
ETARRE
And if he slay you?
MARIS
Then my cause is lost;
I bear the sorrow.
ETARRE
If he will not fight?
MARIS
We'll give him open choice to fight or die
And love of you will guide him in his choice.
ETARRE
And then he'd slay you! I have seen his spear
Go down the lists and ravish charging steeds
Of their proud burden. I have seen his sword
Shear crest and helm, and leap through buckled steel.
He'd slay you, slay you, and with eager cry
Come throw himself before me, plead for love.
No; other ways there are wherein men die,
And I, the vampire of the strength of men,
Shall know a better counsel.
[A horn is heard.]
Hark, a horn!
Go bring me news. Return with every speed.
[MARIS goes out.]
Look from the window; is there aught to see?
AILEEN
The sinking light of day on field and moor,
A flight of birds, the moving heads of grain,
The leaves ashiver on the trees; nought else.
ETARRE
What meant that horn? Is Pelleas returned
And have my knights brought me but empty words,
Boasting completion of the unfulfilled?
AILEEN
It cannot be. Some other danger calls;
For Pelleas is cast upon the hills
And comes not riding with imperious haste
Of new adventure.
ETARRE
Year and threefold year
Unvisited of danger, I have held
Communion with the change of day and night;
Wrapped in the quiet of a warless land
I have forgotten ravaging and death,
As one who inland dwelling on the hills
Forgets the loud-tongued clamour of the sea
And thinks to measure fierceness of all storms
By that weak wind that plays upon the moor,
Forgetting all the wrack and thund'rous surge
Which sweeps to ruin: on a sudden day
He comes unto the cliffs and hears the sea,
The menace of the waters holding guard
Before the portals of the earth. So I.
And here is war with brazen throat and strong
Come crying at my door, and I have slept.
AILEEN
Here is no tramping of the hoofs of war;
Some messenger on peaceful journey bent
Craves food and shelter, giving in return
The last hot news of joust at Camelot
And feast of Arthur's knights, the noble tales
Of battle unto giant and to dwarf
In magic wood and isle snake-habited;
Fen-dwelling sorcerers and craggy fiends;
The last sad word of knights no more returned;
Court-news and scandal, like a spider's thread
That waves in th' wind, seeking whereon to build.
ETARRE
Whate'er it be, my warders stand at guard
In quick restraint lest any enter in,
And unexpected come, and unannounced.
Where's Maris that he waits so long?
[GAWAINE enters, with helm and shield of PELLEAS.
The visor is down.]
Who's here?
Pelleas? Quick, help me! call for Maris! help!
Help, Balarin and Avran, Erse, and Dane!
Is no one here to help me, none to come?
O treachery outdark'ning all belief!
What! none, not one, -- one man to bring me help?
AILEEN
He dare not so assail you! If he come,
I'll cast myself against him, break his path,
And hamper him till you be fled.
[GAWAINE stands unmoved, leaning upon his shield.]
ETARRE
What! still?
No motion, no advance to pluck me hence?
You're harrier and I the song-bird caught,
And you leave sheathed your claws? What, great of heart,
You dare so come, and offer me, not death, --
No! that's too little for your hungry soul! --
But kindness and a sword that holds its sheath?
You dare so stand before me, raise no hand
To bring me hurt? You dare humility?
O impudence that mocks my woman's strength
And spurns all vengeance, every stroke of sword!
You've slain my knights or caught them with some trick,
You've made me here defenceless to your might,
And now you stand before me dumb and still
And speak no word and raise no awful hand.
AILEEN
Shall I bring aid, go search the battlements,
Call every serf from labour, strip the fields?
He will not dare assail you.
ETARRE
Here abide.
I need not man's assistance; woman's will
And woman's word borrow an unknown strength
When wrong's at issue. Here, in last defence,
You stand on trial, plead a mortal cause
Before an unrelenting judge. Have care
Of every moving word and springing phrase
Lest they o'ertip the balance with false weight.
Much have I found of blame and heavy fault:
A restless spirit walking in the night,
His mantle blown by gust of unseen winds
Across the darkness toward the home of storms
Where stars and sun are hidden; so he moves,
Wild-eyed with some new vision drawn aghast;
And this is he who makes my life a curse,
Pelleas, the knight; for him make your defence!
What! not an outburst of an injured love?
Are not those furnaces of passion stirred
That shone so ruddy in the dark of hate,
That burned upon the hill-tops of abuse
Like beacon fires, those furnaces of love
That once consumed your soul to ashen drift
And made you like a coal that's burnt to th' end?
What! not a word? no, not a single word?
Is all your life's endeavour stricken dumb?
Then hark; for them that will not plead their cause
Judgement is given. You have sinned too much
To keep the water's surface; lead, and more than lead,
Drags at your body, and the stream's quick flood
Closes above you, who are judged and damned.
A thousand ways you've found in your offence:
Your shadow has been dark on all my paths,
A fiery shadow burning grass and herb.
You've eaten out the petals of my life
And strewn my happiness like withered leaves
On autumn walks; you've been the wind and rain
To hold me prisoner beneath my roof
Longing in vain for sunlight and clear skies.
You've sinned too much against me, you have moved
A hundred feet beneath my castle walls
And with huge shoulders shaken keep and tower;
You've caught the lightning on the barren wild
And driven it against me like a hound;
For like the stroke of earthquake underground
Or bolt of errant flame across the night,
So have you shaken me and burned my sight,
So have you cast my life in monstrous ruin
And blackened all the walls of strength and love.
For this you have no penitence, no grief,
But are returned like hawk upon his flight
To seek anew the victim you have struck;
But I am changed to poison-throated snake
With deadly venom poised upon my tongue
And all my body tense in gathered coil;
No harmless serpent of the fens am I,
But an undreamed and deadly throat of pain;
I call you to that sombre house of rest
Wherein all men must while eternally.
I have been bitter; drunken deep in words
I have assailed you; now I speak no more.
Prepare you for your death. I seek my knights.
[GAWAINE raises the bar of his helmet. ETARRE starts aghast.]
GAWAINE
There is no need. I am not Pelleas.
ETARRE
What knight are you? Oh, speak, how came you here?
What dark intent of silence led you in?
What will you of me? Are you rapine's hand
Or stroke of vengeance, war's untimely sword,
Some miracle of quick disaster sprung
From seed unplanted? Speak!
GAWAINE
Gawaine am I,
Knight of King Arthur's Court, of royal kith.
Deception's mask no guiltier purpose hides
Than from your love and anger to extort
A knowledge in each mood of praise of blame
And learn if I win favour for my deed.
ETARRE
What deed? You've slain my knights?
GAWAINE
They are unharmed.
ETARRE
Are they not stricken and not captive bound?
Do men-at-arms still hold their watch and guard?
How came you here? Were all my servants false?
GAWAINE
Smooth words and promise of high recompense,
An oath of loyalty unto your cause,
A servitor of yours that knew my face
In other days and other lands -- no more;
These were enough to gain my entrance here.
Your servants sought to serve you as they could,
Thinking to win new favour through my aid.
Deal not too harshly with them, but on me
Turn all the passion of your fit rebuke.
ETARRE
I have no heart to child a noble knight
Well known in Caerleon's court. But answer me,
This shield so quartered, see, I know it well,
Yon helm with the green plume half caught aside,
These are of Pelleas.
GAWAINE
From him I took them.
ETARRE
You've slain him or made him prisoner?
GAWAINE
Not made him prisoner.
ETARRE
Then slain?
GAWAINE
Yea, slain.
In battle smitten to the final breath.
ETARRE
Dead, Pelleas! Now let the hooded sun
Break forth in splendour, let the golden moors
Proclaim thanksgiving from a thousand flowers!
Oh, I am as the earth, with winter bowed,
Who sudden feels the weight of snow and frost
With one great stroke from his twain shoulders cast,
And leaps unto his feet, and calls for Spring.
For I had taken resolution dread,
And death was all about me, lithe and dark,
To haunt my footsteps and in silent halls
Afflict my purpose with the nightmare forms
Which Horror views with shuddering lidless eyes
Or with fixed stare pursues. Join exultation
And be aroused to song, my silent heart;
We are of much relieved, our troubled days
That were as night's dark pall of mist and cloud,
Are turned to smoke upcurling in the sun,
And vanish in the clear expanse of light.
GAWAINE
Have you no pity, are you carved of stone?
This is unholy so to cry and sing,
To whet rejoicing on the steel of death.
ETARRE
Is it unholy for the wanderer
Through night's black pitfalls and most secret lures
To hail the sunrise with a joyful song,
Knowing he walks securely on his way?
GAWAINE
I could not slay a man with such a wild heart!
ETARRE
It is not I who slew him! Oh, be glad.
Look you, I am most merciful and kind;
You know not all my history of grief,
You know not how he came across my life,
Black thread within the weaving of my joys!
GAWAINE
Noble he was, and glorious in strength.
ETARRE
Whereof I had much cause of bitterness.
We thrust the dwarf aside, spurn him the path;
The giant brings us terror in our knees.
Oh, had he not so noble been, so strong,
So burning on the lips of man and maid,
So high redoubted in all mighty arms,
I would have pitied him, not hated to the last.
GAWAINE
Have you no sorrow now, that he is dead;
Have you no word of praise?
ETARRE
Oh, ask me not;
But unto you who brought me into peace,
All gratefulness of heart, all kindly words.
Be welcome to our halls, and bide with us.
AILEEN
Shall I prepare a chamber for our guest?
ETARRE
With every speed. Let Avran know of this.
GAWAINE
I cannot here abide. My journey calls.
I was on idle mission sent and vain.
I must go hence again in haste.
[AILEEN, at a sign from ETARRE, goes out.]
ETARRE
Oh, stay!
It is unkindness to defeat all thanks
And set true praise at loss; you render base
Her whom your kindness most has cherishèd,
Most nurtured into grateful ways. You spurn
The springing blade of recompense, and flee
Before its growth has quickened into leaf.
GAWAINE
A truer deed, that is not done for gain.
ETARRE
Those purposes were never truly sown
Which no man bides to reap; but like the wind
You've scattered bounty with a careless strength
And run abroad intent on other joys.
The harvest threshers mock with plundered chaff
The wind that sowed and knew not how to reap;
Be more advised and with more human grace
Glean recompense and store the golden grain.
GAWAINE
With how persuasive touch you lull asleep
The serpent-heads of honour. 'Tis too late,
For they have set their fangs within me deep,
And I must go.
ETARRE
For honour? Is it honour
To trample welcome underfoot, and turn
With angry frown from greeting to farewell?
Does honour quarrel with hospitality
And virtue with all kindness?
GAWAINE
Ask my Wish
And learn it does not with my Will accord;
Prove Inclination, and 'twill here abide,
But speak to Duty, Knighthood, Self-resolve,
And they will cry "To horse!" and ride away.
ETARRE
It is Ill-will that plucks you by the sleeve,
A servant in high banquet come to call
His master forth on other needs?
GAWAINE
Ah, no;
For admiration pours me heavy wine
Of looks and words persuasive to the sense.
I pray your pardon if I seem unkind:
There is a vow which bids me hence.
ETARRE
A vow?
Of fasting and of shelterless advance
Through rainy ways and dripping nights a-cold?
GAWAINE
A vow most recent to impatient lips,
To further love's advantage.
ETARRE
Then remain;
Tell me the tale and I with woman's heart
Can find a surer way than quickest wit
Of man's device. Thus shall you hold the vow
And further love's advantage.
GAWAINE
'Twere in vain;
For she is hard of heart and loves him not.
ETARRE
Is he of manner lovable and kind,
In birth accepted and on courtly ways?
GAWAINE
All these he is, noble and great and true.
Knighthood he honours, and the halls of men
Which feel his stately presence. Such an one
Is like a crown upon the head of kings,
Adorning them with beauty. He is strong
As mountain elm or heaven-cresting pine,
Yet in his deeds more gentle than a child
And in his thought as pure.
ETARRE
'Tis you that love.
Could she with such enamoured eyes behold,
The earth would shrink to nothing at her feet
And he would stand alone against the stars,
A hero, crowned with passion, as with light.
In other guise she knows him, be assured,
And finds some deadly fault whose clinging tooth
Tears at his virtues and with venomed drop
Discolours those fair tints wherein he shines.
Can you not say with what quick wrong estranged
She holds him from her?
GAWAINE
By a wilful mood,
A child's unreasoned passion of dislike.
ETARRE
There is an eye more deep than reason set.
False-shadowed forms deceive the fleshly sight,
False words with reason dally, lead astray
The wisest thought; but this is undeceived.
Have you not marked how the untutored wild
With thoughtless vision of pure sense discern
Their friends or enemies in humankind?
And so with woman when she loves or hates.
Ask why the leaf unfolds to April rain
But lies close-hidden from the winds of March.
GAWAINE
Did I not say, "In vain"? My mind forbode
A fruitless mission. Therefore, let me go.
ETARRE
Is this a snare of wisdom curling round
Into unreason? You go forth in vain:
"Therefore," you say, "make haste!" Nay, therefore bide;
If you are so persuaded, that your words
Can never waken love in this Unknown,
This obdurate and loveless Beautiful
Who spurns this knight of yours and will not heed,
Then bide with me, and feast with me, and dream
Of more successful loves, more gracious toils,
More sweet acceptance. You are welcome here,
For you have freed me from a deep distress
Which boded worse disaster, drawing on
With monstrous shapes and dreams of murdered men:
For with my own weak hands and woman's strength,
Goaded by anger, driven by despair
I should have bartered Pelleas with death,
And sold him to the fearful hands of night
To be their captive, gaining in return
From that grim changers'-table quick release
And freedom from the bonds of hate.
GAWAINE
In vain!
Did I not say, "In vain"? -- This murdered knight,
This Pelleas, was noble-souled and great
And women loved him.
ETARRE
Like a strangling noose
He clung about my heart; through pulse and vein
A clogging hatred thickened, and my mouth
Grew dry with anger and unbidden rage.
But tell me why you slew him; not in hate,
For praise you speak; and not in rivalry,
For great you name him.
GAWAINE
'Twas a slanderous tale
Against your beauty and your name. To him
I told it; and in sudden fire he shone
And with his sword and spear proclaimed you true.
ETARRE
Who bade him praise me? let my word and deed
Be their own champion, dress their shields alone
And ride to battle! Was my hate in vain
That he should hound me with remorseless love?
GAWAINE
For you he died.
ETARRE
And I shall bury him
And on his mound set an ungraven stone,
That I may cast him alway from my mind
As life has cast him from her herald's scroll.
But you who from the one have purged his name
Shall never from the other be effaced.
GAWAINE
I pray you let me now depart in peace.
ETARRE
By all the sacred bonds of gratitude
I fetter you and hold you now in thrall.
By courtesy of knighthood, by the grace
Of man to feebler woman, by the strength
Of that great company of Arthur's knights,
By creed of chivalry and law of faith
I conjure you, remain!
GAWAINE
Accursed vow,
What evil have you brought me! Will you come
And cry fulfilment of your darkest word?
For I must bide and to the utmost proof
Display that broken embassy of love
Whose hopes are all in vain!
ETARRE
Like stricken priest
Who sees temptation writ on every wall,
Wide-eyed for sustenance you murmur prayer.
Am I a creature wrought in deadly shape
Of mortal passion, that with quivering fear
You dare not here abide and with me feast
Holding high converse of adventured deed?
You do offend me with ungracious thoughts
And with unworthy shaft suspicion point.
Yet shall you be forgiven with full heart
If you from stern intention draw aside
And turn to kindness. For three nights and days
Let helm and breastplate join with greave and spur
Unstirred in idleness.
GAWAINE
With eager hands
I lay aside the heavy press of mail.
ETARRE
My knights shall swift disarm you. Here remain;
My servants shall attend you.
[She leaves the room.]
GAWAINE
Fatal vow,
For thee I am assailed. How hard of heart,
How cold to pity is that glorious form,
That haunting presence! Yet, what body's grace
Here shone about me! with what subtle charm
Of pleading voice and of unveiled desire
She bade me welcome! Nay, not ice and stone
That lovely breast, though it be white as snow
And like unsullied marble carven out.
O honour, bide with me, unshaken, strong;
O knighthood, watch above me. Deep events
Have wrought me danger. O thrice wretched vow
That makes my path a journey through the dark
And spreads disaster wide on every hand!
CURTAIN
sun streams in through a solitary window. Its shaft of light falls full upon ETARRE, who sits
before a loom set in a recess. She is working at a tapestry, now nearly finished. A maid,
AILEEN, attends her.
ETARRE
And one more colour to enrich his crest.
Shall it be scarlet?
AILEEN
Would not blue lie well?
ETARRE
It shall be scarlet. He shall flash and burn
Like dew sun-kindled with a thousand sheens.
Where hangs the scarlet thread?
AILEEN
Here at the wing
From this last dripping stain.
ETARRE
The sun a-mist
On autumn afternoons so stains the world;
A noble colour for a crested plume.
AILEEN
Yet blue were softer.
ETARRE
You are bitten deep
With this sea-madness; in your own blue eyes
Nought's fair that is not blue.
AILEEN
The world's a-drip
With red and crimson, or you like it not.
ETARRE
But, look you, I have reason in my choice,
For red's the fairer colour. There is nought so brave
As scarlet banners or a crimson sky.
AILEEN
For them that like it. But the blue of streams
On summer afternoons 'neath summer skies
Gladdens my heart with deep and pure content.
ETARRE
And one lone spray of hooded red in flower
Cries louder than the murmur of your streams,
The quiet of your skies. They are fancy-poor
Who love not red.
AILEEN
And false of heart
Who love not blue.
[Sings.]
Love came to me in kirtle red,
(Honour's false and Faith is dead);
Came again in kirtle blue
(Honour's fair and Faith is true).
ETARRE
You're quick in mocking me with children's rhyme.
Make me a rhyme to mock this rainbow bird
Whose crest is finished. How he sweeps and flies!
Come, I'll begin it.
[Sings]
On the wind there flies a bird;
He is come from distant shores,
From the dawn's unopened doors
To the western gates unstirred.
In his wingèd flight there run
Colours of the setting sun.
Do you end the song.
AILEEN [singing]
Eyes and lips and sweet desires
Are but feathers for his wings,
Burning love the song he sings;
All thy hope and thought are fires
Giving light unto his eyes;
Life and youth,
Beauty, truth,
Are the strength wherewith he flies.
Snowy breast and golden hair
Are but plumes for him to wear.
He shall sing a summer's day,
Clap his wings, away, away.
ETARRE
Ill caught. You've made your bird too like to Time,
The raven dark who speeds across the world,
And dressed him in fine colours like a daw
Which steals strange ornament.
AILEEN [singing]
Silken raiment wherein dressed
Beauty shimmers half divine,
Glint of jewels, rare and fine,
Are but colours for his crest,
Crimson colours for his wings;
Hark! 'tis love whereof he sings!
Brave and gay, a summer's day,
Ere he flies away, away.
ETARRE
I like it not.
It troubles me with some half-dreamed lament,
An unknown broken promise, I know not
To whom, nor for what purpose, made. Poor bird
Here woven on the loom, thou are maligned!
Thou art pure fancy of mine inmost dreams,
Not touched with these gross images of earth.
Thy colours are imperishable light
Caught from the steadfast sun and held secure.
Thou'lt never fly away, but here remain
To be mine eye's interpreter of joy,
To hang upon my castle walls, and sing
Thy crimson colours in sheer ecstasy.
AILEEN
Ay, let him live in silken thread and woof;
There is a bird which flies from mortal grasp.
Most fair he is, to perch upon our wrist
With flashing colours, and from sunlit throat
Pour forth his flooding heart's high melodies.
In every word you speak, he trills and sings;
In every motion of your hand, he moves
With wings aflutter; in your brightening eyes
He lives triumphant: oh, beware, beware;
Too soon he's gone, and in the dusk and chill
No nightingale shall waken into song.
ETARRE
What mean you? Life and Youth and Happiness?
I have them in sweet surfeit.
AILEEN
And of love?
ETARRE
How many times did I forbid his name
And cast him from my highest battlement?
With subtle track you turn upon my words
And lead me toward that monstrous loathing, hid
In all your thoughts. Shall I not be content
With golden solitude, that I must bind
Love's naked body to my car of dreams?
AILEEN
A maiden's eyes, a maiden's wise,
The open gates of paradise.
ETARRE
What mask of rhyme holds revel in your brain
That you make mock of me?
AILEEN
A loveless fate, and Eden's gate
Is barred with double sword of hate.
ETARRE
Have done! have done!
AILEEN
Flame that burns not, stream that flows not,
Maid that loves not, Eden knows not.
ETARRE
This is an old wives' song, a ragged cloth
With halting stitches sewn in knotted thread,
And you would clothe me with it like a queen!
I am content with life; you'd stir the stream
To waters turbid as the floods in spring.
AILEEN
I pray for love's awakening, to end
This dream that hides its own poor solitude
In deep illusion of a soulless life.
My heart can do no more.
ETARRE
Not more, yet less,
And cease to weary me with hopes and tears.
Your tongue moves ever in the wells of speech
Drawing new wonders to the light of day;
And chief there-mid ther curling snake of love
Winds envious through all your words. Have done.
[MARIS enters.]
AILEEN
And here comes one to guide you in your ways,
To steep your heart in cold indifference,
And marble every living pulse and vein.
MARIS
I pray you, give me a moment's grace, to cross
Your silken fancy with rough thread of care.
I have been troubled with much thought of late;
Our silent halls have heard my pacing step
And stared in dark displeasure, matching frown
Of sullen stone to sullen brow of thought.
ETARRE
Has Care thrown nets within my castle-yard
Or brought us siege? We'll catch him prisoner
And show him forth. Speak on, lay bare his haunt;
Pull down his hiding place and hale him out.
MARIS
Your eyes have seen him, many a day that's past.
He will not be gainsayed, but comes again
With unstilled clamour to our quiet walls.
He carries armour like a knight, has shield,
A spear, a sword, yet will no battle bear;
We drag him out and cast him to the wilds,
Where nature tends him with her healing dew
And dries him with the sunshine and the wind.
ETARRE
Pelleas.
MARIS
The orbed and golden fire of day
With no more steadfast pace in heaven's track
Returns to us: yet one gives light and warmth,
The other is a flame within our fields
That must be quenched.
AILEEN
Flame quenches flame, but sword
Can cut it not.
MARIS
Here's parable enough
To quench the very sun in ignorance
And cloud the light of reason in our brains.
ETARRE
Her idle speech yields up its idle tale:
To all her riddles waits a single key,
A key which I have dropped in blackest moat.
MARIS
You've carved a rune to clear a parable.
Your words are like a flight of wingèd birds
Crossing from sea to sea above my head;
I watch them pass, yet know not where they go.
But as for Pelleas, we'll speak of him;
He has a malady which eats his life
Like rain upon a sword-blade, turning steel
From flash and splendour into edgeless rust;
Deeper and deeper sinks the water-drop
Till all's corroded and the biting teeth
Of slow destruction meet from either side.
And such a sword is worthless unto men,
Fit for quick burial. In short word and brief,
For Pelleas I come, to counsel death.
ETARRE
You'd have me slay him!
AILEEN
Overstepped indeed!
He runs with too great fury.
ETARRE
Shall my name
Be joined with murder's most ignoble rout
And brought to silence?
MARIS
Not in cruelty
I come. There are some souls so weighed with life,
So deep in sorrow, so oppressed with ill,
That death comes like a prison-keeper kind
To strike away the chains of their captivity.
The holy Church's covenant of hell and heaven
Is but a prophecy of that unmeasured dark
Wherein the dead find sustenance and life;
And men in their last hour come down unto the strand
With all earth's hills behind them, and the level sea
Ready for new emprise unknown and unexplored.
Death is the hand that sends them from the shore,
And death the wind that swells within their sails.
And unto them that walk with leaden eyes
Viewless and vacant as the staring blind
Through life's harsh country, weary and despaired,
To them, you call it cruelty and hate
To give them vision of th' eternal sea
Which leads into th' unknown? Oh, be assured
That Mercy, queen of heaven, with backward grasp
Beneath her grey-starred gown holds fast a sword,
And unto some poor souls, in gift of gifts,
Brings not fine balsam, but the edge of death.
ETARRE
What charge is this; am I then merciful?
Did mercy move me through the days and weeks
Of his imprisonment, when he was cast
To sleep among the nettled dungeon-holds
And pray for sunbeams in a lightless pit?
Did mercy move me when with jest and jeer
You dragged him in the dust of horses' hoofs
Or cast him in the sight of beast and bird
To be their mockery? Freedom I sought.
Slaves can be cruel, and I was worse than slave,
Tormented with the thought that I was strong
And he was weak, yet he with all his cries
Made day a nightmare, and within my breast
Dried up the wells of pity. Idle hope
That I should turn against myself, and walk
On paths of mercy!
MARIS
Slay him and be free.
ETARRE
Slay him, and hear the owl at nightfall cry,
And watch the rooks, wind-blown above the towers,
Circle and caw, while all with self-same voice
Say "Murderer?" Slay him, and think the dew
Is born of lamentation, and the wind
Is come on wings funereal and wild
To scream for vengeance from the fiends of hell?
Slay him, you say, and watch the lips of men
Curdle against me, till my frenzied hands
Are clapped above mine ears to hide the sound
Of spoken evil? O unhappy, I,
Laden with unpremeditated wrong
Which will not alter. Oh, unhappy grief!
AILEEN
How changed is your contentment, torn aside
To bare the inner sorrow of unrest.
Oh, leave these false pursuings; be at ease
With woven pictures and imagined scenes
And make not real the dreams of tragedy.
ETARRE
Dreams, dreams, false shadows, phantoms thoughts,
How I am wearied of their flapping wings
Across the twilight of imagined worlds!
There is a change within me of new hours
And other suns; I could be kind or cruel
With unsuspected tenderness and hate.
There's something born within me, great and strange,
A child of impulse, wakened in my veins.
I'll have no more of dreams; come take this loom
And set it forth to other hands. And now
We'll hearken, Maris, to your deathly plaint.
AILEEN
I wish you were not wrought of changeful mood.
But late, you spoke of solitude's content
And wove yourself a golden web of dreams,
And now you're torn it like a tangled fly
Within a spider's mesh that's spun too weak.
ETARRE
Too weak it was; I've torn it with a word.
AILEEN
And with a word rebuilt it many a time.
ETARRE
The spider's dead; he'll weave no more. And now
We'll listen, Maris, to your plea of hate.
MARIS
'Tis not in hate I urge it. Well you know
I bear no hate to mightier knights than I.
ETARRE
And well you know I loathe your Pelleas
And turn all praise of him to darker speech.
MARIS
Still darker speech has gone abroad, to stain
The honour of Etarre and all her knights.
There is a tale now told in other halls,
And false it rings, and yet, alas, is true.
It tells of one lone knight who puts to scorn
Dungeon and steel, a foe who will not fight
Yet always conquers. Men speak hard of you
And call you vampire, sucking might and power
From lovelorn men. If this continues on,
Before the year's end Camelot will hear,
For Arthur's knights ride fast through all this land.
If you would keep untarnished light of fame,
This Pelleas must vanish from the land,
And mouths of men gape empty of ill words.
ETARRE
And if they know I slew him?
MARIS
Not by guile;
By open battle in the sight of men.
ETARRE
And who is there in all this land of mine
To battle with Sir Pelleas?
MARIS
Even I.
For he is fallen from his ancient strength
Till I and he are grown one force in arms.
ETARRE
And if he slay you?
MARIS
Then my cause is lost;
I bear the sorrow.
ETARRE
If he will not fight?
MARIS
We'll give him open choice to fight or die
And love of you will guide him in his choice.
ETARRE
And then he'd slay you! I have seen his spear
Go down the lists and ravish charging steeds
Of their proud burden. I have seen his sword
Shear crest and helm, and leap through buckled steel.
He'd slay you, slay you, and with eager cry
Come throw himself before me, plead for love.
No; other ways there are wherein men die,
And I, the vampire of the strength of men,
Shall know a better counsel.
[A horn is heard.]
Hark, a horn!
Go bring me news. Return with every speed.
[MARIS goes out.]
Look from the window; is there aught to see?
AILEEN
The sinking light of day on field and moor,
A flight of birds, the moving heads of grain,
The leaves ashiver on the trees; nought else.
ETARRE
What meant that horn? Is Pelleas returned
And have my knights brought me but empty words,
Boasting completion of the unfulfilled?
AILEEN
It cannot be. Some other danger calls;
For Pelleas is cast upon the hills
And comes not riding with imperious haste
Of new adventure.
ETARRE
Year and threefold year
Unvisited of danger, I have held
Communion with the change of day and night;
Wrapped in the quiet of a warless land
I have forgotten ravaging and death,
As one who inland dwelling on the hills
Forgets the loud-tongued clamour of the sea
And thinks to measure fierceness of all storms
By that weak wind that plays upon the moor,
Forgetting all the wrack and thund'rous surge
Which sweeps to ruin: on a sudden day
He comes unto the cliffs and hears the sea,
The menace of the waters holding guard
Before the portals of the earth. So I.
And here is war with brazen throat and strong
Come crying at my door, and I have slept.
AILEEN
Here is no tramping of the hoofs of war;
Some messenger on peaceful journey bent
Craves food and shelter, giving in return
The last hot news of joust at Camelot
And feast of Arthur's knights, the noble tales
Of battle unto giant and to dwarf
In magic wood and isle snake-habited;
Fen-dwelling sorcerers and craggy fiends;
The last sad word of knights no more returned;
Court-news and scandal, like a spider's thread
That waves in th' wind, seeking whereon to build.
ETARRE
Whate'er it be, my warders stand at guard
In quick restraint lest any enter in,
And unexpected come, and unannounced.
Where's Maris that he waits so long?
[GAWAINE enters, with helm and shield of PELLEAS.
The visor is down.]
Who's here?
Pelleas? Quick, help me! call for Maris! help!
Help, Balarin and Avran, Erse, and Dane!
Is no one here to help me, none to come?
O treachery outdark'ning all belief!
What! none, not one, -- one man to bring me help?
AILEEN
He dare not so assail you! If he come,
I'll cast myself against him, break his path,
And hamper him till you be fled.
[GAWAINE stands unmoved, leaning upon his shield.]
ETARRE
What! still?
No motion, no advance to pluck me hence?
You're harrier and I the song-bird caught,
And you leave sheathed your claws? What, great of heart,
You dare so come, and offer me, not death, --
No! that's too little for your hungry soul! --
But kindness and a sword that holds its sheath?
You dare so stand before me, raise no hand
To bring me hurt? You dare humility?
O impudence that mocks my woman's strength
And spurns all vengeance, every stroke of sword!
You've slain my knights or caught them with some trick,
You've made me here defenceless to your might,
And now you stand before me dumb and still
And speak no word and raise no awful hand.
AILEEN
Shall I bring aid, go search the battlements,
Call every serf from labour, strip the fields?
He will not dare assail you.
ETARRE
Here abide.
I need not man's assistance; woman's will
And woman's word borrow an unknown strength
When wrong's at issue. Here, in last defence,
You stand on trial, plead a mortal cause
Before an unrelenting judge. Have care
Of every moving word and springing phrase
Lest they o'ertip the balance with false weight.
Much have I found of blame and heavy fault:
A restless spirit walking in the night,
His mantle blown by gust of unseen winds
Across the darkness toward the home of storms
Where stars and sun are hidden; so he moves,
Wild-eyed with some new vision drawn aghast;
And this is he who makes my life a curse,
Pelleas, the knight; for him make your defence!
What! not an outburst of an injured love?
Are not those furnaces of passion stirred
That shone so ruddy in the dark of hate,
That burned upon the hill-tops of abuse
Like beacon fires, those furnaces of love
That once consumed your soul to ashen drift
And made you like a coal that's burnt to th' end?
What! not a word? no, not a single word?
Is all your life's endeavour stricken dumb?
Then hark; for them that will not plead their cause
Judgement is given. You have sinned too much
To keep the water's surface; lead, and more than lead,
Drags at your body, and the stream's quick flood
Closes above you, who are judged and damned.
A thousand ways you've found in your offence:
Your shadow has been dark on all my paths,
A fiery shadow burning grass and herb.
You've eaten out the petals of my life
And strewn my happiness like withered leaves
On autumn walks; you've been the wind and rain
To hold me prisoner beneath my roof
Longing in vain for sunlight and clear skies.
You've sinned too much against me, you have moved
A hundred feet beneath my castle walls
And with huge shoulders shaken keep and tower;
You've caught the lightning on the barren wild
And driven it against me like a hound;
For like the stroke of earthquake underground
Or bolt of errant flame across the night,
So have you shaken me and burned my sight,
So have you cast my life in monstrous ruin
And blackened all the walls of strength and love.
For this you have no penitence, no grief,
But are returned like hawk upon his flight
To seek anew the victim you have struck;
But I am changed to poison-throated snake
With deadly venom poised upon my tongue
And all my body tense in gathered coil;
No harmless serpent of the fens am I,
But an undreamed and deadly throat of pain;
I call you to that sombre house of rest
Wherein all men must while eternally.
I have been bitter; drunken deep in words
I have assailed you; now I speak no more.
Prepare you for your death. I seek my knights.
[GAWAINE raises the bar of his helmet. ETARRE starts aghast.]
GAWAINE
There is no need. I am not Pelleas.
ETARRE
What knight are you? Oh, speak, how came you here?
What dark intent of silence led you in?
What will you of me? Are you rapine's hand
Or stroke of vengeance, war's untimely sword,
Some miracle of quick disaster sprung
From seed unplanted? Speak!
GAWAINE
Gawaine am I,
Knight of King Arthur's Court, of royal kith.
Deception's mask no guiltier purpose hides
Than from your love and anger to extort
A knowledge in each mood of praise of blame
And learn if I win favour for my deed.
ETARRE
What deed? You've slain my knights?
GAWAINE
They are unharmed.
ETARRE
Are they not stricken and not captive bound?
Do men-at-arms still hold their watch and guard?
How came you here? Were all my servants false?
GAWAINE
Smooth words and promise of high recompense,
An oath of loyalty unto your cause,
A servitor of yours that knew my face
In other days and other lands -- no more;
These were enough to gain my entrance here.
Your servants sought to serve you as they could,
Thinking to win new favour through my aid.
Deal not too harshly with them, but on me
Turn all the passion of your fit rebuke.
ETARRE
I have no heart to child a noble knight
Well known in Caerleon's court. But answer me,
This shield so quartered, see, I know it well,
Yon helm with the green plume half caught aside,
These are of Pelleas.
GAWAINE
From him I took them.
ETARRE
You've slain him or made him prisoner?
GAWAINE
Not made him prisoner.
ETARRE
Then slain?
GAWAINE
Yea, slain.
In battle smitten to the final breath.
ETARRE
Dead, Pelleas! Now let the hooded sun
Break forth in splendour, let the golden moors
Proclaim thanksgiving from a thousand flowers!
Oh, I am as the earth, with winter bowed,
Who sudden feels the weight of snow and frost
With one great stroke from his twain shoulders cast,
And leaps unto his feet, and calls for Spring.
For I had taken resolution dread,
And death was all about me, lithe and dark,
To haunt my footsteps and in silent halls
Afflict my purpose with the nightmare forms
Which Horror views with shuddering lidless eyes
Or with fixed stare pursues. Join exultation
And be aroused to song, my silent heart;
We are of much relieved, our troubled days
That were as night's dark pall of mist and cloud,
Are turned to smoke upcurling in the sun,
And vanish in the clear expanse of light.
GAWAINE
Have you no pity, are you carved of stone?
This is unholy so to cry and sing,
To whet rejoicing on the steel of death.
ETARRE
Is it unholy for the wanderer
Through night's black pitfalls and most secret lures
To hail the sunrise with a joyful song,
Knowing he walks securely on his way?
GAWAINE
I could not slay a man with such a wild heart!
ETARRE
It is not I who slew him! Oh, be glad.
Look you, I am most merciful and kind;
You know not all my history of grief,
You know not how he came across my life,
Black thread within the weaving of my joys!
GAWAINE
Noble he was, and glorious in strength.
ETARRE
Whereof I had much cause of bitterness.
We thrust the dwarf aside, spurn him the path;
The giant brings us terror in our knees.
Oh, had he not so noble been, so strong,
So burning on the lips of man and maid,
So high redoubted in all mighty arms,
I would have pitied him, not hated to the last.
GAWAINE
Have you no sorrow now, that he is dead;
Have you no word of praise?
ETARRE
Oh, ask me not;
But unto you who brought me into peace,
All gratefulness of heart, all kindly words.
Be welcome to our halls, and bide with us.
AILEEN
Shall I prepare a chamber for our guest?
ETARRE
With every speed. Let Avran know of this.
GAWAINE
I cannot here abide. My journey calls.
I was on idle mission sent and vain.
I must go hence again in haste.
[AILEEN, at a sign from ETARRE, goes out.]
ETARRE
Oh, stay!
It is unkindness to defeat all thanks
And set true praise at loss; you render base
Her whom your kindness most has cherishèd,
Most nurtured into grateful ways. You spurn
The springing blade of recompense, and flee
Before its growth has quickened into leaf.
GAWAINE
A truer deed, that is not done for gain.
ETARRE
Those purposes were never truly sown
Which no man bides to reap; but like the wind
You've scattered bounty with a careless strength
And run abroad intent on other joys.
The harvest threshers mock with plundered chaff
The wind that sowed and knew not how to reap;
Be more advised and with more human grace
Glean recompense and store the golden grain.
GAWAINE
With how persuasive touch you lull asleep
The serpent-heads of honour. 'Tis too late,
For they have set their fangs within me deep,
And I must go.
ETARRE
For honour? Is it honour
To trample welcome underfoot, and turn
With angry frown from greeting to farewell?
Does honour quarrel with hospitality
And virtue with all kindness?
GAWAINE
Ask my Wish
And learn it does not with my Will accord;
Prove Inclination, and 'twill here abide,
But speak to Duty, Knighthood, Self-resolve,
And they will cry "To horse!" and ride away.
ETARRE
It is Ill-will that plucks you by the sleeve,
A servant in high banquet come to call
His master forth on other needs?
GAWAINE
Ah, no;
For admiration pours me heavy wine
Of looks and words persuasive to the sense.
I pray your pardon if I seem unkind:
There is a vow which bids me hence.
ETARRE
A vow?
Of fasting and of shelterless advance
Through rainy ways and dripping nights a-cold?
GAWAINE
A vow most recent to impatient lips,
To further love's advantage.
ETARRE
Then remain;
Tell me the tale and I with woman's heart
Can find a surer way than quickest wit
Of man's device. Thus shall you hold the vow
And further love's advantage.
GAWAINE
'Twere in vain;
For she is hard of heart and loves him not.
ETARRE
Is he of manner lovable and kind,
In birth accepted and on courtly ways?
GAWAINE
All these he is, noble and great and true.
Knighthood he honours, and the halls of men
Which feel his stately presence. Such an one
Is like a crown upon the head of kings,
Adorning them with beauty. He is strong
As mountain elm or heaven-cresting pine,
Yet in his deeds more gentle than a child
And in his thought as pure.
ETARRE
'Tis you that love.
Could she with such enamoured eyes behold,
The earth would shrink to nothing at her feet
And he would stand alone against the stars,
A hero, crowned with passion, as with light.
In other guise she knows him, be assured,
And finds some deadly fault whose clinging tooth
Tears at his virtues and with venomed drop
Discolours those fair tints wherein he shines.
Can you not say with what quick wrong estranged
She holds him from her?
GAWAINE
By a wilful mood,
A child's unreasoned passion of dislike.
ETARRE
There is an eye more deep than reason set.
False-shadowed forms deceive the fleshly sight,
False words with reason dally, lead astray
The wisest thought; but this is undeceived.
Have you not marked how the untutored wild
With thoughtless vision of pure sense discern
Their friends or enemies in humankind?
And so with woman when she loves or hates.
Ask why the leaf unfolds to April rain
But lies close-hidden from the winds of March.
GAWAINE
Did I not say, "In vain"? My mind forbode
A fruitless mission. Therefore, let me go.
ETARRE
Is this a snare of wisdom curling round
Into unreason? You go forth in vain:
"Therefore," you say, "make haste!" Nay, therefore bide;
If you are so persuaded, that your words
Can never waken love in this Unknown,
This obdurate and loveless Beautiful
Who spurns this knight of yours and will not heed,
Then bide with me, and feast with me, and dream
Of more successful loves, more gracious toils,
More sweet acceptance. You are welcome here,
For you have freed me from a deep distress
Which boded worse disaster, drawing on
With monstrous shapes and dreams of murdered men:
For with my own weak hands and woman's strength,
Goaded by anger, driven by despair
I should have bartered Pelleas with death,
And sold him to the fearful hands of night
To be their captive, gaining in return
From that grim changers'-table quick release
And freedom from the bonds of hate.
GAWAINE
In vain!
Did I not say, "In vain"? -- This murdered knight,
This Pelleas, was noble-souled and great
And women loved him.
ETARRE
Like a strangling noose
He clung about my heart; through pulse and vein
A clogging hatred thickened, and my mouth
Grew dry with anger and unbidden rage.
But tell me why you slew him; not in hate,
For praise you speak; and not in rivalry,
For great you name him.
GAWAINE
'Twas a slanderous tale
Against your beauty and your name. To him
I told it; and in sudden fire he shone
And with his sword and spear proclaimed you true.
ETARRE
Who bade him praise me? let my word and deed
Be their own champion, dress their shields alone
And ride to battle! Was my hate in vain
That he should hound me with remorseless love?
GAWAINE
For you he died.
ETARRE
And I shall bury him
And on his mound set an ungraven stone,
That I may cast him alway from my mind
As life has cast him from her herald's scroll.
But you who from the one have purged his name
Shall never from the other be effaced.
GAWAINE
I pray you let me now depart in peace.
ETARRE
By all the sacred bonds of gratitude
I fetter you and hold you now in thrall.
By courtesy of knighthood, by the grace
Of man to feebler woman, by the strength
Of that great company of Arthur's knights,
By creed of chivalry and law of faith
I conjure you, remain!
GAWAINE
Accursed vow,
What evil have you brought me! Will you come
And cry fulfilment of your darkest word?
For I must bide and to the utmost proof
Display that broken embassy of love
Whose hopes are all in vain!
ETARRE
Like stricken priest
Who sees temptation writ on every wall,
Wide-eyed for sustenance you murmur prayer.
Am I a creature wrought in deadly shape
Of mortal passion, that with quivering fear
You dare not here abide and with me feast
Holding high converse of adventured deed?
You do offend me with ungracious thoughts
And with unworthy shaft suspicion point.
Yet shall you be forgiven with full heart
If you from stern intention draw aside
And turn to kindness. For three nights and days
Let helm and breastplate join with greave and spur
Unstirred in idleness.
GAWAINE
With eager hands
I lay aside the heavy press of mail.
ETARRE
My knights shall swift disarm you. Here remain;
My servants shall attend you.
[She leaves the room.]
GAWAINE
Fatal vow,
For thee I am assailed. How hard of heart,
How cold to pity is that glorious form,
That haunting presence! Yet, what body's grace
Here shone about me! with what subtle charm
Of pleading voice and of unveiled desire
She bade me welcome! Nay, not ice and stone
That lovely breast, though it be white as snow
And like unsullied marble carven out.
O honour, bide with me, unshaken, strong;
O knighthood, watch above me. Deep events
Have wrought me danger. O thrice wretched vow
That makes my path a journey through the dark
And spreads disaster wide on every hand!
CURTAIN