CHILDE ROLAND TO THE DARK TOWER CAME
Reading edition
CHILDE ROLAND TO THE DARK TOWER CAME
The sun has set over the great marsh, leaving a yellow-brown Flemish light upon the scene. In the midst of the mire and among the tufts of iron-grass stands an old round-tower. Its lower narrow door is of green bronze, scarred with many assaults. Above the door are two small windows, behind which a gleam seems to come and go.
In the half-light that hangs over the plain a man in armor stumbles through the bog to the single step before the door. He is many times wounded; his blood flows freely to the ground. The knight blows his horn; the landscape collects itself to listen.
CHILDE ROLAND
I die.... Open the door to me.
[The landscape laughs, then falls suddenly silent. Presently its subterranean waters are again heard sucking at buried tree-trunks.]
I have seen your lights here from a long way off.... You cannot hide from me now.
[The marsh becomes animated and fully interested in the stranger. One of the windows brightens slightly and a girl looks out. Her voice and manner are strangely detached and impersonal, as though she had been called away from some absorbing interest, and were eager to return to it.]
Oh, you are here! Quick, descend to me. All my wounds are flowing. I am dying of thirst.
THE GIRL
Who are you to issue commands against this tower? Some emperor, surely.
CHILDE ROLAND
My name is written with many another upon the sword of Charlemagne: that is enough.
THE GIRL
You are some king, perhaps,—driven into the wilderness by your not too loving subjects?
CHILDE ROLAND
No king, but a friend and soldier of kings.
THE GIRL
Oh! This is some wise counselor. If you are so wise we will quickly open the door to you.
CHILDE ROLAND
Not wise, but often listened to in grave matters, having a voice equal with many others.
THE GIRL
[Utterly untouched, lightly to someone within.]
I do believe this is some sweet singer. Let us bind on our slippers right quickly and put red wine to his lips, for poets are ever our delight.
CHILDE ROLAND
I am no singer, but one loving the string and the voice at all times. Open the door! For the wind is cold on the marsh, and the first terrible stars are stepping into their chains. Open the door, for my veins are emptied on your sill.
THE GIRL
[Leaning far out, while her red hair falls almost to his shoulders.]
Beat upon the door, Sir Knight. Many things are gained by force.
CHILDE ROLAND
My hands are strengthless.... I am fallen on my knees.... Pity me!
[The Girl laughs pleasantly to her companion within.]
Reach over the stars to me, Mary, Mother of God. To you I was committed in my first year, and have renewed yearly my promises. Send from thy golden mind and thy noiseless might the issue out of this difficulty.
[A second girl, dark and thoughtful, appears at the other window.]
THE FIRST GIRL
[Intimately.]
He is praying now.
THE DARK GIRL
He is a little boy. His thoughts this last hour are returning to his earliest year.
THE FIRST GIRL
Is it not beautiful that a Knight should think of a little child?
THE DARK GIRL
What brought you here, Knight-at-arms?
CHILDE ROLAND
The battle passed suddenly into the west. This tower was all I could see. And here I brought my wounds.
THE FIRST GIRL
[Softly.]
You see he is still able to reason; he reasons very well.
THE DARK GIRL
What led you to think that we could help you?
CHILDE ROLAND
I know your name! All my life I have heard of this tower. They say that on the outside you are dark and unlovely, but that within every hero stands with his fellows and the great queens step proudly on the stair.
THE DARK GIRL
And do you believe this?
CHILDE ROLAND
[After a pause.]
Yes.
[With sudden fury.]
Open the door! There is a place for me within. Open the door, Death!
THE FIRST GIRL
[Drawing up her hair languidly.]
He is irresistible, this great man.
CHILDE ROLAND
Oliver! Oliver! Charlemagne! I hear your voices. It is I, Roland, without, in the dark marsh. My body I cast away for you. My breath I returned to the sky in your defense. Open the door!...
[The marsh is a little put out by all this strong feeling. It lies quiet. The door slowly opens upon a hall full of drifting violet mists, some of which escape and fade over the marsh. The girl with the red hair is seen walking away in the hall, her mocking face looking back over her shoulder. The dark girl, robed in gray, leans across the threshold extending a chalice to the Knight’s lips.]
THE DARK GIRL
Take courage, high heart. How slow you have been to believe well of us. You gave us such little thought while living that we have made this little delay at your death.