Chapter 9

May I speak, king? dost hearken? many matters I have To deal with or death. I have honoured thee duly Down in the north there; a great name I have held thee; Rough hand in the field, ready righter of wrong, Reckless of danger, but recking of pity. But now--is it false what the chapmen have told us, And are thy fair robes all thou hast of a king? Is it bragging and lies, that thou beardless and tender Weptst not when they brought thy slain father before thee, Trembledst not when the leaguer that lay round thy city Made a light for these windows, a noise for thy pillow? Is it lies what men told us of thy singing and laughter As thou layst in thy lair fled away from lost battle? Is it lies how ye met in the depths of the mountains, And a handful rushed down and made nought of an army? Those tales of your luck, like the tide at its turning, Trusty and sure howso slowly it cometh, Are they lies? Is it lies of wide lands in the world, How they sent thee great men to lie low at thy footstool In five years thenceforward, and thou still a youth? Are they lies, these fair tidings, or what see thy lords here-- Some love-sick girl's brother caught up by that sickness, As one street beggar catches the pest from his neighbour?

KING PHARAMOND

What words are these of lies and love-sickness? Why am I lonely among all this brawling? O foster-father, is all faith departed That this hateful face should be staring upon me?

THE NORTHERN LORD

Lo, now thou awakest; so tell me in what wise I shall wend back again: set a word in my mouth To meet the folks' murmur, and give heart to the heavy; For there man speaks to man that thy measure is full, And thy five-years-old kingdom is falling asunder.

[_KING draws his sword_.

Yea, yea, a fair token thy sword were to send them; Thou dost well to draw it; (_KING brandishes his sword over the lord's head, as if to strike him_): soft sound is its whistle; Strike then, O king, for my wars are well over, And dull is the way my feet tread to the grave!

KING PHARAMOND (_sheathing his sword_)

Man, if ye have waked me, I bid you be wary Lest my sword yet should reach you; ye wot in your northland What hatred he winneth who waketh the shipman From the sweet rest of death mid the welter of waves; So with us may it fare; though I know thee full faithful, Bold in field and in council, most fit for a king. --Bear with me. I pray you that to none may be meted Such a measure of pain as my soul is oppressed with. Depart all for a little, till my spirit grows lighter, Then come ye with tidings, and hold we fair council, That my countries may know they have yet got a king. [_Exeunt all but OLIVER and KING_. Come, my foster-father, ere thy visage fade from me, Come with me mid the flowers some opening to find In the clouds that cling round me; if thou canst remember Thine old lovingkindness when I was a king.

THE MUSIC

_ Love is enough; it grew up without heeding In the days when ye knew not its name nor its measure And its leaflets untrodden by the light feet of pleasure Had no boast of the blossom, no sign of the seeding, As the morning and evening passed over its treasure.

And what do ye say then?--that Spring long departed Has brought forth no child to the softness and showers; --That we slept and we dreamed through the Summer of flowers; We dreamed of the Winter, and waking dead-hearted Found Winter upon us and waste of dull hours.

Nay, Spring was o'er happy and knew not the reason, And Summer dreamed sadly, for she thought all was ended In her fulness of wealth that might not be amended; But this is the harvest and the garnering season, And the leaf and the blossom in the ripe fruit are blended.

It sprang without sowing, it grew without heeding, Ye knew not its name and ye knew not its measure, Ye noted it not mid your hope and your pleasure; There was pain in its blossom, despair in its seeding, But daylong your bosom now nurseth its treasure. _

_Enter before the curtain LOVE clad as an image-maker_.

LOVE

How mighty and how fierce a king is here The stayer of falling folks, the bane of fear! Fair life he liveth, ruling passing well, Disdaining praise of Heaven and hate of Hell; And yet how goodly to us Great in Heaven Are such as he, the waning world that leaven! How well it were that such should never die! How well it were at least that memory Of such should live, as live their glorious deeds! --But which of all the Gods think ye it needs To shape the mist of Rumour's wavering breath Into a golden dream that fears no death? Red Mars belike?--since through his field is thrust The polished plough-share o'er the helmets' rust!-- Apollo's beauty?--surely eld shall spare Smooth skin, and flashing eyes, and crispy hair!-- Nay, Jove himself?--the pride that holds the low Apart, despised, to mighty tales must grow!-- Or Pallas?--for the world that knoweth nought, By that great wisdom to the wicket brought, Clear through the tangle evermore shall see! --O Faithful, O Beloved, turn to ME! I am the Ancient of the Days that were I am the Newborn that To-day brings here, I am the Life of all that dieth not; Through me alone is sorrow unforgot.

My Faithful, knowing that this man should live, I from the cradle gifts to him did give Unmeet belike for rulers of the earth; As sorrowful yearning in the midst of mirth, Pity midst anger, hope midst scorn and hate. Languor midst labour, lest the day wax late, And all be wrong, and all be to begin. Through these indeed the eager life did win That was the very body to my soul; Yet, as the tide of battle back did roll Before his patience: as he toiled and grieved O'er fools and folly, was he not deceived, But ever knew the change was drawing nigh, And in my mirror gazed with steadfast eye. Still, O my Faithful, seemed his life so fair That all Olympus might have left him there Until to bitter strength that life was grown, And then have smiled to see him die alone, Had I not been.----Ye know me; I have sent A pain to pierce his last coat of content: Now must he tear the armour from his breast And cast aside all things that men deem best, And single-hearted for his longing strive That he at last may save his soul alive.

How say ye then, Beloved? Ye have known The blossom of the seed these hands have sown; Shall this man starve in sorrow's thorny brake? Shall Love the faithful of his heart forsake?

_In the King's Garden. KING PHARAMOND, MASTER OLIVER_.

MASTER OLIVER

In this quiet place canst thou speak, O my King, Where nought but the lilies may hearken our counsel?

KING PHARAMOND

What wouldst thou have of me? why came we hither?

MASTER OLIVER

Dear lord, thou wouldst speak of the woe that weighs on thee.

KING PHARAMOND

Wouldst thou bear me aback to the strife and the battle? Nay, hang up my banner: 'tis all passed and over!

MASTER OLIVER

Speak but a little, lord! have I not loved thee?

KING PHARAMOND

Yea,--thou art Oliver: I saw thee a-lying A long time ago with the blood on thy face, When my father wept o'er thee for thy faith and thy valour.

MASTER OLIVER

Years have passed over, but my faith hath not failed me; Spent is my might, but my love not departed. Shall not love help--yea, look long in my eyes! There is no more to see if thou sawest my heart.

KING PHARAMOND

Yea, thou art Oliver, full of all kindness! Have patience, for now is the cloud passing over-- Have patience and hearken--yet shalt thou be shamed.

MASTER OLIVER

Thou shalt shine through thy shame as the sun through the haze When the world waiteth gladly the warm day a-coming: As great as thou seem'st now, I know thee for greater Than thy deeds done and told of: one day I shall know thee: Lying dead in my tomb I shall hear the world praising.

KING PHARAMOND

Stay thy praise--let me speak, lest all speech depart from me. --There is a place in the world, a great valley That seems a green plain from the brow of the mountains, But hath knolls and fair dales when adown there thou goest: There are homesteads therein with gardens about them, And fair herds of kine and grey sheep a-feeding, And willow-hung streams wend through deep grassy meadows, And a highway winds through them from the outer world coming: Girthed about is the vale by a grey wall of mountains, Rent apart in three places and tumbled together In old times of the world when the earth-fires flowed forth: And as you wend up these away from the valley You think of the sea and the great world it washes; But through two you may pass not, the shattered rocks shut them. And up through the third there windeth a highway, And its gorge is fulfilled by a black wood of yew-trees. And I know that beyond, though mine eyes have not seen it, A city of merchants beside the sea lieth.---- I adjure thee, my fosterer, by the hand of my father, By thy faith without stain, by the days unforgotten, When I dwelt in thy house ere the troubles' beginning, By thy fair wife long dead and thy sword-smitten children, By thy life without blame and thy love without blemish, Tell me how, tell me when, that fair land I may come to! Hide it not for my help, for my honour, but tell me, Lest my time and thy time be lost days and confusion!

MASTER OLIVER

O many such lands!--O my master, what ails thee? Tell me again, for I may not remember. --I prayed God give thee speech, and lo God hath given it-- May God give me death! if I dream not this evil.

KING PHARAMOND

Said I not when thou knew'st it, all courage should fail thee? But me--my heart fails not, I am Pharamond as ever. I shall seek and shall find--come help me, my fosterer! --Yet if thou shouldst ask for a sign from that country What have I to show thee--I plucked a blue milk-wort From amidst of the field where she wandered fair-footed-- It was gone when I wakened--and once in my wallet I set some grey stones from the way through the forest-- These were gone when I wakened--and once as I wandered A lock of white wool from a thorn-bush I gathered; It was gone when I wakened--the name of that country-- Nay, how should I know it?--but ever meseemeth 'Twas not in the southlands, for sharp in the sunset And sunrise the air is, and whiles I have seen it Amid white drift of snow--ah, look up, foster-father!

MASTER OLIVER

O woe, woe is me that I may not awaken! Or else, art thou verily Pharamond my fosterling, The Freed and the Freer, the Wise, the World's Wonder?

KING PHARAMOND

Why fainteth thy great heart? nay, Oliver, hearken, E'en such as I am now these five years I have been. Through five years of striving this dreamer and dotard Has reaped glory from ruin, drawn peace from destruction.

MASTER OLIVER

Woe's me! wit hath failed me, and all the wise counsel I was treasuring up down the wind is a-drifting-- Yet what wouldst thou have there if ever thou find it? Are the gates of heaven there? is Death bound there and helpless?

KING PHARAMOND

Nay, thou askest me this not as one without knowledge, For thou know'st that my love in that land is abiding.

MASTER OLIVER

Yea--woe worth the while--and all wisdom hath failed me: Yet if thou wouldst tell me of her, I will hearken Without mocking or mourning, if that may avail thee.

KING PHARAMOND

Lo, thy face is grown kind--Thou rememberest the even When I first wore the crown after sore strife and mourning?

MASTER OLIVER

Who shall ever forget it? the dead face of thy father, And thou in thy fight-battered armour above it, Mid the passion of tears long held back by the battle; And thy rent banner o'er thee and the ring of men mail-clad, Victorious to-day, since their ruin but a spear-length Was thrust away from them.--Son, think of thy glory And e'en in such wise break the throng of these devils!

KING PHARAMOND

Five years are passed over since in the fresh dawning On the field of that fight I lay wearied and sleepless Till slumber came o'er me in the first of the sunrise; Then as there lay my body rapt away was my spirit, And a cold and thick mist for a while was about me, And when that cleared away, lo, the mountain-walled country 'Neath the first of the sunrise in e'en such a spring-tide As the spring-tide our horse-hoofs that yestereve trampled: By the withy-wrought gate of a garden I found me 'Neath the goodly green boughs of the apple full-blossomed; And fulfilled of great pleasure I was as I entered The fair place of flowers, and wherefore I knew not. Then lo, mid the birds' song a woman's voice singing. Five years passed away, in the first of the sunrise. [_He is silent, brooding_.

MASTER OLIVER

God help us if God is!--for this man, I deemed him More a glory of God made man for our helping Than a man that should die: all the deeds he did surely, Too great for a man's life, have undone the doer.

KING PHARAMOND (_rousing himself_)

Thou art waiting, my fosterer, till I tell of her singing And the words that she sang there: time was when I knew them; But too much of strife is about us this morning, And whiles I forget and whiles I remember. [_Falls a-musing again._

MASTER OLIVER

_But a night's dream undid him, and he died, and his kingdom By unheard-of deeds fashioned, was tumbled together, By false men and fools to be fought for and ruined._ Such words shall my ghost see the chronicler writing In the days that shall be:--ah--what wouldst thou, my fosterling? Knowest thou not how words fail us awaking That we seemed to hear plain amid sleep and its sweetness? Nay, strive not, my son, rest awhile and be silent; Or sleep while I watch thee: full fair is the garden, Perchance mid the flowers thy sweet dream may find thee, And thou shalt have pleasure and peace for a little.-- (_Aside_) And my soul shall depart ere thou wak'st peradventure.

KING PHARAMOND

Yea, thou deemest me mad: a dream thou mayst call it, But not such a dream as thou know'st of: nay, hearken! For what manner of dream then is this that remembers The words that she sang on that morning of glory;-- _O love, set a word in my mouth for our meeting; Cast thy sweet arms about me to stay my hearts beating!_ Ah, thy silence, thy silence! nought shines on the darkness! --O close-serried throng of the days that I see not! [_Falls a-musing again._

MASTER OLIVER

Thus the worse that shall be, the bad that is, bettereth. --Once more he is speechless mid evil dreams sunken.

KING PHARAMOND (_speaking very low_).

_Hold silence, love, speak not of the sweet day departed; Cling close to me, love, lest I waken sad-hearted!_ [_Louder to OLIVER._ Thou starest, my fosterer: what strange thing beholdst thou? A great king, a strong man, that thou knewest a child once: Pharamond the fair babe: Pharamond the warrior; Pharamond the king, and which hast thou feared yet? And why wilt thou fear then this Pharamond the lover? Shall I fail of my love who failed not of my fame? Nay, nay, I shall live for the last gain and greatest.

MASTER OLIVER

I know not--all counsel and wit is departed, I wait for thy will; I will do it, my master.

KING PHARAMOND

Through the boughs of the garden I followed the singing To a smooth space of sward: there the unknown desire Of my soul I beheld,--wrought in shape of a woman.

MASTER OLIVER

O ye warders of Troy-walls, join hands through the darkness, Tell us tales of the Downfall, for we too are with you!

KING PHARAMOND

As my twin sister, young of years was she and slender, Yellow blossoms of spring-tide her hands had been gathering, But the gown-lap that held them had fallen adown And had lain round her feet with the first of the singing; Now her singing had ceased, though yet heaved her bosom As with lips lightly parted and eyes of one seeking She stood face to face with the Love that she knew not, The love that she longed for and waited unwitting; She moved not, I breathed not--till lo, a horn winded, And she started, and o'er her came trouble and wonder, Came pallor and trembling; came a strain at my heartstrings As bodiless there I stretched hands toward her beauty, And voiceless cried out, as the cold mist swept o'er me. Then again clash of arms, and the morning watch calling, And the long leaves and great twisted trunks of the chesnuts, As I sprang to my feet and turned round to the trumpets And gathering of spears and unfolding of banners That first morn of my reign and my glory's beginning.

MASTER OLIVER

O well were we that tide though the world was against us.

KING PHARAMOND

Hearken yet!--through that whirlwind of danger and battle, Beaten back, struggling forward, we fought without blemish On my banner spear-rent in the days of my father, On my love of the land and the longing I cherished For a tale to be told when I, laid in the minster, Might hear it no more; was it easy of winning, Our bread of those days? Yet as wild as the work was, Unforgotten and sweet in my heart was that vision, And her eyes and her lips and her fair body's fashion Blest all times of rest, rent the battle asunder, Turned ruin to laughter and death unto dreaming; And again and thrice over again did I go there Ere spring was grown winter: in the meadows I met her, By the sheaves of the corn, by the down-falling apples, Kind and calm, yea and glad, yet with eyes of one seeking. --Ah the mouth of one waiting, ere all shall be over!-- But at last in the winter-tide mid the dark forest Side by side did we wend down the pass: the wind tangled Mid the trunks and black boughs made wild music about us, But her feet on the scant snow and the sound of her breathing Made music much better: the wood thinned, and I saw her, As we came to the brow of the pass; for the moon gleamed Bitter cold in the cloudless black sky of the winter. Then the world drew me back from my love, and departing I saw her sweet serious look pass into terror And her arms cast abroad--and lo, clashing of armour, And a sword in my hand, and my mouth crying loud, And the moon and cold steel in the doorway burst open And thy doughty spear thrust through the throat of the foeman My dazed eyes scarce saw--thou rememberest, my fosterer?

MASTER OLIVER

Yea, Theobald the Constable had watched but unduly; We were taken unwares, and wild fleeing there was O'er black rock and white snow--shall such times come again, son?

KING PHARAMOND

Yea, full surely they shall; have thou courage, my fosterer!-- Day came thronging on day, month thrust month aside, Amid battle and strife and the murder of glory, And still oft and oft to that land was I led And still through all longing I young in Love's dealings, Never called it a pain: though, the battle passed over, The council determined, back again came my craving: I knew not the pain, but I knew all the pleasure, When now, as the clouds o'er my fortune were parting, I felt myself waxing in might and in wisdom; And no city welcomed the Freed and the Freer, And no mighty army fell back before rumour Of Pharamond's coming, but her heart bid me thither, And the blithest and kindest of kingfolk ye knew me. Then came the high tide of deliverance upon us, When surely if we in the red field had fallen The stocks and the stones would have risen to avenge us. --Then waned my sweet vision midst glory's fulfilment, And still with its waning, hot waxed my desire: And did ye not note then that the glad-hearted Pharamond Was grown a stern man, a fierce king, it may be? Did ye deem it the growth of my manhood, the hardening Of battle and murder and treason about me? Nay, nay, it was love's pain, first named and first noted When a long time went past, and I might not behold her. --Thou rememberest a year agone now, when the legate Of the Lord of the Waters brought here a broad letter Full of prayers for good peace and our friendship thenceforward-- --He who erst set a price on the lost head of Pharamond-- How I bade him stand up on his feet and be merry, Eat his meat by my side and drink out of my beaker, In memory of days when my meat was but little And my drink drunk in haste between saddle and straw. But lo! midst of my triumph, as I noted the feigning Of the last foeman humbled, and the hall fell a murmuring, And blithely the horns blew, _Be glad, spring prevaileth,_ --As I sat there and changed not, my soul saw a vision: All folk faded away, and my love that I long for Came with raiment a-rustling along the hall pavement, Drawing near to the high-seat, with hands held out a little, Till her hallowed eyes drew me a space into heaven, And her lips moved to whisper, 'Come, love, for I weary!' Then she turned and went from me, and I heard her feet falling On the floor of the hall, e'en as though it were empty Of all folk but us twain in the hush of the dawning. Then again, all was gone, and I sat there a smiling On the faint-smiling legate, as the hall windows quivered With the rain of the early night sweeping across them. Nought slept I that night, yet I saw her without sleeping:-- Betwixt midnight and morn of that summer-tide was I Amidst of the lilies by her house-door to hearken If perchance in her chamber she turned amid sleeping: When lo, as the East 'gan to change, and stars faded Were her feet on the stairs, and the door opened softly, And she stood on the threshold with the eyes of one seeking, And there, gathering the folds of her gown to her girdle, Went forth through the garden and followed the highway, All along the green valley, and I ever beside her, Till the light of the low sun just risen was falling On her feet in the first of the pass--and all faded. Yet from her unto me had gone forth her intent, And I saw her face set to the heart of that city, And the quays where the ships of the outlanders come to, And I said: She is seeking, and shall I not seek? The sea is her prison wall; where is my prison? --Yet I said: Here men praise me, perchance men may love me If I live long enough for my justice and mercy To make them just and merciful--one who is master Of many poor folk, a man pity moveth Love hath dealt with in this wise, no minstrel nor dreamer. The deeds that my hand might find for the doing Did desire undo them these four years of fight? And now time and fair peace in my heart have begotten More desire and more pain, is the day of deeds done with? Lo here for my part my bonds and my prison!-- Then with hands holding praise, yet with fierce heart belike Did I turn to the people that I had delivered-- And the deeds of this year passed shall live peradventure! But now came no solace of dreams in the night-tide From that day thenceforward; yet oft in the council, Mid the hearkening folk craving for justice or mercy, Mid the righting of wrongs and the staying of ruin, Mid the ruling a dull folk, who deemed all my kingship A thing due and easy as the dawning and sunset To the day that God made once to deal with no further-- --Mid all these a fair face, a sad face, could I fashion, And I said, She is seeking, and shall I not seek? --Tell over the days of the year of hope's waning; Tell over the hours of the weary days wearing: Tell over the minutes of the hours of thy waking, Then wonder he liveth who fails of his longing!

MASTER OLIVER

What wouldst thou have, son, wherein I might help thee?

KING PHARAMOND