Chapter V: Act V

SCENE I.--(_Rise outer Curtain._) _Enter two_ Soldiers.

_1st Sol._ Ho, without there!

_2nd Sol._ What news?

_1st Sol._ Arthur is back for England with all his forces, and
the King hath sent an army to withstand his landing, and
himself leaveth to-night to follow them.

_2nd Sol._ He be a rare King this Hunchback. He hath a
marvellous power. His Knights be feared of him, but ’tis said
he’s just.

_1st Sol._ He be not lawful got, ’tis said, but none can say
his rule be foul.

_2nd Sol._ ’Tis said that the new Queen be a witch an’ hath
holpen him wi’ her deviltries.

_1st Sol._ God save us if it be true! Yet it is safe to say;
God save the King an’ Queen. ’Tis better to cry a witch Queen
than to be split i’ the gullet.

_2nd Sol._ Yea wi’ plenty ale i’ the pewter and meat o’ the
spit, no matter who queens or kings it, so says I. I’m for
Mordred an’ the Witch.

_1st Sol._ So be I till the next change comes. [_Exit both._

(_Rise inner Curtain._) _Enter_ VIVIEN _as_ QUEEN _with many_ Ladies
_and_ Pages--_takes her state_.

_Enter a_ Knight, _who kneels_.

_Vivien._ What news from France, Sir Bors?

_Knight._ Arthur cometh back, my Lady.

_Vivien._ Nay!

_Knight._ Yea, my Lady, the army be embarked.

_Vivien._ Oh short and bitter!

_Enter_ MORDRED.

_Mordred._ Well, Madam!

_Vivien._ (_To the_ Ladies.) Begone! [_Exit all._

(_To_ MORDRED.) Hast thou heard the news?

_Mordred._ ’Tis as I have long expected. He now cometh back.

_Vivien._ Art thou prepared?

_Mordred._ Yea, if ’tis death thou meanest.
And ’twere better so. Thou art a Queen already!
I had not thought thou wouldst so look the Queen.

_Vivien._ Mordred, would that thou mightst also see
I wear a heart, a woman’s heart, beneath
This queenly mask.

_Mordred._ A heart?

_Vivien._ That beats and breaks for thee.

_Mordred._ I’m not myself, I am a hunchback king,
Who stole his father’s rule by subtlety.
And keepeth it by power of being a devil.
I know not love. Woman, thou art mad!
Art thou not satisfied with what thou art?
I made thee all that woman’s heart might crave.
Revenge, ambition, these all can I grant,
But love, a commodity not in Mordred’s giving.
Use this thy power to surfeit while it lasts,
Tomorrow it will topple. I’m o’er-weary
Of all this sycophancy of creeping men,
Who fear my power and sneer upon my back;
A pageantry of lies where human worms,
Who crawl to-day, tomorrow get a sting
And use it on the hand that ’friended them.
I cannot mould the face to popular form,
And hide the thought behind the outward act.
And make good ill, ill good by royal patent.
Nay, I can scorn, and I can hate,--yea strike,
When rules the mood, yea, I’m a very devil;
But cheat myself and others to what I am,
And be a popular dream, a fancied god,
The victim of a world’s delusiveness,
What manner I am, I were not made for this.
Yea coming struggle I meet thee with a joy
’Twere scarce expected. Madam, I bid farewell.
We worked this masque together, thou and I,
And if it like thee little, blame not Mordred.
I go to-night to meet my Sire in battle.
Such fight will be this kingdom hath not known
In all its sorrows. Britain’s darkest hours
Are blacking on her, I feel I go to death.
I leave some knights to guard thee. If thou desirest
Thou canst withdraw unto some convent close,
Till this blows over.

_Vivien._ Nay, Vivien flees not. She dies first! Woman or Queen
She will be found where dangers threaten thee
And menace thy kingliness, Oh Mordred,
Thou knowest not the woman that I am.
Take me with thee as thy heart’s true slave,
Where thou diest, there would Vivien die,
Or where thou goest, there would she wander too.

_Mordred._ Nay, nay, ’tis vain, I am a man apart.
Thou knowest not the iron I am become.
Mordred needs no shield of kindly help
Other than what unkind nature gave him.
Woman, thou dost unqueen thyself, I tell thee.
Thou wastest thy words on Mordred.

_Vivien._ Oh brute, Oh cruel shape, not natural man,
Hast thou no feeling?

_Mordred._ I go forth to-night.
To wreck my father, stem his tide this way
Unto his rightful kingdom. Speak me love!
Rather tell the lamb skipping the mead,
Go ask the wolf for suckle.

_Vivien._ Nay Mordred, slay me now and thou wilt know
Vivien had blood full warm to flow for thee.

_Mordred._ Woman, I’m all iron and adamant
And yet I pity thee for thou hast hell.
I would not slay thee--rather fare thee well.

[_Exit_ MORDRED.

_Vivien._ Oh God! Mordred! Mordred! Is this all?
And I have moulded him unto this iron
I beat against. It is my punishment!
Oh God! Oh God! Nay, I will go with him,
And die with him if need be. Now my wits!
But how? How? How?

_Enter a_ Page.

_Page._ Madam, the King?

_Vivien._ He hath just left--Stay, dost thou go with him?

_Page._ Yea, Madam.

_Vivien._ Doth see this jewel?

_Page._ Yea Madam, it be wondrous indeed.

_Vivien._ It will be thine--wilt thou stay,
And let another go in thy stead.

_Page._ The King trusteth me.

_Vivien._ ’Tis the will of one who loveth the King far more
than ever thou couldst. ’Tis my will. Thou must stay. Quick,
this way. [_Exit both._

_Re-enter_ MORDRED _with his_ Knights.

_Trumpets without._

_Mordred._ Make haste! Make haste! Where tarrieth this Squire
of mine? We must ride to Dover ere it darkens.

_A Knight._ He cometh now, Sire.

_Enter_ VIVIEN, _disguised as a_ Squire.

_Mordred._ Dost thou keep thy king? thou wert long in coming.

_Vivien._ I came with all speed, Sire.

_Mordred._ Thou seemest over pink and white for this work.
Canst thou fight?

_Vivien._ Yea, Sire, I can use a dagger.

_Mordred._ Then follow--Ho, there without! Now for Mordred’s
doom. [_Curtain._

SCENE II.--_The Kentish Coast. Landing of_ ARTHUR’S _troops opposed
by_ MORDRED. _Battle going on in the distance. Enter_ GWAINE _borne
ashore on a litter. Battle comes near._

_A Soldier._ They come this way, here will we stand and guard
thee. (_They put down the litter._)

_Gwaine._ How goes the fight?

_A Squire._ Desperate hard. The enemy be strong,
As if half England would shove the other i’ the sea.

_Gwaine._ Give me my sword, and help me up, I’ll fight.

_A Leech._ Sir Knight, if you rise up it is your death.

_Gwaine._ Damn thee, to lie here helpless is to die,
With those fierce sounds of battle in mine ears.
Quick! my sword! mine old strength cometh back.

(_A_ Squire _hands him his sword, he leaps to his feet. The
battle comes near and they are all borne out fighting.
Re-enter_ GWAINE _borne by_ Soldiers _and the_ Leech.)

_Leech._ I told thee thou wouldst die.

_Gwaine._ And so wilt thou some day, and like a milksop, i’ thy
bed.
’Twas a poor prophesy though a sure one. It is naught.
Turn me over. Yea, I wedged some skulls, and clipped
Damned Mordred’s wings o’ some pen-feathers.

_Enter_ ARTHUR.

_Arthur._ So far the battle’s ours, this edge at least
Of Britain’s soil doth Arthur own to-night.
What be this?

_Gwaine._ ’Tis Gwaine, King, brought to bay at last.

_Arthur._ Thou wert mad to fight.

_Gwaine._ ’Twas madness not to fight with all that battle
Ringing its clarion thunders in mine ears.
All life be madness and death but the healing of it.
I have reft some brain-pans, i’ my time, ha! ha!
Tell traitor Launcelot.--Yea turn me softly,
’Twas a deft hand did give me that last stroke.

_Leech._ What be thy message knight, thy time groweth short?

_Gwaine._ Yea, take away,--tell Launcelot, Gwaine’s vengeance
waits him i’ the nether black. (_Dies._)

[_Curtain._

SCENE III.--_Night on the battle field. The royal tent_, ARTHUR’S
_Camp_.

_Arthur._ Ho! there without. (_Enter a_ Page.) Send me Sir
Bedivere. [_Exit_ Page.

_Enter_ SIR BEDIVERE.

_Arthur._ Is all safe i’ the camp?

_Sir B._ Yea, Sire, the sentries are set and watch fires
ablaze. And all ready for battle i’ the first dawn.

_Arthur._ What of the enemy?

_Sir B._ They be the same, Sire, all seemeth quiet i’ the camp.

_Arthur._ Remember all watchfulness, so there be no surprise.
Thou canst go Bedivere, I would fain sleep.

_Sir B._ Yea, I go, Sire, and God keep thee this night.

_Arthur._ Stay, Knight, Arthur of England is a lonely man,
Betrayed of those who should have loved him best.
To-night perchance he fronts the brink of death,
In bloody battle for his rightful kingdom.
Take this ring, Knight, in memory of thy King,
(_Gives him a ring._) Survive he not the morrow.

_Sir B._ God keep thee, Sire! [_Exit_ SIR BEDIVERE.

_Arthur._ Now what will morrow’s dawn-rise bring to Arthur?
Will it bring bloody victory or defeat?
How like an autumn wood is stript my glory,
Who short since was sole monarch of this realm.
Oh! evil Spite, that ruleth this sad world!
Come joy, come hope, there’s nothing sure but death.
Yea, I will sleep and muffle out my sorrows
A little while. (_Goes to the couch._)
Nay, Arthur will not pillow till he beds with death,
Or doth regain his kingdom. I will rest here.

(_Seats himself on a chair and wraps his cloak about him._)

Now for Oblivion’s peace!
O stricken King, thou art the loneliest to-night.
In any realm. (_Leans forward, falls asleep. A_ Page _steals in_.)

_Page._ He sleeps. (_Exit_ Page.) (ARTHUR _starts and mutters_
“Launcelot! Launcelot! My friend! My friend! Guinevere! Ah!
Guinevere!”)

_Ghost of Merlin rises._

_Ghost._ Arthur of England!

_Arthur._ (_In his sleep._) Merlin! Ah! Merlin!

_Ghost._ I come to tell thy doom. To-morrow! Arthur, to-morrow!

_Arthur._ Away Spirit! Afright me not. Away! Away!

(Ghost _vanishes_, ARTHUR _starts up_.)

Ah, Merlin! did I dream of Merlin? ’Twas but the fancy.
Oh, great Mage, to-night thy portents wander back
Unto my mind, Oh couldst thou see thine Arthur.
To-morrow, said the voice within my dream.
To-morrow! Yea, to-morrow!

(_Sits down again and folds his cloak. Sleeps. Mutters_ “Mordred!
my son Mordred!”)

_Ghost of_ GWAINE _rises_.

_Ghost._ King!

_Arthur._ Ah! ’Tis thou! Away! away!

_Ghost._ King, fight not tomorrow.

_Arthur._ (_In his sleep._) Nay, I will!

_Ghost._ King, fight not to-morrow.

_Ghost vanishes_, ARTHUR _wakes_.

_Arthur._ Yea, sleep is but the border land o’ death.
’Tis twice! ’Tis twice! It is a certain portent.
Yea, Arthur fights, though Arthur dies, to-morrow.
Yea, now I’ll sleep, for I am over-weary.
Weary of life, yea I am over-tired.
I would fain sleep though night should have no morning.
This night is sweet and restful. To-morrow comes doom,
This hour for soft oblivion. [_Curtain._

SCENE IV.--_Near the battlefield. Enter two_ Knights.

_1st Knight._ This day is Britain doomed and Arthur’s Court.
Rent and dismembered by old grisled war.

_2nd Knight._ Meseems the kingdom’s severed like two tides
That meet together in some mountain course
To whelm other. Arthur’s star grows dark,
And Mordred’s darker. ’Tis the Queen they say,
Hath cursed the realm with her godless loves.

_Enter two other_ Knights, _fighting on foot_.

_1st Knight._ A Mordred! Ho! A Mordred!

_2nd Knight._ An Arthur! An Arthur! Have at you! (_They close
and each stabs the other. Both die._)

_1st Knight._ Thus is the kingdom rent like doomsday’s crack.
Such awful portents have been told abroad,
Since yesternight. Some say the world hath end.

_2nd Knight._ And what be they?

_1st Knight._ The crucifixes on the churches’ walls
Have trickled blood, and many abbey bells
Have tolled the midnight, rung by no man’s hand.
Yea, even the dead have risen from their graves.

_2nd Knight._ Ora pro nobis!

_1st Knight._ Some even say that Merlin hath come back
And prophesied the kingdom at an end,
And all last night men dreamed such fearsome dreams
Of blight and pestilence and spectres dire;
I fear me much the end of days hath come.

_2nd Knight._ How goes the fight?

_1st Knight._ Yea even fiercer, as two tidal waves,
That roar together on some might bore,
And meet in thunders. Never hath such war
Been known in Britain since the ancient days.
The bowman’s arrows darken all the sun.
The battle-axes clamor on the shields,
As on some morn the loud woodcutter’s din
By some bright hillside. Knight encounters knight
In serried thunders. All the kingdom’s turned
To one mad tournament of blood and flame.

(_The battle is heard moving nearer. Both rush out._)

_Another part of the field. Enter_ ARTHUR _surrounded by_ knights.

_Arthur._ Now where is he, that monster, foul, deformed,
In shape and spirit, Nature calls my son?

_Enter_ MORDRED.

_Mordred._ Here!

_Arthur._ Ah, Blot on all this sunlight, Creature dire,
Spawn of mine incest. There standest thou my sin,
Incarnate now before me, mine old doom,
Thou that wast stronger in thine influences
To work dread evil in this hideous world,
Than all the glory, all my good might win.

_Mordred._ Father!

_Arthur._ Yea, well say Father! Parent I this ill
That hath enrent my kingdom all in twain.
In that dread night of my licentious youth,
When I in darkness thy foul shape begot,
I worked a web of blackness round my fate,
And thine, distorted phantom of my sin,
Not all the tolling of sweet abbey-bells
And murmur of masses sung these thousand years,
Can sweep from this doomed kingdom. Father, yea,
There is no truce betwixt us. Thou art Death
To all that I hold dearest on this earth.
Thou stood’st betwixt me and my gladder fate,
The one black spot on all my glory’s sun.
In thee once more mine evil blackens in,
Reddens mine eyesight. Have at thee, foul Curse!

_Mordred._ Father!

_Arthur._ Have at you! (_They fight._ ARTHUR _wounds_ MORDRED.
_He falls. A_ Knight _stabs_ ARTHUR _from behind_.)

_Arthur._ Ho! all the sunlight blackens! Mordred! Oh!
My glory darkens! Curtain not yon sun! (_Dies._)

_Mordred._ Yea, this is all and I were made for this,
To scatter death and desolation round
On this fair kingdom, ruin this sweet land,
And level all the pride of Arthur’s glory,
As men might level some great castle walls.
And sow with salt the fields of his desire,
And make him mock before the eyes of men.
Turn all his great joy into bitterness.
Yea, I his blood, and I were made for this.
Oh ancient, cruel Laws of human life,
Oh deep, mysterious, unfathomable Source
Of man’s poor being, we are ringed about
With such hard rinds of hellish circumstance,
That we can never walk or breathe or hope,
Or eye the sun, or ponder on the green
Of tented plain, or glorious blue of Heaven,
Or know love’s joy, or knotted thews of strength,
But imps of evil thoughts creep in between,
Like lizards in the chinks of some fair wall,
And mar life’s splendor and its fairness all.
’Tis some damned birth-doom blended in the blood
That prophesies our end in our poor acts.
Oh! we are but blind children of the dark
Wending a way we neither make nor ken.
Yea, Arthur, I had loved thee sweet and well,
And made mine arm a bulwark to thy realm,
Had I been but as fair as Launcelot.
What evil germ, false quickening of the blood,
Did breed me foul, distorted as I am,
That I should mar this earth and thy great realm
With my wry, knotted sorrows? Launcelot’s love
Was manly, kind, and generous as became
A soul encased in such propitious frame.
The kingly trees well turn them to the sun,
And glory in their splendor with the morn.
’Tis natural that noble souls should dwell
’Twixt noble features, but the maiméd soul
Should ever be found in the distorted shape.
But I had loved as never man hath loved
Did nature only plant me sweet at first.
(_To his Knights._) And now I die, and blessed be my death,
More blessed far that I had never breathed.
Murder and Treason were my midwives dire,
Rapine and Carnage, priests that shrive me now.

_Enter_ VIVIEN, _disguised as a_ Squire.

_Vivien._ Mordred! thou diest!

_Mordred._ Who art thou?

_Vivien._ I am Vivien.

_Mordred._ Hence, hence Viper, incarnate Fiend.
Not natural, woman, but Ambition framed,
And all lust’s envy. Thou wert unto me
A blacker blackness. Did an angel come,
And whisper sweeter counsel in mine ears.
And trumpet hopes that all were not in vain,
But thou wouldst wool mine ears with malice dire,
And play upon the black chords of my heart.
Hence, Devil! Mar not these my closing hours.

_Vivien._ O, Woe! Woe! (_Steals out._)

_Mordred_ (_To the_ Knights.) Now bear me slowly to great Arthur’s
side
And let me place my hands upon his breast,
For he was mine own father! Alas! Alas!
So hideous is this nature we endure.

(_The_ Soldiers _place him by_ ARTHUR.)

How calm he sleeps, Allencthon, as those should
Who die in glorious battle. Dost thou know
Oh! mighty father that thine ill-got son,
Ill-got of nature and mysterious night,
To mar thy splendor and enwreck this world
Now crawls to thy dead body near his death,
As would some wounded dog of faithful days,
To lick his master’s hand? Blame not, O King,
If thou somewhere may know what I here feel,
Thy poor, misshapen Mordred. Blame him not
The turbulent, treacherous currents of his blood
Which were a part of thine, nor let one thought
Of his past evil mar thy mighty rest;
I would have loved thee, but remember that.
Now, past is all this splendour, new worlds come,
But nevermore will Britain know such grace,
Such lofty glory and such splendid days.
Back of the clang of battle, back of all
The mists of life; the clamour and the fall
Of ruined kingdoms built on human days,
Arthur! Merlin! Mighty dead, I come!
(_Springs to his feet._)
Ho! Horse! To horse! My sword! A trumpet calls!
A Mordred! (_Dies._)

[_Curtain._

THE END.

HILDEBRAND

AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY.

FOUNDED ON THE LIFE AND CHARACTER
OF
THE GREAT POPE GREGORY VII,

HIS STRUGGLE FOR SUPREMACY WITH HENRY IV OF GERMANY,
AND HIS ENFORCEMENT OF THE CELIBACY OF THE CLERGY.

_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._

HILDEBRAND, _Pope Gregory VII_.
HENRY IV, _of Germany_.
PETER, _Damiani, a monk_ (_friend to Hildebrand_).
GERBHERT, _a married priest of Milan_.
ARIALD, _a decretal preacher_ (_lover of Margaret_).
ARNULPH, _a decretal preacher_.
BRUNELLI, _a cardinal_.
Bishop of Bamburg.
WOLF, _Lord of Bamburg, a German Noble_.
Two Burghers.
BRUN, }
WAST, } _two monks_.
An Abbot.
A Warder.
Queen of Germany.
MARGARET, _wife of Gerbhert and daughter of Hildebrand_.
CATHERINE, _mother of Margaret and former wife of Hildebrand_.

Cardinals, Lords, Bishops, Soldiers, Monks, Burghers and Pages.

HILDEBRAND.