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diff --git a/37446.txt b/37446.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..43efe1f --- /dev/null +++ b/37446.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7641 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of King Lear's Wife; The Crier by Night; The +Riding to Lithend; Midsummer-Eve; Laodice and Danae, by Gordon Bottomley + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: King Lear's Wife; The Crier by Night; The Riding to Lithend; Midsummer-Eve; Laodice and Danae + +Author: Gordon Bottomley + +Release Date: September 16, 2011 [EBook #37446] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KING LEAR'S WIFE *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + + +KING LEAR'S WIFE + +THE CRIER BY NIGHT + +THE RIDING TO LITHEND + +MIDSUMMER-EVE + +LAODICE AND DANAE + +PLAYS BY GORDON BOTTOMLEY + + BOSTON + SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY + PUBLISHERS + + + + MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY + CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND GRIGGS (PRINTERS), LTD. AT THE + CHISWICK PRESS, TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + KING LEAR'S WIFE 1 + + THE CRIER BY NIGHT 49 + + THE RIDING TO LITHEND 81 + + MIDSUMMER EVE 131 + + LAODICE AND DANAE 169 + + APPENDIX A (KING LEAR'S WIFE) 207 + + APPENDIX B (THE CRIER BY NIGHT) 211 + +NOTE.--_Throughout the stage-directions in the following pages the words +"right" and "left" are used with reference to the actor's right and +left, not the spectator's._ + + + "REMEMBER THE + LIFE OF THESE + THINGS CONSISTS + IN ACTION." + + JOHN MARSTON: 1606. + + + + +BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE + + +THE plays here collected were originally published separately at various +dates during the past eighteen years, and are now brought together for +the first time. The details of the previous issues, now for the most +part out of print, are appended. + + I. THE CRIER BY NIGHT. (1900.) Published by the + Unicorn Press, London, 1902. 32 pp. Quarto, boards. + 500 copies. + + II. MIDSUMMER EVE. (1901-2.) Printed and published at + the Pear Tree Press, South Harting, near Petersfield, + 1905, with decorations by James Guthrie. iv+ 36 pp. + Large post 8vo, boards. 120 copies. + + III. LAODICE AND DANAE. (1906.) Printed for private + circulation, 1909. iv + 26 pp. Royal 8vo, wrappers. + 150 copies. + + IV. THE RIDING TO LITHEND. (1907.) Printed and + published at the Pear Tree Press, Flansham near + Bognor, 1909, with decorations by James Guthrie. vi + + 40pp. Foolscap 4to, boards. 120 copies (20 of which + had an extra plate and were hand-coloured.) + + V. KING LEAR'S WIFE. (1911-13.) Published in "Georgian + Poetry, 1913-1915," pp. 1 to 47. The Poetry Bookshop, + London, 1915. + + THE CRIER BY NIGHT, THE RIDING TO LITHEND, and LAODICE + AND DANAE have been reprinted in the United States of + America, the first in 1909, the second in two separate + forms in 1910, the third in 1916. + + + + +NOTE + + +APPLICATIONS for permission to perform these plays in Great Britain and +the Colonies should be addressed to the author, care of Messrs. +Constable and Co. Ltd., 10-12 Orange Street, Leicester Square, London, +W.C.2; and in the United States of America to Mr. Paul R. Reynolds, 70 +Fifth Avenue, New York. + + KING LEAR'S WIFE _is copyright by Gordon Bottomley in + the United States of America_, 1915. + + + + +KING LEAR'S WIFE + + + + +_TO T. STURGE MOORE_ + + + _THE years come on, the years go by, + And in my Northern valley I, + Withdrawn from life, watch life go by. + But I have formed within my heart + A state that does not thus depart, + Richer than life, greater than being, + Truer in feeling and in seeing + Than outward turbulence can know; + Where time is still, like a large, slow + And lofty bird that moves her wings + In far, invisible flutterings + To gaze on every part of space + Yet poise for ever in one place; + Where line and sound, colour and phrase + Rebuild in clear, essential ways + The powers behind the veil of sense; + While tragic things are made intense + By passion brooding on old dread, + Till a faint light of beauty shed + From night-enfolded agony + Shews in the ways men fail and die + The deeps whose knowledge never cloys + But, striking inward without voice, + Stirs me to tremble and rejoice._ + + _For twenty years and more than twenty + I have found my riches and my plenty + In poets dead and poets living, + Painters and music-men, all giving, + By life shut in creative deeds, + Live force and insight to my needs; + And long before I came to stand + And hear your voice and touch your hand + In that great treasure-house new-known, + Where in their tower above the Town + The masters of _The Dial_ sit, + I loved in every word of it + Your finely tempered verse that told me + Of patient power, and still can hold me + By its authentic divination + Of the right knowledge of creation, + Its grave, still beauty brought to day + Tissue by tissue in nature's way, + Petal by petal sure to shew + Imagination's quiet glow + That burns intenseliest at the core. + And through that twenty years and more + I have been envious of your reach + In speaking form and plastic speech, + Your double energy of hand + That puts two arts at your command + While I must be content with one + And feel true life but half begun; + So that by graver as by pen + You can create earth, stars, and men, + And prove yourself by more than rime + A prince of poets in our time._ + + _For these delights, and the delight + Of converse in a Surrey night + After the deep sound had lapsed by + Of ocean-haunted poetry, + For counsel and another zest + Added to beauty's life-long quest + I, in acknowledgment, would bring + The homage of an offering; + And, being too poor to reach the height + Of my conception or requite + Your greater giving equally, + I search in my capacity + And, by my self-appointed trade, + Find something I myself have made, + That here I offer. Let it be + A token betwixt you and me + Of admiration and loyalty._ + +February 29th, 1916. + + +PERSONS: + + LEAR, King of Britain. + HYGD, his Queen. + GONERIL, daughter to Lear and Hygd. + CORDEIL, daughter to Lear and Hygd. + GORMFLAITH, waiting-woman to Hygd. + MERRYN, waiting-woman to Hygd. + A PHYSICIAN. + TWO ELDERLY WOMEN. + + + + +KING LEAR'S WIFE + + + _The scene is a bedchamber in a one-storied house. The + walls consist of a few courses of huge irregular + boulders roughly squared and fitted together; a + thatched roof rises steeply from the back wall. In the + centre of the back wall is a doorway opening on a + garden and covered by two leather curtains; the + chamber is partially hung with similar hangings + stitched with bright wools. There is a small window on + each side of this door._ + + _Toward the front a bed stands with its head against + the right wall; it has thin leather curtains hung by + thongs and drawn back. Farther forward a rich robe and + a crown hang on a peg in the same wall. There is a + second door beyond the bed, and between this and the + bed's head stands a small table with a bronze lamp and + a bronze cup on it. Queen HYGD, an emaciated woman, is + asleep in the bed; her plenteous black hair, veined + with silver, spreads over the pillow. Her + waiting-woman, MERRYN, middle-aged and hard-featured, + sits watching her in a chair on the farther side of + the bed. The light of early morning fills the room._ + + MERRYN. + MANY, many must die who long to live, + Yet this one cannot die who longs to die: + Even her sleep, come now at last, thwarts death, + Although sleep lures us all half way to death.... + I could not sit beside her every night + If I believed that I might suffer so: + I am sure I am not made to be diseased, + I feel there is no malady can touch me-- + Save the red cancer, growing where it will. + +_Taking her beads from her girdle, she kneels at the foot of the bed._ + + O sweet Saint Cleer, and sweet Saint Elid too, + Shield me from rooting cancers and from madness: + Shield me from sudden death, worse than two death-beds; + Let me not lie like this unwanted queen, + Yet let my time come not ere I am ready-- + Grant space enow to relish the watchers' tears + And give my clothes away and calm my features + And streek my limbs according to my will, + Not the hard will of fumbling corpse-washers. + +_She prays silently._ + +_KING LEAR, a great, golden-bearded man in the full maturity of life, +enters abruptly by the door beyond the bed, followed by the PHYSICIAN._ + + LEAR. + Why are you here? Are you here for ever? + Where is the young Scotswoman? Where is she? + + MERRYN. + O, Sire, move softly; the Queen sleeps at last. + + LEAR, _continuing in an undertone._ + Where is the young Scotswoman? Where is Gormflaith? + It is her watch.... I know; I have marked your hours. + Did the Queen send her away? Did the Queen + Bid you stay near her in her hate of Gormflaith? + You work upon her yeasting brain to think + That she's not safe except when you crouch near her + To spy with your dropt eyes and soundless presence. + + MERRYN. + Sire, midnight should have ended Gormflaith's watch, + But Gormflaith had another kind of will + And ended at a godlier hour by slumber, + A letter in her hand, the night-lamp out. + She loitered in the hall when she should sleep. + My duty has two hours ere she returns. + + LEAR. + The Queen should have young women about her bed, + Fresh cool-breathed women to lie down at her side + And plenish her with vigour; for sick or wasted women + Can draw a virtue from such abounding presence, + When night makes life unwary and looses the strings of being, + Even by the breath, and most of all by sleep. + Her slumber was then no fault: go you and find her. + + PHYSICIAN. + It is not strange that a bought watcher drowses; + What is most strange is that the Queen sleeps + Who would not sleep for all my draughts of sleep + In the last days. When did this change appear? + + MERRYN. + We shall not know--it came while Gormflaith nodded. + When I awoke her and she saw the Queen + She could not speak for fear: + When the rekindling lamp showed certainly + The bed-clothes stirring about our lady's neck, + She knew there was no death, she breathed, she said + She had not slept until her mistress slept + And lulled her; but I asked her how her mistress + Slept, and her utterance faded. + She should be blamed with rods, as I was blamed + For slumber, after a day and a night of watching, + By the Queen's child-bed, twenty years ago. + + LEAR. + She does what she must do: let her alone. + I know her watch is now: get gone and send her. + +_MERRYN goes out by the door beyond the bed._ + + Is it a portent now to sleep at night? + What change is here? What see you in the Queen? + Can you discern how this disease will end? + + PHYSICIAN. + Surmise might spring and healing follow yet, + If I could find a trouble that could heal; + But these strong inward pains that keep her ebbing + Have not their source in perishing flesh. + I have seen women creep into their beds + And sink with this blind pain because they nursed + Some bitterness or burden in the mind + That drew the life, sucklings too long at breast. + Do you know such a cause in this poor lady? + + LEAR. + There is no cause. How should there be a cause? + + PHYSICIAN. + We cannot die wholly against our wills; + And in the texture of women I have found + Harder determination than in men: + The body grows impatient of enduring, + The harried mind is from the body estranged, + And we consent to go: by the Queen's touch, + The way she moves--or does not move--in bed, + The eyes so cold and keen in her white mask, + I know she has consented. + The snarling look of a mute wounded hawk, + That would be let alone, is always hers-- + Yet she was sorely tender: it may be + Some wound in her affection will not heal. + We should be careful--the mind can so be hurt + That nought can make it be unhurt again. + Where, then, did her affection most persist? + + LEAR. + Old bone-patcher, old digger in men's flesh, + Doctors are ever itching to be priests, + Meddling in conduct, natures, life's privacies. + We have been coupled now for twenty years, + And she has never turned from me an hour-- + She knows a woman's duty and a queen's: + Whose, then, can her affection be but mine? + How can I hurt her--she is still my queen? + If her strong inward pain is a real pain + Find me some certain drug to medicine it: + When common beings have decayed past help, + There must be still some drug for a king to use; + For nothing ought to be denied to kings. + + PHYSICIAN. + For the mere anguish there is such a potion. + The gum of warpy juniper shoots is seethed + With the torn marrow of an adder's spine; + An unflawed emerald is pashed to dust + And mingled there; that broth must cool in moonlight. + I have indeed attempted this already, + But the poor emeralds I could extort + From wry-mouthed earls' women had no force. + In two more dawns it will be late for potions.... + There are not many emeralds in Britain, + And there is none for vividness and strength + Like the great stone that hangs upon your breast: + If you will waste it for her she shall be holpen. + + LEAR, _with rising voice._ + Shatter my emerald? My emerald? My emerald? + A High King of Eire gave it to his daughter + Who mothered generations of us, the kings of Britain; + It has a spiritual influence; its heart + Burns when it sees the sun.... Shatter my emerald! + Only the fungused brain and carious mouth + Of senile things could shape such thought.... + My emerald! + +_HYGD stirs uneasily in her sleep._ + + PHYSICIAN. + Speak lower, low; for your good fame, speak low-- + If she should waken thus.... + + LEAR. There is no wise man + Believes that medicine is in a jewel. + It is enough that you have failed with one. + Seek you a common stone. I'll not do it. + Let her eat heartily: she is spent with fasting. + Let her stand up and walk: she is so still + Her blood can never nourish her. Come away. + + PHYSICIAN. + I must not leave her ere the woman comes-- + Or will some other woman.... + + LEAR. No, no, no, no; + The Queen is not herself; she speaks without sense; + Only Merryn and Gormflaith understand. + She is better quiet. Come.... + +_He urges the PHYSICIAN roughly away by the shoulder._ + + My emerald! + +_He follows the PHYSICIAN out by the door at the back._ + +_Queen HYGD awakes at his last noisy words as he disappears._ + + HYGD. + I have not slept; I did but close mine eyes + A little while--a little while forgetting.... + Where are you, Merryn?... Ah, it is not Merryn.... + Bring me the cup of whey, woman; I thirst.... + Will you speak to me if I say your name? + Will you not listen, Gormflaith? ... Can you hear? + I am very thirsty--let me drink.... + Ah, wicked woman, why did I speak to you? + I will not be your suppliant again.... + Where are you? O, where are you?... Where are you? + +_She tries to raise herself to look about the room, but sinks back +helplessly._ + +_The curtains of the door at the back are parted, and GONERIL appears in +hunting dress,--her kirtle caught up in her girdle, a light spear over +her shoulder--stands there a moment, then enters noiselessly and +approaches the bed. She is a girl just turning to womanhood, proud in +her poise, swift and cold, an almost gleaming presence, a virgin +huntress._ + + GONERIL. + Mother, were you calling? + Have I awakened you? + They said that you were sleeping. + Why are you left alone, mother, my dear one? + + HYGD. + Who are you? No, no, no! Stand farther off! + You pulse and glow; you are too vital; your presence hurts.... + Freshness of hill-swards, wind and trodden ling, + I should have known that Goneril stands here. + It is yet dawn, but you have been afoot + Afar and long: where could you climb so soon? + + GONERIL. + Dearest, I am an evil daughter to you: + I never thought of you--O, never once-- + Until I heard a moor-bird cry like you. + I am wicked, rapt in joys of breath and life, + And I must force myself to think of you. + I leave you to caretakers' cold gentleness; + But O, I did not think that they dare leave you. + What woman should be here? + + HYGD. I have forgot.... + I know not.... She will be about some duty. + I do not matter: my time is done ... nigh done ... + Bought hands can well prepare me for a grave, + And all the generations must serve youth. + My girls shall live untroubled while they may, + And learn happiness once while yet blind men + Have injured not their freedom; + For women are not meant for happiness. + Where have you been, my falcon? + + GONERIL. + I dreamt that I was swimming, shoulder up, + And drave the bed-clothes spreading to the floor: + Coldness awoke me; through the waning darkness + I heard far hounds give shivering aery tongue, + Remote, withdrawing, suddenly faint and near; + I leapt and saw a pack of stretching weasels + Hunt a pale coney in a soundless rush, + Their elfin and thin yelping pierced my heart + As with an unseen beauty long awaited; + Wolf-skin and cloak I buckled over this night-gear, + And took my honoured spear from my bed-side + Where none but I may touch its purity, + And sped as lightly down the dewy bank + As any mothy owl that hunts quick mice. + They went crying, crying, but I lost them + Before I stept, with the first tips of light, + On Raven Crag near by the Druid Stones; + So I paused there and, stooping, pressed my hand + Against the stony bed of the clear stream; + Then entered I the circle and raised up + My shining hand in cold stern adoration + Even as the first great gleam went up the sky. + + HYGD. + Ay, you do well to worship on that height: + Life is free to the quick up in the wind, + And the wind bares you for a god's descent-- + For wind is a spirit immediate and aged. + And you do well to worship harsh men-gods, + God Wind and Those who built his Stones with him: + All gods are cruel, bitter, and to be bribed, + But women-gods are mean and cunning as well. + That fierce old virgin, Cornish Merryn, prays + To a young woman, yes and even a virgin-- + The poorest kind of woman--and she says + That is to be a Christian: avoid then + Her worship most, for men hate such denials, + And any woman scorns her unwed daughter. + Where sped you from that height? Did Regan join you there? + + GONERIL. + Does Regan worship anywhere at dawn? + The sweaty half-clad cook-maids render lard + Out in the scullery, after pig-killing, + And Regan sidles among their greasy skirts, + Smeary and hot as they, for craps to suck. + I lost my thoughts before the giant Stones... + And when anew the earth assembled round me + I swung out on the heath and woke a hare + And speared it at a cast and shouldered it, + Startled another drinking at a tarn + And speared it ere it leapt; so steady and clear + Had the god in his fastness made my mind. + Then, as I took those dead things in my hands, + I felt shame light my face from deep within, + And loathing and contempt shake in my bowels, + That such unclean coarse blows from me had issued + To crush delicate things to bloody mash + And blemish their fur when I would only kill. + My gladness left me; I careered no more + Upon the morning; I went down from there + With empty hands: + But under the first trees and without thought + I stole on conies at play and stooped at one; + I hunted it, I caught it up to me + As I outsprang it, and with this thin knife + Pierced it from eye to eye; and it was dead, + Untorn, unsullied, and with flawless fur. + Then my untroubled mind came back to me. + + HYGD. + Leap down the glades with a fawn's ignorance; + Live you your fill of a harsh purity; + Be wild and calm and lonely while you may. + These are your nature's joys, and it is human + Only to recognize our natures' joys + When we are losing them for ever. + + GONERIL. But why + Do you say this to me with a sore heart? + You are a queen, and speak from the top of life, + And when you choose to wish for others' joys + Those others must have woe. + + HYGD. + The hour comes for you to turn to a man + And give yourself with the high heart of youth + More lavishly than a queen gives anything. + But when a woman gives herself + She must give herself for ever and have faith; + For woman is a thing of a season of years, + She is an early fruit that will not keep, + She can be drained and as a husk survive + To hope for reverence for what has been; + While man renews himself into old age, + And gives himself according to his need, + And women more unborn than his next child + May take him yet with youth + And lose him with their potence. + + GONERIL. + But women need not wed these men. + + HYGD. + We are good human currency, like gold, + For men to pass among them when they choose. + +_A child's hands beat on the outside of the door beyond the bed._ + + CORDEIL'S VOICE, _a child's voice, outside._ + Father.... Father.... Father.... Are you here? + Merryn, ugly Merryn, let me in.... + I know my father is here.... I want him.... Now.... + Mother, chide Merryn, she is old and slow.... + + HYGD, _softly._ + My little curse. Send her away--away.... + + CORDEIL'S VOICE. + Father.... O, father, father.... I want my father. + + GONERIL, _opening the door a little way._ + Hush; hush--you hurt your mother with your voice. + You cannot come in, Cordeil; you must go away: + Your father is not here.... + + CORDEIL'S VOICE. He must be here: + He is not in his chamber or the hall, + He is not in the stable or with Gormflaith: + He promised I should ride with him at dawn + And sit before his saddle and hold his hawk, + And ride with him and ride to the heron-marsh; + He said that he would give me the first heron, + And hang the longest feathers in my hair. + + GONERIL. + Then you must haste to find him; + He may be riding now.... + + CORDEIL'S VOICE. + But Gerda said she saw him enter here. + + GONERIL. + Indeed, he is not here.... + + CORDEIL'S VOICE. Let me look.... + + GONERIL. + You are too noisy. Must I make you go? + + CORDEIL'S VOICE. + Mother, Goneril is unkind to me. + + HYGD, _raising herself in bed excitedly, and speaking so vehemently + that her utterance strangles itself._ + Go, go, thou evil child, thou ill-comer. + +_GONERIL, with a sudden strong movement, shuts the resisting door and +holds it rigidly. The little hands beat on it madly for a moment, then +the child's voice is heard in a retreating wail._ + + GONERIL. + Though she is wilful, obeying only the King, + She is a very little child, mother, + To be so bitterly thought of. + + HYGD. + Because a woman gives herself for ever + Cordeil the useless had to be conceived + (Like an after-thought that deceives nobody) + To keep her father from another woman. + And I lie here. + + GONERIL, _after a silence._ + Hard and unjust my father has been to me; + Yet that has knitted up within my mind + A love of coldness and a love of him + Who makes me firm, wary, swift and secret, + Until I feel if I become a mother + I shall at need be cruel to my children, + And ever cold, to string their natures harder + And make them able to endure men's deeds; + But now I wonder if injustice + Keeps house with baseness, taught by kinship-- + I never thought a king could be untrue, + I never thought my father was unclean.... + O mother, mother, what is it? Is this dying? + + HYGD. + I think I am only faint.... + Give me the cup of whey.... + +_GONERIL takes the cup and, supporting HYGD, lets her drink._ + + GONERIL. + There is too little here. When was it made? + + HYGD. + Yester-eve.... Yester-morn.... + + GONERIL. Unhappy mother, + You have no daughter to take thought for you-- + No servant's love to shame a daughter with, + Though I am shamed--you must have other food, + Straightway I bring you meat.... + + HYGD. It is no use.... + Plenish the cup for me.... Not now, not now, + But in a while; for I am heavy now.... + Old Wynoc's potions loiter in my veins, + And tides of heaviness pour over me + Each time I wake and think. I could sleep now. + + GONERIL. + Then I shall lull you, as you once lulled me. + +_Seating herself on the bed, she sings._ + + The owlets in roof-holes + Can sing for themselves; + The smallest brown squirrel + Both scampers and delves; + But a baby does nothing-- + She never knows how-- + She must hark to her mother + Who sings to her now. + Sleep then, ladykin, peeping so; + Hide your handies and ley lei lo. + +_She bends over HYGD and kisses her; they laugh softly together._ + +_LEAR parts the curtains of the door at the back, stands there a moment, +then goes away noiselessly._ + + The lish baby otter + Is sleeky and streaming, + With catching bright fishes, + Ere babies learn dreaming; + But no wet little otter + Is ever so warm + As the fleecy-wrapt baby + 'Twixt me and my arm. + Sleep big mousie.... + + HYGD, _suddenly irritable._ + Be quiet.... I cannot bear it. + +_She turns her head away from GONERIL and closes her eyes._ + +_As GONERIL watches her in silence, GORMFLAITH enters by the door beyond +the bed. She is young and tall and fresh-coloured; her red hair coils +and crisps close to her little head, showing its shape. Her movements +are soft and unhurried; her manner is quiet and ingratiating and a +little too agreeable; she speaks a little too gently._ + + _GONERIL, meeting her near the door and speaking in a low voice._ + Why did you leave the Queen? Where have you been? + Why have you so neglected this grave duty? + + GORMFLAITH. + This is the instant of my duty, Princess: + From midnight until now was Merryn's watch. + I thought to find her here: is she not here? + +_HYGD turns to look at the speakers; then, turning back, closes her eyes +again and lies as if asleep._ + + GONERIL. + I found the Queen alone. I heard her cry your name. + + GORMFLAITH. + Your anger is not too great, Madam; I grieve + That one so old as Merryn should act thus-- + So old and trusted and favoured, and so callous. + + GONERIL. + The Queen has had no food since yester-night. + + GORMFLAITH. + Madam, that is too monstrous to conceive: + I will seek food--I will prepare it now. + + GONERIL. + Stay here: and know, if the Queen is left again, + You shall be beaten with two rods at once. + +_She picks up the cup and goes out by the door beyond the bed._ + +_GORMFLAITH turns the chair a little away from the bed so that she can +watch the far door, and, seating herself, draws a letter from her +bosom._ + + GORMFLAITH, _to herself, reading._ + "Open your window when the moon is dead, + And I will come again. + The men say everywhere that you are faithless, + The women say your face is a false face + And your eyes shifty eyes. Ah, but I love you, Gormflaith. + Do not forget your window-latch to-night, + For when the moon is dead the house is still." + +_LEAR again parts the door-curtains at the back, and, seeing GORMFLAITH, +enters. At the first slight rustle of the curtains GORMFLAITH stealthily +slips the letter back into her bosom before turning gradually, a finger +to her lips, to see who approaches her._ + + LEAR, _leaning over the side of her chair._ + Lady, what do you read? + + GORMFLAITH. I read a letter, Sire. + + LEAR. + A letter--a letter--what read you in a letter? + + GORMFLAITH, _taking another letter from her girdle._ + Your words to me--my lonely joy your words.... + "If you are steady and true as your gaze"-- + + LEAR, _tearing the letter from her, crumpling it, and flinging it + to the back of the room._ + Pest! + You should not carry a king's letters about, + Nor hoard a king's letters. + + GORMFLAITH. No, Sire. + + LEAR. + Must the King also stand in the presence now? + + GORMFLAITH, _rising._ + Pardon my troubled mind; you have taken my letter from me. + +_LEAR seats himself and takes GORMFLAITH'S hand._ + + GORMFLAITH. + Wait, wait--I might be seen. The Queen may waken yet. + +_Stepping lightly to the bed, she noiselessly slips the curtain on that +side as far forward as it will come. Then she returns to LEAR, who draws +her to him and seats her on his knee._ + + LEAR. + You have been long in coming: + Was Merryn long in finding you? + + GORMFLAITH, _playing with LEAR'S emerald._ + Did Merryn.... + Has Merryn been.... She loitered long before she came, + For I was at the women's bathing-place ere dawn.... + No jewel in all the land excites me and enthralls + Like this strong source of light that lives upon your breast. + + LEAR, _taking the jewel-chain from his neck and slipping it over + GORMFLAITH'S head while she still holds the emerald._ + Wear it within your breast to fill the gentle place + That cherished the poor letter lately torn from you. + + GORMFLAITH. + Did Merryn at your bidding, then, forsake her Queen? + _LEAR nods._ + You must not, ah, you must not do these masterful things, + Even to grasp a precious meeting for us two; + For the reproach and chiding are so hard to me, + And even you can never fight the silent women + In hidden league against me, all this house of women. + Merryn has left her Queen in unwatched loneliness, + And yet your daughter Princess Goneril has said + (With lips that scarce held back the spittle for my face) + That if the Queen is left again I shall be whipt. + + LEAR. + Children speak of the punishments they know. + Her back is now not half so white as yours, + And you shall write your will upon it yet. + + GORMFLAITH. + Ah, no, my King, my faithful... Ah, no... no... + The Princess Goneril is right; she judges me: + A sinful woman cannot steadily gaze reply + To the cool, baffling looks of virgin untried force. + She stands beside that crumbling mother in her hate, + And, though we know so well--she and I, O we know-- + That she could love no mother nor partake in anguish, + Yet she is flouted when the King forsakes her dam, + She must protect her very flesh, her tenderer flesh, + Although she cannot wince; she's wild in her cold brain, + And soon I must be made to pay a cruel price + For this one gloomy joy in my uncherished life. + Envy and greed are watching me aloof + (Yes, now none of the women will walk with me), + Longing to see me ruined, but she'll do it.... + It is a lonely thing to love a king.... + +_She puts her cheek gradually closer and closer to LEAR'S cheek as she +speaks: at length he kisses her suddenly and vehemently, as if he would +grasp her lips with his: she receives it passively, her head thrown +back, her eyes closed._ + + LEAR. + Goldilocks, when the crown is couching in your hair + And those two mingled golds brighten each other's wonder, + You shall produce a son from flesh unused-- + Virgin I chose you for that, first crops are strongest-- + A tawny fox with your high-stepping action, + With your untiring power and glittering eyes, + To hold my lands together when I am done, + To keep my lands from crumbling into mouthfuls + For the short jaws of my three mewling vixens. + Hatch for me such a youngster from my seed, + And I and he shall rein my hot-breathed wenches + To let you grind the edges off their teeth. + + GORMFLAITH, _shaking her head sadly._ + Life holds no more than this for me; this is my hour. + When she is dead I know you'll buy another Queen-- + Giving a county for her, gaining a duchy with her-- + And put me to wet nursing, leashing me with the thralls. + It will not be unbearable--I've had your love. + Master and friend, grant then this hour to me: + Never again, maybe, can we two sit + At love together, unwatched, unknown of all, + In the Queen's chamber, near the Queen's crown + And with no conscious Queen to hold it from us: + Now let me wear the Queen's true crown on me + And snatch a breathless knowledge of the feeling + Of what it would have been to sit by you + Always and closely, equal and exalted, + To be my light when life is dark again. + + LEAR. + Girl, by the black stone god, I did not think + You had the nature of a chambermaid, + Who pries and fumbles in her lady's clothes + With her red hands, or on her soily neck + Stealthily hangs her lady's jewels or pearls. + You shall be tiring-maid to the next queen + And try her crown on every day o' your life + In secrecy, if that is your desire: + If you would be a queen, cleanse yourself quickly + Of menial fingering and servile thought. + + GORMFLAITH. + You need not crown me. Let me put it on + As briefly as a gleam of Winter sun. + I will not even warm it with my hair. + + LEAR. + You cannot have the nature of a queen + If you believe that there are things above you: + Crowns make no queens, queens are the cause of crowns. + + Gormflaith, _slipping from his knee._ + Then I will take one. Look. + +_She tip-toes lightly round the front of the bed to where the crown +hangs on the wall._ + + LEAR. + Come here, mad thing--come back! + Your shadow will wake the Queen. + + GORMFLAITH. + Hush, hush! That angry voice + Will surely wake the Queen. + +_She lifts the crown from the peg, and returns with it._ + + LEAR. + Go back; bear back the crown: + Hang up the crown again. + We are not helpless serfs + To think things are forbidden + And steal them for our joy. + + GORMFLAITH. + Hush! Hush! It is too late; + I dare not go again. + + LEAR. + Put down the crown: your hands are base hands yet. + Give it to me: it issues from my hands. + +_GORMFLAITH, seating herself on his knee again, and crowning herself._ + + Let anger keep your eyes steady and bright + To be my guiding mirror: do not move. + You have received two queens within your eyes. + +_She laughs clearly, like a bird's sudden song. HYGD awakes and, after +an instant's bewilderment, turns her head toward the sound; finding the +bed-curtain dropt, she moves it aside a little with her fingers; she +watches LEAR and GORMFLAITH for a short time, then the curtain slips +from her weak grasp and she lies motionless._ + + LEAR, _continuing meanwhile._ + Doff it. (_GORMFLAITH kisses him._) Enough. (_Kiss_) + Unless you do (_Kiss_) my will (_Kiss_) + I shall (_Kiss_) I shall (_Kiss_) I'll have you (_Kiss_) + sent (_Kiss_) to (_Kiss_)---- + + GORMFLAITH. Hush. + + LEAR. + Come to the garden: you shall hear me there. + + GORMFLAITH. + I dare not leave the Queen.... Yes, yes, I come. + + LEAR. + No, you are better here: the guard would see you. + + GORMFLAITH. + Not when we reach the pathway near the apple-yard. + _They rise._ + + LEAR. + Girl, you are changed: you yield more beauty so. + +_They go out hand in hand by the doorway at the back. As they pass the +crumpled letter GORMFLAITH drops her handkerchief on it, then picks up +handkerchief and letter together and thrusts them into her bosom as she +passes out._ + + HYGD, _fingering back the bed-curtain again._ + How have they vanished? What are they doing now? + + GORMFLAITH, _outside, singing to a quick, chattering tune._ + If you have a mind to kiss me + You shall kiss me in the dark: + Yet rehearse, or you might miss me-- + Make my mouth your noontide mark.... + +_GORMFLAITH'S voice grows fainter as the song progresses, until all +sound is lost._ + + HYGD. + Does he remember love-ways used with me? + Shall I never know? Is it too near? + I'll watch him at his wooing once again, + Though I peer up at him across my grave-sill. + +_She gets out of bed and takes several steps toward the garden doorway; +she totters and sways, then, turning, stumbles back to the bed for +support._ + + Limbs, will you die? It is not yet the time. + I know more discipline: I'll make you go. + +_She fumbles along the bed to the head, then, clinging against the wall, +drags herself toward the back of the room._ + + It is too far. I cannot see the wall. + I will go ten more steps: only ten more. + One. Two. Three. Four. Five. + Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. + Sundown is soon to-day: it is cold and dark. + Now ten steps more, and much will have been done. + One. Two. Three. Four. Ten. + Eleven. Twelve. Sixteen. Nineteen. Twenty. + Twenty-one. Twenty-three. Twenty-eight. Thirty. Thirty-one. + At last the turn. Thirty-six. Thirty-nine. Forty. + Now only once again. Two. Three. + What do the voices say? I hear too many. + The door: but here there is no garden.... Ah! + +_She holds herself up an instant by the door-curtains; then she reels +and falls, her body in the room, her head and shoulders beyond the +curtains._ + +_GONERIL enters by the door beyond the bed, carrying the filled cup +carefully in both hands._ + + GONERIL. + Where are you? What have you done? Speak to me. + +_Turning and seeing HYGD, she lets the cup fall and leaps to the open +door by the bed._ + + Merryn, hither, hither.... Mother, O mother! + +_She goes to HYGD. MERRYN enters._ + + MERRYN. + Princess, what has she done? Who has left her? + She must have been alone. + + GONERIL. Where is Gormflaith? + + MERRYN. + Mercy o' mercies, everybody asks me + For Gormflaith, then for Gormflaith, then for Gormflaith, + And I ask everybody else for her; + But she is nowhere, and the King will foam. + Send me no more; I am old with running about + After a bodiless name. + + GONERIL. She has been here, + And she has left the Queen. This is her deed. + + MERRYN. + Ah, cruel, cruel! The shame, the pity-- + + GONERIL. Lift. + +_Together they raise HYGD, and carry her to bed._ + + She breathes, but something flitters under her flesh: + Wynoc the leech must help us now. Go, run, + Seek him, and come back quickly, and do not dare + To come without him. + + MERRYN. It is useless, lady: + There's fever at the cowherd's in the marsh, + And Wynoc broods above it twice a day, + And I have lately seen him hobble thither. + + GONERIL. + I never heard such scornful wickedness + As that a king's physician so should choose + To watch and even heal base men and poor-- + And, more than all, when there's a queen a-dying.... + + HYGD, _recovering consciousness._ + Whence come you, dearest daughter? What have I done? + Are you a dream? I thought I was alone. + Have you been hunting on the Windy Height? + Your hands are not thus gentle after hunting. + Or have I heard you singing through my sleep? + Stay with me now: I have had piercing thoughts + Of what the ways of life will do to you + To mould and maim you, and I have a power + To bring these to expression that I knew not. + Why do you wear my crown? Why do you wear + My crown I say? Why do you wear my crown? + I am falling, falling! Lift me: hold me up. + +_GONERIL climbs on the bed and supports HYGD against her shoulder._ + + It is the bed that breaks, for still I sink. + Grip harder: I am slipping! + + GONERIL. Woman, help! + +_MERRYN hurries round to the front of the bed and supports HYGD on her +other side._ + +_HYGD points at the far corner of the room._ + + HYGD. + Why is the King's mother standing there? + She should not wear her crown before me now. + Send her away, she had a savage mind. + Will you not hang a shawl across the corner + So that she cannot stare at me again? + +_With a rending sob she buries her face in GONERIL'S bosom._ + + Ah, she is coming! Do not let her touch me! + Brave splendid daughter, how easily you save me: + But soon will Gormflaith come, she stays for ever. + O, will she bring my crown to me once more? + Yes, Gormflaith, yes.... Daughter, pay Gormflaith well. + + GONERIL. + Gormflaith has left you lonely: + 'Tis Gormflaith who shall pay. + + HYGD. + No, Gormflaith; Gormflaith.... Not my loneliness.... + Everything.... Pay Gormflaith.... + +_Her head falls back over GONERIL'S shoulder and she dies._ + + GONERIL, _laying HYGD down in bed again._ + Send horsemen to the marshes for the leech, + And let them bind him on a horse's back + And bring him swiftlier than an old man rides. + + MERRYN. + This is no leech's work: she's a dead woman. + I'd best be finding if the wisdom-women + Have come from Brita's child-bed to their drinking + By the cook's fire, for soon she'll be past handling. + + GONERIL. + This is not death: death could not be like this. + She is quite warm--though nothing moves in her. + I did not know death could come all at once: + If life is so ill-seated no one is safe. + Cannot we leave her like herself awhile? + Wait awhile, Merryn.... No, no, no; not yet! + + MERRYN. + Child, she is gone and will not come again + However we cover our faces and pretend + She will be there if we uncover them. + I must be hasty, or she'll be as stiff + As a straw mattress is. + _She hurries out by the door near the bed._ + +_GONERIL, throwing the whole length of her body along HYGD'S body, and +embracing it._ + + Come back, come back; the things I have not done + Beat in upon my brain from every side: + I know not where to put myself to bear them: + If I could have you now I could act well. + My inward life, deeds that you have not known, + I burn to tell you in a sudden dread + That now your ghost discovers them in me. + Hearken, mother; between us there's a bond + Of flesh and essence closer than love can cause: + It cannot be unknit so soon as this, + And you must know my touch, + And you shall yield a sign. + Feel, feel this urging throb: I call to you. Come back. + +_GORMFLAITH, still crowned, enters by the garden doorway._ + + GORMFLAITH. + Come back! Help me and shield me! + _She disappears through the curtains._ + +_GONERIL has sprung to her feet at the first sound of GORMFLAITH'S +voice._ + +_LEAR enters by the garden doorway, leading GORMFLAITH by the hand._ + + LEAR. What is to do? + + GONERIL, _advancing to meet them with a deep obeisance._ + O, Sir, the Queen is dead: long live the Queen. + You have been ready with the coronation. + + LEAR. + What do you mean? Young madam, will you mock? + + GONERIL. + But is not she your choice? + The old Queen thought so, for I found her here, + Lipping the prints of her supplanter's feet, + Prostrate in homage, on her face, silent. + I tremble within to have seen her fallen down. + I must be pardoned if I scorn your ways: + You cannot know this feeling that I know, + You are not of her kin or house; but I + Share blood with her, and, though she grew too worn + To be your Queen, she was my mother, Sir. + + GORMFLAITH. + The Queen has seen me. + + LEAR. + She is safe in bed. + + GONERIL. + Do not speak low: your voice sounds guilty so; + And there is no more need--she will not wake. + + LEAR. + She cannot sleep for ever. When she wakes + I will announce my purpose in the need + Of Britain for a prince to follow me, + And tell her that she is to be deposed.... + What have you done? She is not breathing now. + She breathed here lately. Is she truly dead? + + GONERIL. + Your graceful consort steals from us too soon: + Will you not tell her that she should remain-- + If she can trust the faith you keep with a queen? + +_She steps to GORMFLAITH, who is sidling toward the garden doorway, and, +taking her hand, leads her to the foot of the bed._ + + Lady, why will you go? The King intends + That you shall soon be royal, and thereby + Admitted to our breed: then stay with us + In this domestic privacy to mourn + The grief here fallen on our family. + Kneel now; I yield the eldest daughter's place. + Why do you fumble in your bosom so? + Put your cold hands together; close your eyes, + In inward isolation to assemble + Your memories of the dead, your prayers for her. + +_She turns to LEAR, who has approached the bed and drawn back the +curtain._ + + What utterance of doom would the king use + Upon a watchman in the castle garth + Who left his gate and let an enemy in? + The watcher by the Queen thus left her station: + The sick bruised Queen is dead of that neglect. + And what should be the doom on a seducer + Who drew that sentinel from his fixt watch? + + LEAR. + She had long been dying, and she would have died + Had all her dutiful daughters tended her bed. + + GONERIL. + Yes, she had long been dying in her heart. + She lived to see you give her crown away; + She died to see you fondle a menial: + These blows you dealt now, but what elder wounds + Received them to such purpose suddenly? + What had you caused her to remember most? + What things would she be like to babble over + In the wild helpless hour when fitful life + No more can choose what thoughts it shall encourage + In the tost mind? She has suffered you twice over, + Your animal thoughts and hungry powers, this day, + Until I knew you unkingly and untrue. + + LEAR. + Punishment once taught you daughterly silence; + It shall be tried again.... What has she said? + + GONERIL. + You cannot touch me now I know your nature: + Your force upon my mind was only terrible + When I believed you a cruel flawless man. + Ruler of lands and dreaded judge of men, + Now you have done a murder with your mind + Can you see any murderer put to death? + Can you-- + + LEAR. What has she said? + + GONERIL. + Continue in your joy of punishing evil, + Your passion of just revenge upon wrong-doers, + Unkingly and untrue? + + LEAR. Enough: what do you know? + + GONERIL. + That which could add a further agony + To the last agony, the daily poison + Of her late, withering life; but never word + Of fairer hours or any lost delight. + Have you no memory, either, of her youth, + While she was still to use, spoil, forsake, + That maims your new contentment with a longing + For what is gone and will not come again? + + LEAR. + I did not know that she could die to-day. + She had a bloodless beauty that cheated me: + She was not born for wedlock. She shut me out. + She is no colder now.... I'll hear no more. + You shall be answered afterward for this. + Put something over her: get her buried: + I will not look on her again. + +_He breaks from GONERIL and flings abruptly out by the door near the +bed._ + + GORMFLAITH. + My King, you leave me! + + GONERIL. Soon we follow him: + But, ah, poor fragile beauty, you cannot rise + While this grave burden weights your drooping head. + +_Laying her hand caressingly on GORMFLAITH'S neck, she gradually forces +her head farther and farther down._ + + You were not nurtured to sustain a crown, + Your unanointed parents could not breed + The spirit that ten hundred years must ripen. + Lo, how you sink and fail. + + GORMFLAITH. You had best take care, + For where my neck has bruises yours shall have wounds. + The King knows of your wolfish snapping at me: + He will protect me. + + GONERIL. Ay, if he is in time. + +_GORMFLAITH, taking off the crown and holding it up blindly toward +GONERIL with one hand._ + + Take it and let me go! + + GONERIL. Nay, not to me: + You are the Queen's, to serve her even in death. + Yield her her own. Approach her: do not fear; + She will not chide you or forgive you now. + Go on your knees; the crown still holds you down. + +_GORMFLAITH stumbles forward on her knees and lays the crown on the bed, +then crouches motionlessly against the bedside._ + +_GONERIL, taking the crown and putting it on the dead Queen's head._ + + Mother and Queen, to you this holiest circlet + Returns, by you renews its purpose and pride; + Though it is sullied with a menial warmth, + Your august coldness shall rehallow it, + And when the young lewd blood that lent it heat + Is also cooler we can well forget. + +_She steps to GORMFLAITH._ + + Rise. Come, for here there is no more to do, + And let us seek your chamber, if you will, + There to confer in greater privacy; + For we have now interment to prepare. + +_She leads GORMFLAITH to the door near the bed._ + + You must walk first, you are still the Queen elect. + +_When GORMFLAITH has passed before her GONERIL unsheathes her hunting +knife._ + + GORMFLAITH, _turning in the doorway._ + What will you do? + + GONERIL, _thrusting her forward with the haft of the knife._ + On. On. On. Go in. + +_She follows GORMFLAITH out._ + +_After a moments interval two elderly women, one a little younger than +the other, enter by the same door: they wear black hoods and shapeless +black gowns with large sleeves that flap like the wings of ungainly +birds: between them they carry a heavy cauldron of hot water._ + + THE YOUNGER WOMAN. + We were listening. We were listening. + + THE ELDER WOMAN. We were both listening. + + THE YOUNGER WOMAN. + Did she struggle? + + THE ELDER WOMAN. + She could not struggle long. + +_They set down the cauldron at the foot of the bed._ + + THE ELDER WOMAN, _curtseying to the Queen's body._ + Saving your presence, Madam, we are come + To make you sweeter than you'll be hereafter, + And then be done with you. + + THE YOUNGER WOMAN, _curtseying in turn._ + Three days together, my Lady, y'have had me ducked + For easing a foolish maid at the wrong time; + But now your breath is stopped and you are colder, + And you shall be as wet as a drowned cat + Ere I have done with you. + + THE ELDER WOMAN, _fumbling in the folds of the robe that hangs on + the wall._ + Her pocket is empty; Merryn has been here first. + Hearken, and then begin: + You have not touched a royal corpse before, + But I have stretched a king and an old queen, + A king's aunt and a king's brother too, + Without much boasting of a still-born princess; + So that I know, as a priest knows his prayers, + All that is written in the chamberlain's book + About the handling of exalted corpses, + Stripping them and trussing them for the grave: + And there it says that the chief corpse-washer + Shall take for her own use by sacred right + The coverlid, the upper sheet, the mattress + Of any bed in which a queen has died, + And the last robe of state the body wore; + While humbler helpers may divide among them + The under sheet, the pillow, and the bed-gown + Stript from the cooling queen. + Be thankful, then, and praise me every day + That I have brought no other women with me + To spoil you of your share. + + THE YOUNGER WOMAN. + Ah, you have always been a friend to me: + Many's the time I have said I did not know + How I could even have lived but for your kindness. + +_The ELDER WOMAN draws down the bedclothes from the Queen's body, +loosens them from the bed, and throws them on the floor._ + + THE ELDER WOMAN. + Pull her feet straight: is your mind wandering? + +_She commences to fold the bedclothes, singing as she moves about._ + + A louse crept out of my lady's shift-- + Ahumm, Ahumm, Ahee-- + Crying "Oi! Oi! We are turned adrift; + The lady's bosom is cold and stiffed, + And her arm-pit's cold for me." + +_While the ELDER WOMAN sings, the YOUNGER WOMAN straightens the Queen's +feet and ties them together, draws the pillow from under her head, +gathers her hair in one hand and knots it roughly; then she loosens her +nightgown, revealing a jewel hung on a cord round the Queen's neck._ + + THE ELDER WOMAN, _running to the vacant side of the bed._ + What have you there? Give it to me. + + THE YOUNGER WOMAN. It is mine: + I found it. + + THE ELDER WOMAN, _seizing the jewel._ + Leave it. + + THE YOUNGER WOMAN. Let go. + + THE ELDER WOMAN. Leave it, I say. + Will you not? Will you not? An eye for a jewel, then! + +_She attacks the face of the YOUNGER WOMAN with her disengaged hand._ + + THE YOUNGER WOMAN, _starting back._ + Oh! + +_The ELDER WOMAN breaks the cord and thrusts the jewel into her pocket._ + + THE YOUNGER WOMAN. + Aie! Aie! Aie! Old thief! You are always thieving! + You stole a necklace on your wedding-day: + You could not bear a child, you stole your daughter: + You stole a shroud the morn your husband died: + Last week you stole the Princess Regan's comb.... + +_She stumbles into the chair by the bed, and, throwing her loose sleeves +over her head, rocks herself and moans._ + + THE ELDER WOMAN, _resuming her clothes-folding and her song._ + "The lady's linen's no longer neat;"-- + Ahumm, Ahumm, Ahee-- + "Her savour is neither warm nor sweet; + It's close for two in a winding-sheet, + And lice are too good for worms to eat; + So here's no place for me." + +_GONERIL enters by the door near the bed: her knife and the hand that +holds it are bloody. She pauses a moment irresolutely._ + + THE ELDER WOMAN. + Still work for old Hrogneda, little Princess? + +_GONERIL goes straight to the cauldron, passing the women as if they +were not there: she kneels and washes her knife and her hand in it. The +women retire to the back of the chamber._ + + GONERIL, _speaking to herself._ + The way is easy: and it is to be used. + How could this need have been conceived slowly? + In a keen mind it should have leapt and burnt: + What I have done would have been better done + When my sad mother lived and could feel joy. + This striking without thought is better than hunting; + She showed more terror than an animal, + She was more shiftless.... + A little blood is lightly washed away, + A common stain that need not be remembered; + And a hot spasm of rightness quickly born + Can guide me to kill justly and shall guide. + +_LEAR enters by the door near the bed._ + + LEAR. + Goneril, Gormflaith, Gormflaith.... Have you seen Gormflaith? + + GONERIL. + I led her to her chamber lately, Sir. + + LEAR. + Ay, she is in her chamber. She is there. + + GONERIL. + Have you been there already? Could you not wait? + + LEAR. + Daughter, she is bleeding: she is slain. + + GONERIL, _rising from the cauldron with dripping hands._ + Yes, she is slain: I did it with a knife: + And in this water is dissolved her blood, + +_(Raising her arms and sprinkling the Queen's body)_ + + That now I scatter on the Queen of death + For signal to her spirit that I can slake + Her long corrosion of misery with such balm-- + Blood for weeping, terror for woe, death for death, + A broken body for a broken heart. + What will you say against me and my deed? + + LEAR. + That now you cannot save yourself from me. + While your blind virgin power still stood apart + In an unused, unviolated life, + You judged me in my weakness, and because + I felt you unflawed I could not answer you; + But you have mingled in mortality + And violently begun the common life + By fault against your fellows; and the state, + The state of Britain that inheres in me + Not touched by my humanity or sin, + Passions or privy acts, shall be as hard + And savage to you as to a murderess. + + GONERIL, _taking a letter from her girdle._ + I found a warrant in her favoured bosom, King: + She wore this on her heart when you were crowning her. + + LEAR, _opening the letter._ + But this is not my hand: + +_(Looking about him on the floor)_ + + Where is the other letter? + + GONERIL. + Is there another letter? What should it say? + + LEAR. + There is no other letter if you have none. + +_(Reading)_ + + "Open your window when the moon is dead, + And I will come again. + The men say everywhere that you are faithless.... + And your eyes shifty eyes. Ah, but I love you, Gormflaith...." + This is not hers: she'd not receive such words. + + GONERIL. + Her name stands twice therein: her perfume fills it: + My knife went through it ere I found it on her. + + LEAR. + The filth is suitably dead. You are my true daughter. + + GONERIL. + I do not understand how men can govern, + Use craft and exercise the duty of cunning, + Anticipate treason, treachery meet with treachery, + And yet believe a woman because she looks + Straight in their eyes with mournful, trustful gaze, + And lisps like innocence, all gentleness. + Your Gormflaith could not answer a woman's eyes. + I did not need to read her in a letter; + I am not woman yet, but I can feel + What untruths are instinctive in my kind, + And how some men desire deceit from us. + Come; let these washers do what they must do: + Or shall your Queen be wrapped and coffined awry? + +_She goes out by the garden doorway._ + + LEAR. + I thought she had been broken long ago: + She must be wedded and broken, I cannot do it. + +_He follows GONERIL out._ + +_The two women return to the bedside._ + + THE ELDER WOMAN. + Poor, masterful King, he is no easier, + Although his tearful wife is gone at last: + A wilful girl shall prick and thwart him now. + Old gossip, we must hasten; the Queen is setting. + Lend me a pair of pennies to weight her eyes. + + THE YOUNGER WOMAN. + Find your own pennies: then you can steal them safely. + + THE ELDER WOMAN. + Praise you the gods of Britain, as I do praise them, + That I have been sweet-natured from my birth, + And that I lack your unforgiving mind. + Friend of the worms, help me to lift her clear + And draw away the under sheet for you; + Then go and spread the shroud by the hall fire-- + I never could put damp linen on a corpse. + +_She sings._ + + The louse made off unhappy and wet;-- + Ahumm, Ahumm, Ahee-- + He's looking for us, the little pet; + So haste, for her chin's to tie up yet, + And let us be gone with what we can get-- + Her ring for thee, her gown for Bet, + Her pocket turned out for me. + +CURTAIN. + + + + +THE CRIER BY NIGHT + + + + + _TO + MY DEAR SCRIBE_ + + +PERSONS: + + HIALTI, a Northman. + THORGERD, His Wife. + BLANID, an Irish Bondmaid. + AN OLD STRANGE MAN. + + + + +THE CRIER BY NIGHT + + +_The scene is the interior of a cottage near a misty mere and among +unseen mountains on a wild night of late Autumn. In the back wall area +door to the left and a long low window in the middle; the latter is +shuttered on the outside, and on door and window the wind-driven rain +rattles. In the middle of the left-hand wall a door leads into an +outhouse; near it is a loom: toward the front of the right-hand wall +another door leads to a sleeping-chamber; a settle extends along this +wall and in front of it a long table is set. Two rushlights burn on the +table. A round hearth is in the middle of the house; its smoke rises +into a luffer which hangs from the thatched roof between two beams. The +floor is thickly strewn with rushes. There are several wooden stools +about the hearth, on one of which HIALTI is sitting mending harness. +THORGERD is standing near the loom, spinning with a distaff._ + + HIALTI. + THE lass is late about; where is she now? + + THORGERD. + Let the lass be. What is the lass to you? + She is my lass to handle as I will-- + My father gave her to me for my own, + And so I use her as I use my gear.... + "She will not last" say you? Well, what of that? + I know gear must wear out, being well used; + Shoes must be trodden under-foot all day, + Though in the mire they go and to the mire; + The hearth-fire wastes the irons used to tend it: + I am the huswife--leave the house to me + And buy me new gear when the old is rotten. + + HIALTI. + You drive her over hard. In the cold dark, + Hours ere the thin late dawn, she was afoot, + And she has been afoot each moment since: + The butter will not come now without fire, + But I was wakened in the frosty night + By the slow moaning of her weary churn, + And when I rose she stood here without shoes-- + She said you took them from her; so I sought, + And gave her them again, and lit the fire. + She dare not sleep with half your tasks undone, + But you slept and your sleep was all her rest; + Yet in her land 'tis you would be the thrall. + You shut the hens in from the storm all day, + But she must trudge with peat-mull in a swill + Up from the water-side and down all day.... + + THORGERD + Spare her and have my firing spoilt? Not I. + Had it been sodden, how could you light her fires? + + HIALTI. + You drive her over hard. + + THORGERD. What is it to you? + Fodder and yoke your neats, see to your swine, + Put them to breed, and leave my stock to me. + If this is over hard, what will it be-- + Last week she still could smile sometimes, so yet + She smiles too often for my happiness. + What money did the calves fetch at the fair? + + HIALTI. + Where is she now? + + THORGERD. What money did the calves + Fetch at the fair last week? + + HIALTI. Where is she now? + + THORGERD. + I spilt the water; she must needs draw more. + + HIALTI. + The roof-drip at the door would fill her pails. + + THORGERD. + What money did the calves fetch at the fair? + + HIALTI. + You need not ask; you had it all to hoard. + + THORGERD. + You kept some back; who bought them? + + HIALTI. He who paid. + +_The outside door opens and, as the rain drives in, BLANID enters +carrying two pails of water by a yoke. Her short-sleeved, frayed, +hempen smock is dripping-wet; an old cart-strap is buckled about her +middle; her ankles are bare, but her feet are covered by shapeless +brogues; her matted hair is cut short, and she has an iron collar about +her neck. She sets down her pails, and with difficulty shuts and bolts +the door against the wind. Then she carries her pails into the outhouse; +as she moves about within she is heard to sing to a tired, monotonous +tune._ + + BLANID. + The bird in my heart's a-calling through a far-fled, tear-grey sea + To the soft slow hills that cherish dim waters weary for me, + Where the folk of rath and dun trail homeward silently + In the mist of the early night-fall that drips from their hair like + rain. + + The bird in my heart's a-flutter, for the bitter wind of the sea + Shivers with thyme and woodbine as my body with memory; + I feel their perfumes ooze in my ears like melody-- + The scent of the mead at the harping I shall not hear again. + + The bird in my heart's a-sinking to a hushed vale hid in the sea, + Where the moonlit dew o'er dead fighters is stirred by the feet of + the Shee, + Who are lovely and old as the earth but younger than I can be + Who have known the forgetting of dying to a life one lonely pain ... + +_She returns from the outhouse._ + + THORGERD. + Come here; give me your shoes; quickly, I say. + Why must you go shod softly? Give me your shoes. + +_She takes them and puts them on the fire._ + + Is there some joy so deep within you still + That I have missed it though 'tis bright for singing? + It shall not be so long; sing while you can. + + BLANID. + No joy ever sank deep enough for singing; + Trouble and all the sorrowful ways of men + Must stir the sad unrest that ends in song. + Joy seeks but peace and silence and still thought; + But those who cannot weep must sing for ease, + And in the sound forget the thought that smote it. + + THORGERD. + I am made glad, hearing your misery; + Yet all the shapeless, creeping, shivering sounds + You wail about the house will make me share it. + Your songs of faery and nameless kings + And things that never happened long ago + And an unknown, impossible, shadowy land + Are useless as the starlight after moonset + That will not light men homeward from the fair-- + Nay, useless as its melting down thin water: + If you must sing, sing truth to gut-strong tunes + Of Gunnar or of Freya or Andvari, + Vineland the Good and the old Western sea. + + BLANID. + Things need not happen that they may be true; + Although impossible, they may be true-- + The things that matter happen in the heart. + All earthly truth is true but for a time, + Whilst ages may be altered by one dream-- + The things that matter happen in the heart ... + + THORGERD. + Useless as starlight or the aimless wind. + + BLANID. + The wind is all the souls of those sad dead + Who will not stay in Heaven for love of earth; + Hither and thither they surge to find the gate + They see and know not on its new, strange side, + For they have learned too much to be let back. + Ah, some have learned too much before they die. + +_As she crosses the house at the back HIALTI turns and, catching her +hands in his, draws her toward him._ + + HIALTI. + Is it too hard, the thought of that lost vale? + + BLANID. + It is too hard, because I must so love it + That were I free I should go there no more, + Lest I should hate it. I must always suffer, + I only suffer this way rather than that-- + 'Tis the eternal suffering of love + Must search me somehow with love's pitilessness + To make me know all souls; what matter how? + O, I am but a troubled dream of God's, + And even His will can alter not His dreams; + Yea, He is dreaming me a little while-- + I must be dreamed out to the hardest end, + Returning then to be unknown in Him; + I shall be Him again when He awakes. + Ah, God, awake, and so forget me soon. + +_THORGERD, swinging her aside by the collar on her neck._ + + Set on the water for the porridge; go. + +_BLANID goes into the outhouse; THORGERD continues to HIALTI._ + + Why must you hold her hands and hold her eyes? + + HIALTI. + Under each dark grey lash a long tear slid, + Like rain in a wild rose's shadowy curve + Bowed in the wind about the morning twilight. + + THORGERD. + Have done; I know; you left the fair at noon + To reach the copse just at the young moon's setting-- + I could not find her till i' the night-hid copse + A woman's voice sobbed "If he would but come..." + + HIALTI. + It is not true; you know it is not true. + Let her alone; you know that I must love you, + And if she loves me she will know it too + And hurt herself far more than you can hurt her. + + THORGERD. + I hear you say it: and afterward?... Perhaps + My little shears are sharp as any knife. + + HIALTI. + You would not kill her? + + THORGERD. When have I grown kind-hearted? + +_She lays her hand on his shoulder and, leaning her mouth to his ear, +speaks in a low, distinct voice._ + + Slit nose and lip and where's her beauty then? + +_He starts from his stool._ + + Nay, are my kinsfolk as far off as hers? + +_He turns away as BLANID enters with an iron pot which she hangs from a +hook over the fire, and a pitcher of milk which she sets on the table._ + +_THORGERD takes the pot from the fire._ + + Here's too much water; it will never boil, + And if it did the mess would be too thin. + +_She pours water from the pot upon the floor, then hangs the pot over +the fire again._ + + Set out the bowls, and finger not their lips. + +_BLANID goes again to the outhouse, and, returning, sets three bowls +with spoons on the table, and a jar of meal by the hearth._ + + Though porridge needs meal you shall not think for me; + Do nought until I bid you--once. The grain. + +_BLANID goes yet again to the outhouse and returns with a bag of +grain._ + + You know what grain is for; why do you stand? + Your feet are mine. Down to the quern. Get down. + + BLANID. + There's meal in plenty for to-morrow. + + THORGERD, _laying down her distaff to make porridge._ + Ay, + But is there meal in plenty for next month? + You may be dead then; therefore you must toil, + That I may need to do no aching tasks + Until my man can buy another drudge + From the next herd; for so we shall forget you. + + BLANID, _kneeling by the quern between the window and the door, + and commencing to grind grain._ + You hate me far too subtly to forget me; + There is not enough kindness in your heart + To let you thus forego your joy of hate. + Then, too, despite the accident of death, + I cannot go from here against my will. + + THORGERD. + You shall not die ere I have done with you; + And death shall only come by suffering + Until you are too feeble even to suffer. + + BLANID. + The sound of death is ever in mine ears, + Monotonous as the night's infinity + Wherein I was once born where salt winds sweep + The wailing of the waters of the West. + I die, but you can ne'er have done with me. + + THORGERD, _the porridge being made._ + Come, drudge, lift off the pot and fill the bowls. + + BLANID, _having filled two bowls._ + The pot is empty. + + THORGERD. But the bowls are full. + + HIALTI. + Now give the lass some supper; fill her bowl. + + THORGERD, _pouring milk over the porridge._ + There's but enough for two; I'll make no more. + Here, take the pot and scrape it at the quern. + +_HIALTI and THORGERD draw stools to the table; BLANID carries the pot to +the outhouse and returns to the quern; supper proceeds in silence for a +few moments, then HIALTI rises and offers his bowl to BLANID._ + + HIALTI. + Share with me, lass; I need no more to-night. + +_Before BLANID can taste the porridge THORGERD strikes the bowl from her +hand._ + + HIALTI, _indignantly, as he reaches to THORGERD'S bowl._ + She shall have yours; go you and make us more ... + +_He is interrupted by a distant wailing which is heard through the +storm._ + + THE VOICE. + Ohey! Ohey! Ohohey! + + BLANID. + Master, I hear one calling in the night. + + HIALTI, _in a subdued voice._ + It is the wind across the chimney-slates. + + THE VOICE. + Ohey! Ohohey! + + BLANID. + Master, a man is calling in the night. + + HIALTI. + An owl, storm-beaten, drowns down the long mere. + + THE VOICE, _sounding nearer on a gust of wind._ + Ohohey! Ohohey! + + BLANID. + Master, one lost is helpless in the night. + + THORGERD, _gently and with an eager smile._ + Ay, lass, good lass; go, lass, and seek for him-- + Maybe he sinks amid the marshy reeds; + Bring him to warmth and supper and a bed. + I'll shut the door; the light will only daze you. + + HIALTI, _leaping to the door in front of BLANID, and setting his + back to it._ + No, no; back, girl, get back. (_To THORGERD._) + You murderess, + You know it is the Crier of the Ford, + Who wakens when the clashing waters rise + And the thick night is choked with level rain. + He is not seen; he was not born; he gathers + His bodiless being from the treacherous tarn. + His aged crying gropes about the storm + To snare the spent wayfarer to the ford, + Or draw some pitiful helper to the ford, + And drown them where the unknown water swirls + And strangle them with long brown water-weed: + He seeks their souls for his old soul to feed on, + Because it has no body to nourish it. + + THORGERD, _hastily yet sullenly._ + How should I know? + +_She grips BLANID'S shoulder and hurries her to the outhouse._ + + Get in with you to your straw. + +_She thrusts her into the outhouse and shuts the door upon her; then she +turns to HIALTI._ + + Fool, now I know you love her behind your heart. + + HIALTI. + I have no mind to waste a half-spent thrall + To prove I love you; and to buy another + Would need more money than eight red-polled stirks. + + THORGERD. + Choose between her and me; if you take her, + I take the land. + + HIALTI. I love you overmuch + To set you equally against a thrall. + + THORGERD. + What, do I touch you when I touch your fields? + + HIALTI. + To-morrow I must drive the sold ewes home + And lead more bedding from the bracken-fell + If the storm clears--it is well stacked and dry; + So we must be a-stirring by lantern-light, + Since now you will not have the lass go with me + To milk, but go yourself although three cows + Will not let down their milk to you at all, + You drag their teats so: waking-time comes soon-- + Best get to bed. + + THORGERD. + And leave you to go to your straw's wench? + + HIALTI, _taking a rushlight in his hand._ + Here are enough of your unfaithful words; + I'll alter this to-morrow. + + THORGERD. Ay, to-morrow. + +_HIALTI enters the sleeping-chamber; after watching the door close upon +him, THORGERD, her hands clenched and her arms rigid, swiftly steps half +way toward the outhouse; then, suddenly relaxing into a pause and +smiling with tight lips as she shakes her head slightly and sharply, she +turns to the table again, doffs her coif and draws her hair down, blows +out the remaining rushlight, and follows HIALTI into the +sleeping-chamber._ + +_Henceforth the cottage is only lit by the ever-dying fire. A long, +empty silence ensues, broken only by the tumult of the storm and the +tinkle of the sinking embers._ + +_Then the outhouse door opens slowly and from it BLANID steps +listeningly across the house, in front of the hearth, to the door of the +sleeping-chamber, remaining there for a little time with her ear against +the door-boards; then she returns noiselessly across the house, behind +the hearth, pausing near the house door._ + + BLANID, _in a hushed voice._ + If day were only darkness melting down + From darkness into darkness like this rain, + Lost ere 'tis known, then I might always sleep + And sleep and dream I was a queen once more-- + She does not know I was a jewelled queen, + For so I spoil her of new heights of joy + In which she might for haughtiness fondle me. + O, I would sleep in that old Crier's arms, + Enduring silence harder than all else, + A mote shut into one cold, kneaded eyelid + Of the dead mere; and dream into the wind, + And cling to stars lest I should slip through space; + And dream I am the body of him I love, + Who yields me only kindness, never love-- + O me, that misery of hopeless kindness. + But I'll not die and leave him to her lips; + Though I can never have him she shall not; + For I can use this body worn to a soul + To barter with that Crier of hidden things + That, if he tangles him in his chill hair, + Then I will follow and follow and follow and follow, + Past where the imaged stars ebb past their light + And turn to water under the dark world. + +_She goes out into the storm, leaving the door open behind her. +Presently she is heard singing to a chant-like, ever-falling melody._ + + I stand in the sick night, whose hid shape is my own shape, + As dazed life in the flickering hearts of old men; + I think like a lean heron with bald head and frayed nape + Motionlessly moulting in a flat pool of a grey fen, + Whose sleep-blinked horny eyes know it can ne'er moult again. + + My age-long cry droops in the hoar unseen stars that shake + Until their discordant rays make darkness inside the sky; + My bare cry shivers along the slimy rushes of the drowned lake-- + Weariful waters, do you hear a soul's hair tingling your veiled + feet nigh? + I stand outside my keen body, yearning into you as I cry. + + HIALTI, _within._ + Is that the lass sobbing a song in sleep? + + THORGERD, _within._ + The wind, the wind, and so as much as she. + + BLANID, _still out of doors, singing._ + Old father of many waters, can you feel my soul touching yours? + I know that to greet your calling leaves me no more any yea or nay; + Yet I too am of kin with lost woods and sedgy shores, + So come secret as your black wind and take the dark core of my + heart away, + Ere you beget me on death to be still-born to an unlit day. + Ohey! Ohey! Ohohey! + + THE VOICE. Ohohey! Ohey! + + HIALTI, _within._ + Is there a woman's voice inside the wind? + + THORGERD, _within._ + ... the unclean Crier croaking ... cover your ears ... + +_BLANID re-enters the house hurriedly; she shuts and bolts the door, +hardly knowing what she does; she falls on her knees with her back to +the door, breathing quickly and hard, and swaying backward and forward, +her face hid in her hands._ + +_Again and again a terrible blast of wind strains at the unyielding +door._ + + THE VOICE, _close at hand._ + Open, open; I cannot open; open. + I cannot come to you unless you open. + + BLANID, _muttering behind her hands._ + I will not go ... I can do nothing else ... + It shall not enter ... O, it is in my heart ... + +_She totters fearfully to the door, after many hesitant backward +glances, and opens it slowly and as if she had never known how to open +it. She reels against the wall and stands there motionlessly, clutching +it with flat hands and outspread arms, as a stooping figure swathed in a +rain-coloured, rain-soaked cloak and deep hood enters. Wisps of white +hair flutter in the mouth of the hood, and one flicker of the fire-light +shows in its depths a soft, shrunken, beardless face with an almost +lipless, sunken mouth._ + + THIS OLD STRANGE MAN, _speaking always in a low, even, mournful + voice._ + A spirit calling in an old, old tongue + Forgotten in lost graves in lonesome places; + A spirit huddled in an old, old heart + Like a blind crone crouched o'er a long-dead fire; + A spirit shrinking in the old, old hills, + Dreading to step down water or hollow night: + Some seek me dreaming one last hope of joy; + Some have been made too wise by too much joy + And seek me longing for deeper misery, + Knowing that joy is weary in unending, + Changeless and one and easy in low perfection, + While misery has as many shapes as evil + That all must learn, and is made new for ever + By fear of pain desired for love of passion; + But feel, O you who call me through the night, + I bring you neither joy nor misery + But only rest so slow and sad and sodden + You will not know of it--you shall only rest + And lose your soul in my soul evermore. + +_Sounds of heavy breathing are heard from the sleeping-chamber during +his speaking. He is continually reaching to BLANID with his muffled, +unseen hands, but she holds them from her as continually._ + + BLANID, _always in an eager, suppressed voice._ + I have known joy--I know not what it was, + Mead-fumes that filled me cooling to one drop; + I have known misery--a self-numbed sting + That showed me but another joy to lose; + These were too small, I will have only rest, + And lose my soul in your soul evermore. + But if I die into your drooping limbs + I must be mingled there with him I love; + You may not reach him by your hoary crying, + But raise some human wail for help and light + And he will come and I must follow him + Past where the imaged moon shakes like a soul + Pausing in death between two unknown worlds. + + THE OLD MAN. + A sign, a plighting, and I do your will. + + BLANID, _winding her arms about his arms from one side, so that + he cannot touch her, and burying her face in his hood._ + Kisses. 'Hast drained my soul's blood in each kiss. + + THE OLD MAN. + I go, I go; make me not come again, + For I am in you, you must melt to me + Past where the imaged dark shuts bending lovers' + Close, unseen-imaged faces within life.... + +_Keeping his face turned toward BLANID, he recedes to the door, where he +ceases to be seen in the wind that scurries past._ + + THE VOICE, _immediately and far away._ + Help; help; the marsh-lights 'wilder us! A light! + +_BLANID shuts the door. The fire has now sunk so low that as she crosses +the house she is only visible in the half-dark as a dim shape. She +pauses by the hearth._ + + BLANID. + Nay, but I touch toward my joy at last, + And Christ and all His Saints go out like candles + When mass is said and the priest's cup is wiped.... + + THE VOICE. + The water laps our waists! Help, help! A light! + + BLANID, _running to the sleeping-chamber door._ + Master, I hear a calling.... + +_After an interval she strikes the door, crying loudly._ + + Master! Master! + + HIALTI, _within._ + Has the flood washed into the shippon? + + BLANID. Nay; + There is a pitiful shrieking in the dark. + + HIALTI, _within._ + It is the Crier; break sleep no more for that. + + THORGERD, _within._ + The ox-goad shall reward you when dawn comes ... + Wake us once more and you shall waken often, + Ay, very often, until you dread to sleep ... + + BLANID. + I heard that trailing cry like maddened fir-boughs; + Now I hear words--is there a woman's wail? + + THORGERD, _within._ + A woman? Let her drown. + + HIALTI, _within._ I come. I come. + Reach down the lantern and light it, light it, light it. + +_Standing on a stool, BLANID lifts a lantern from a nail in one of the +beams and, carrying it to the hearth, kneels there and seeks to light it +with an ember._ + + THORGERD, _within._ + You shall not go; it is a lie of hers; + You shall not go ... + +_A brief struggle in the sleeping-chamber is heard._ + + HIALTI, _within._ So; stand you from the door. + Get donned; make up the fire; have water boiling; + And send the wench to lie in your warm form + Ready to cherish what stiffening thing I bring. + + BLANID, _to herself, lighting the lantern and smiling mischievously._ + Yea, I shall cherish a stiffening thing for her. + Lantern, you are as dim as a little soul, + Yet the least soul can light a man to Heaven, + And you might lead him home; but I am like God, + Who makes souls from His aches--I will not ache, + You shall not have a soul, I suck it back. + +_She extinguishes the light. HIALTI hurries in half-dressed._ + + HIALTI. + Canst find a rope? + + BLANID, _pointing._ Behind the settle there. + _To herself._ + 'Tis a good rope and has two rotten strands; + 'Twas meant to make good tinder on the morrow. + + THE VOICE. + Help; help! A light! Come for the woman's sake! + + HIALTI, _holding out his hand for the lantern._ + Hearken and haste; give me the lantern--now! + + BLANID. + Master, it will not light.... + + HIALTI. Will the storm pause? + + THE VOICE. + Ohohey! Ohohey! + + HIALTI. + Will that dark Crier linger? I must go. + +_She catches his outstretched hand and kisses it ere, snatching it away, +he flings the house door wide open and dashes outside. Soon the sound of +his footsteps is lost in the storm._ + + BLANID, _relighting the lantern and starting up._ + Master, Master, the light! + +_Pausing and sending the lantern crashing on the hearth with both +hands._ + + He shall not have it! + +_She stands with her hands gripping her breasts, leaning forward toward +the open door; her breathlessness is all that is heard; she stretches +her arms to the night._ + + BLANID. + I feel as if my long, long hands could reach + Down to the water's heart to pluck him from it. + + THE VOICE. + Will no one ever come? + + HIALTI, _out of doors._ I come; I am nigh. + + BLANID. + Ay, he is nigh; but soon he will be far. + I dare not thus fall through the world for him. + O, I shall hear him ... do not let me hear him ... + +_She throws herself on her face on the floor and, covering her head with +the strewn rushes and clasping her hands over them, lies there +moaning._ + + HIALTI, _far off, shouting ever more madly._ + Thorgerd, Thorgerd ... your hands ... the world slips past me ... + Save ... under ... under ... under ... + Aa-h ... + +_The shouting ceases suddenly at its height._ + + BLANID, _muffled and choking._ + Her name ... her name ... why did he not think my name? ... + But she has lost him, and I kissed his hand ... + + THORGERD, _rushing from the sleeping-chamber in her night-gear._ + Where is the wench?... Make haste--another light: + I heard him dying. O, this prater's breath + Will blow his life out ... Kindle a light and come ... + + THE VOICE. + Ohey! Ohohey! Ohey! + + BLANID. + Nay! Nay! Nay! I dare not, I dare not ... + That Crier will drown me too ... + + THORGERD. That is nought to me; + Get to your feet ... What, shall I seek a way + To supple you? + + BLANID. O, do not hurt me again ... + He dies ... it is my deed ... I dare not come ... + + THORGERD. + You are too mean to stir his life one thought; + It was the Crafty Crier--I heard that wail ... + +_The fire is now wholly out, so that the cottage is absolutely dark and +nothing is visible._ + + THE VOICE, _near at hand._ + Ohohey! Ohey! + + THORGERD, _fiercely._ + Where are you?... O, the Crier is heaving o'er ... + +_A gust of wind and rain is heard to sweep into the cottage through the +open doorway, shifting the rustling floor-rushes as though feet touched +them. THE OLD STRANGE MAN has entered._ + + BLANID, _being heard to start to her feet._ + There is another breathing in the house ... + He is here ... this darkness is not black enough, + The darkness at light's core alone could hide me ... + Grope for my hand--hold fast and take me home ... + +_She is heard to sink to the floor again._ + + THE OLD STRANGE MAN. + Sister of that old race dead in the hills, + Why will you make me come to you once more? + You know you must go down a long withdrawing + To reach the unlit places of your heart, + Which are the night within my unknown eyes + Beyond all stars; so let me touch you once. + +_BLANID is heard to drag her prostrate body through the rushes toward +THORGERD._ + + BLANID. + Mistress, I am your thrall; you will keep your own ... + I clasp your feet, I kiss your clutching feet, + I lick your feet all over with my tongue, + I will tell you somewhat that will yield a vengeance + For you to work; so do not let me go.... + + THE OLD MAN. + I see you, you white terror with shaking flanks, + Straining to feel me with your hard-shut eyes, + But now I need you not; not yet; not yet. + Your man is drowned and this is it who bargained + Its death for his; will you not give it to me? + + THORGERD, _laughing._ + I am glad he is dead; now I may only love him, + And know no more that last distress of stooping + So far from me as this at my feet must be. + No vengeancing could pay for thoughts of her: + I will not know that such can be in life, + So I will neither yield nor succour her. + +_She speaks no more, nor moves._ + + THE OLD MAN. + Give it to me; it is mine, give it to me; + I cannot take it while it touches you. + +_A silence._ + + BLANID. + I have slain him and I fear to go to him ... + Put out my eyes, and rope me with the dogs-- + Nay, strangle me to-morrow; but save me now. + + + THE OLD MAN, _his voice growing fainter and fainter._ + Ah, come, you daughter of an ancient earth, + Come down among the folk your heart can know, + You darling of the past, you long-dead queen. + Your aged soul is strange among these men, + As strange as it would be in Paradise; + But once I knew you ere you were begot, + And in the unchanging silence of my heart + There waits a star for you to finish it. + +_A silence._ + + You little trembler of a dew-drop dawn, + You are as old as water that makes new dew; + And when the dew falls it runs down to peace. + The end of sorrow is in sorrow's heart + With those who loved and knew the unknown end + Of mothering you a thousand years ago. + Come, then, from her who shapes new pangs for you, + And rest and rest and rest for evermore. + +_A silence._ + + One day you will awake and call to me; + And I shall listen for the doubting cry + Until the stars have worn the sky too thin, + And I am drowned within the light beyond.... + +_His voice is lost in the gradual wail of a gust of wind; then it is +heard outside and afar._ + + Ohey! + + BLANID, _speaking at longer and longer intervals._ + O, you have saved me from such evil things + As writhed like tangled tree-roots outside space + Ere God made Himself from them; and for this + My Virgin shall reach down from God's two knees + Whereon She sits, and kiss you for Her own. + My body was yours; now you have saved my soul + My soul is utterly yours to serve in living, + To clothe your soul and be your very heart + In love and soft, unconscious giving of life. + Mother, I have done evil--punish me; + Because we loved him, love me and punish me: + I have sinned, I have parted lovers--be cruel to me + And cleanse me that I may keep near you two... + Think in how many ways you can torture me; + Let me rake up the fire and heat an iron + For you to have your will upon my body-- + One thigh is yet unseared ... Will you not speak? ... + I love him, I tell you ... I love him, I love him, I love him ... + I kissed his hand; do you hear? I kissed his hand-- + Our Hialti's hand ... I'll make you hurt me yet, + Cold anger is shuddering down your tense thighs; + Feel, this is your foot upon my upturned face, + I lift it across my eyes, wide-open eyes-- + Bear down and crush them full of eternal night ... + Speak to me now ... O, will you never speak? + You thrust me down into that Crier's bosom; + For in your heart you make me be unborn + Within a lonely place you never heard of, + Yet if I loose your feet he will return + And I must follow and follow and follow and follow + Past where my imaged thoughts repeat the world, + Till shattered waters break the imaged dream ... + You saved me once; will you undo that greatness?... + We are the tears that God wipes from His eyes: + Lone thoughts will thrust me forth--save me from them ... + Ah, but my lonely love can succour me: + Think, if I drown, 'tis to my Hialti's arms, + To cast you from his heart for ever more; + He will not even know you are forgotten ... + Sister ... Thorgerd.... + +_THORGERD draws in a long breath so sharply that it sounds to stab her +repeatedly._ + + Ay, you will hate me as you used to do-- + Will you not hate me as you used to do? + I was so happy when you still could hate me.... + I fear it, but you make me go.... Speak once.... + +_After a long silence BLANID is heard to rise and go slowly to the +door._ + + BLANID + Ohey! Ohey! + + THE VOICE, _outside._ Ohohey! + +_With a laugh of abandonment BLANID is heard to run into the night; +there is a brief silence; then one far-off, long shriek is heard from +her._ + + THE VOICE. + Ohey! Ohohey! + +_In the cottage THORGERD is heard to fall heavily to the floor._ + +_The curtain descends on silence and darkness._ + + + + +THE RIDING TO LITHEND + + + + +_TO EDWARD THOMAS_ + + + _HERE in the North we speak of you, + And dream (and wish the dream were true) + That when the evening has grown late + You will appear outside our gate-- + As though some Gipsy-Scholar yet + Sought this far place that men forget; + Or some tall hero still unknown, + Out of the Mabinogion, + Were seen at nightfall looking in, + Passing mysteriously to win + His earlier earth, his ancient mind, + Where man was true and life more kind + Lived with the mountains and the trees + And other steadfast presences, + Where large and simple passions gave + The insight and the peace we crave, + And he no more had nigh forgot + The old high battles he had fought._ + + _Ah, pause to-night outside our gate + And enter ere it is too late + To see the garden's deep on deep + And talk a little ere we sleep._ + + _When you were here a year ago + I told you of a glorious woe, + The ancient woe of Gunnar dead + And its proud train of men long sped, + Fit brothers to your noble thoughts; + Then, as their shouts and Gunnar's shouts + Went down once more undyingly + And the fierce saga was put by, + I told you of my old desire + To light again that bygone fire, + To body Hallgerd's ruinous + Great hair and wrangling mouth for us, + And hear her voice deny again + That hair to Gunnar in his pain._ + + _Because your heart could understand + The hopes of their primeval land, + The hearts of dim heroic forms + Made clear by tenderness and storms, + You caught my glow and urged me on; + So now the tale is once more done + I turn to you, I bring my play, + Longing, O friend, to hear you say + I have not dwarfed those olden things + Nor tarnisht by my furbishings._ + + _I bring my play, I turn to you + And wish it might to-night be true + That you would seek this old small house + Twixt laurel boughs and apple boughs; + Then I would give it, bravely manned, + To you, and with my play my hand._ + +30 JUNE 1908. + + +I. M. + +2ND LIEUT. PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS + + 244th Siege Battery, Royal Garrison Artillery; + killed at a forward observation post in the + battle of Arras, on Easter Monday, + April 9th, 1917. + + +PERSONS: + + GUNNAR HAMUNDSSON. + HALLGERD LONGCOAT, his wife. + RANNVEIG, his mother. + ODDNY, ASTRID, and STEINVOR, Hallgerd's house-women. + ORMILD, a woman thrall. + BIARTEY, JOFRID, and GUDFINN, beggar-women. + GIZUR THE WHITE, MORD VALGARDSSON, THORGRIM + THE EASTERLING, THORBRAND THORLEIKSSON + and ASBRAND his brother, AUNUND, + THORGEIR and HROALD, riders. + Many other Riders and voices of Riders + + In Iceland, A.D. 990. + + + + +THE RIDING TO LITHEND + + +_The scene is the hall of Gunnar's house at Lithend in South Iceland. +The portion shewn is set on the stage diagonally, so that to the right +one end is seen while, from the rear corner of this, one side runs down +almost to the left front._ + +_The side wall is low and wainscotted with carved panelling on which +hang weapons, shields, and coats of mail. In one place a panel slid +aside shews a shut bed._ + +_In front of the panelling are two long benches with a carved high-seat +between them. Across the end of the hall are similar panellings and the +seats, with corresponding tables, of the women's dais; behind these and +in the gable wall is a high narrow door with a rounded top._ + +_A timber roof slopes down to the side wall and is upheld by cross-beams +and two rows of tall pillars which make a rather narrow nave of the +centre of the hall. One of these rows runs parallel to the side wall, +the pair of pillars before the high-seat being carved and ended with +images; of the other row only two pillars are visible at the extreme +right._ + +_Within this nave is the space for the hearths; but the only hearth +visible is the one near the women's dais. In the roof above it there is +a louvre: the fire glows and no smoke rises. The hall is lit everywhere +by the firelight._ + +_The rafters over the women's dais carry a floor at the level of the +side walls, forming an open loft which is reached by a wide ladder fixed +against the wall: a bed is seen in this loft. Low in the roof at +intervals are shuttered casements, one being above the loft: all the +shutters are closed._ + +_Near the fire a large shaggy hound is sleeping; and ORMILD, in the +undyed woollen dress of a thrall, is combing wool._ + +_ODDNY stands spinning at the far side; near her ASTRID and STEINVOR sit +stitching a robe which hangs between them._ + + ASTRID. + NIGHT is a Winter long: and evening falls. + Night, night and Winter and the heavy snow + Burden our eyes, intrude upon our dreams, + And make of loneliness an earthly place. + + ORMILD. + This bragging land of freedom that enthralls me + Is still the fastness of a secret king + Who treads the dark like snow, of old king Sleep. + He works with night, he has stolen death's tool frost + That makes the breaking wave forget to fall. + + ASTRID. + Best mind thy comb-pot and forget our king + Before the Longcoat helps at thy awaking.... + I like not this forsaken quiet house. + The house-men out at harvest in the Isles + Never return. Perhaps they went but now, + Yet I am sore with fearing and expecting + Because they do not come. They will not come. + I like not this forsaken quiet house, + This late last harvest, and night creeping in. + + ODDNY. + I like not dwelling in an outlaw's house. + Snow shall be heavier upon some eyes + Than you can tell of--ay, and unseen earth + Shall keep that snow from filling those poor eyes. + This void house is more void by brooding things + That do not happen than by absent men. + Sometimes when I awaken in the night + My throbbing ears are mocking me with rumours + Of crackling beams, beams falling, and loud flames. + + ASTRID, _pointing to the weapons by the high-seat._ + The bill that Gunnar won in a far sea-fight + Sings inwardly when battle impends; as a harp + Replies to the wind thus answers it to fierceness, + So tense its nature is and the spell of its welding; + Then trust ye well that while the bill is silent + No danger thickens, for Gunnar dies not singly. + + STEINVOR. + But women are let forth free when men go burning? + + ODDNY. + Fire is a hurrying thing, and fire by night + Can see its way better than men see theirs. + + ASTRID. + The land will not be nobler or more holpen + If Gunnar burns and we go forth unsinged. + Why will he break the atonement that was set? + That wise old Njal who has the second sight + Foretold his death if he should slay twice over + In the same kin or break the atonement set: + Yet has he done these things and will not care. + Kolskegg, who kept his back in famous fights, + Sailed long ago and far away from us + Because that doom is on him for the slayings; + Yet Gunnar bides although that doom is on him + And he is outlawed by defiance of doom. + + STEINVOR. + Gunnar has seen his death: he is spoken for. + He would not sail because, when he rode down + Unto the ship, his horse stumbled and threw him, + His face toward the Lithe and his own fields. + Olaf the Peacock bade him be with him + In his new mighty house so carven and bright, + And leave this house to Rannveig and his sons: + He said that would be well, yet never goes. + Is he not thinking death would ride with him? + Did not Njal offer to send his sons, + Skarphedin ugly and brave and Hauskuld with him, + To hold this house with Gunnar, who refused them + Saying he would not lead young men to death? + I tell you Gunnar is done.... His fetch is out. + + ODDNY. + Nay, he's been topmost in so many fights + That he believes he shall fight on untouched. + + STEINVOR. + He rides to motes and Things before his foes. + He has sent his sons harvesting in the Isles. + He takes deliberate heed of death--to meet it, + Like those whom Odin needs. He is fey, I tell you-- + And if we are past the foolish ardour of girls + For heroisms and profitless loftiness + We shall get gone when bedtime clears the house. + 'Tis much to have to be a hero's wife, + And I shall wonder if Hallgerd cares about it: + Yet she may kindle to it ere my heart quickens. + I tell you, women, we have no duty here: + Let us get gone to-night while there is time, + And find new harbouring ere the laggard dawn, + For death is making narrowing passages + About this hushed and terrifying house. + +_RANNVEIG, an old wimpled woman, enters as if from a door at the unseen +end of the hall._ + + ASTRID. + He is so great and manly, our master Gunnar, + There are not many ready to meet his weapons: + And so there may not be much need of weapons. + He is so noble and clear, so swift and tender, + So much of Iceland's fame in foreign places, + That too many love him, too many honour him + To let him die, lest the most gleaming glory + Of our grey country should be there put out. + + RANNVEIG. + My son has enemies, girl, enemies, + Who will not lose the joy of hurting him. + This little land is no more than a lair + That holds too many fiercenesses too straitly, + And no man will refuse the rapture of killing + When outlawry has made it cheap and righteous. + So long as any one perceives he knows + A bare place for a weapon on my son + His hand shall twitch to fit a weapon in. + Indeed he shall lose nothing but his life + Because a woman is made so evil fair, + Wasteful and white and proud in harmful acts. + I lose two sons when Gunnar's eyes are still, + For then will Kolskegg never more turn home.... + If Gunnar would but sail three years would pass; + Only three years of banishment said the doom-- + So few, so few, for I can last ten years + With this unshrunken body and steady heart. + (_To ORMILD_) + Have I sat down in comfort by the fire + And waited to be told the thing I knew? + Have any men come home to the young women, + Thinking old women do not need to hear, + That you can play at being a bower-maid + In a long gown although no beasts are foddered? + Up, lass, and get thy coats about thy knees, + For we must cleanse the byre and heap the midden + Before the master knows--or he will go, + And there is peril for him in every darkness. + + ORMILD, _tucking up her skirts._ + Then are we out of peril in the darkness? + We should do better to nail up the doors + Each night and all night long and sleep through it, + Giving the cattle meat and straw by day. + + ODDNY. + Ay, and the hungry cattle should sing us to sleep. + +_The others laugh. ORMILD goes out to the left; RANNVEIG is following +her, but pauses at the sound of a voice._ + + HALLGERD, _beyond the door of the women's dais._ + Dead men have told me I was better than fair, + And for my face welcomed the danger of me: + Then am I spent? + +_She enters angrily, looking backward through the doorway._ + + Must I shut fast my doors + And hide myself? Must I wear up the rags + Of mortal perished beauty and be old? + Or is there power left upon my mouth + Like colour, and lilting of ruin in my eyes? + Am I still rare enough to be your mate? + Then why must I shame at feasts and bear myself + In shy ungainly ways, made flushed and conscious + By squat numb gestures of my shapeless head-- + Ay, and its wagging shadow--clouted up, + Twice tangled with a bundle of hot hair, + Like a thick cot-wife's in the settling time? + There are few women in the Quarter now + Who do not wear a shapely fine-webbed coif + Stitched by dark Irish girls in Athcliath + With golden flies and pearls and glinting things: + Even my daughter lets her big locks show, + Show and half show, from a hood gentle and close + That spans her little head like her husband's hand. + + GUNNAR, _entering by the same door._ + I like you when you bear your head so high; + Lift but your heart as high, you could get crowned + And rule a kingdom of impossible things. + You would have moon and sun to shine together, + Snow-flakes to knit for apples on bare boughs, + Yea, love to thrive upon the terms of hate. + If I had fared abroad I should have found + In many countries many marvels for you + Though not more comeliness in peopled Romeborg + And not more haughtiness in Mickligarth + Nor craftiness in all the isles of the world, + And only golden coifs in Athcliath: + Yet you were ardent that I should not sail, + And when I could not sail you laughed out loud + And kissed me home.... + + HALLGERD, _who has been biting her nails._ + And then ... and doubtless ... and strangely ... + And not more thriftiness in Bergthorsknoll + Where Njal saves old soft sackcloth for his wife. + O, I must sit with peasants and aged women, + And keep my head wrapped modestly and seemly; + +_She turns to RANNVEIG._ + + I must be humble--as one who lives on others. + +_She snatches off her wimple, slipping her gold circlet as she does so, +and loosens her hair._ + + Unless I may be hooded delicately + And use the adornment noble women use + I'll mock you with my flown young widowhood, + Letting my hair go loose past either cheek + In two bright clouds and drop beyond my bosom, + Turning the waving ends under my girdle + As young glad widows do, and as I did + Ere ever you saw me--ay, and when you found me + And met me as a king meets a queen + In the undying light of a summer night + With burning robes and glances--stirring the + heart with scarlet. + +_She tucks the long ends of her hair under her girdle._ + + RANNVEIG. + You have cast the head-ring of the nobly nurtured, + Being eager for a bold uncovered head. + You are conversant with a widow's fancies.... + Ay, you are ready with your widowhood: + Two men have had you, chilled their bosoms with you, + And trusted that they held a precious thing-- + Yet your mean passionate wastefulness poured out + Their lives for joy of seeing something done with. + Cannot you wait this time? 'Twill not be long. + + HALLGERD. + I am a hazardous desirable thing, + A warm unsounded peril, a flashing mischief, + A divine malice, a disquieting voice: + Thus I was shapen, and it is my pride + To nourish all the fires that mingled me. + I am not long moved, I do not mar my face, + Though men have sunk in me as in a quicksand. + Well, death is terrible. Was I not worth it? + Does not the light change on me as I breathe? + Could I not take the hearts of generations, + Walking among their dreams? O, I have might, + Although it drives me too and is not my own deed.... + And Gunnar is great, or he had died long since. + It is my joy that Gunnar stays with me: + Indeed the offence is theirs who hunted him, + His banishment is not just; his wrongs increase, + His honour and his following shall increase + If he is steadfast for his blamelessness. + + RANNVEIG. + Law is not justice, but the sacrifice + Of singular virtues to the dull world's ease of mind; + It measures men by the most vicious men; + It is a bargaining with vanities, + Lest too much right should make men hate each other + And hasten the last battle of all the nations. + Gunnar should have kept the atonement set, + For then those men would turn to other quarrels. + + GUNNAR. + I know not why it is I must be fighting, + For ever fighting, when the slaying of men + Is a more weary and aimless thing to me + Than most men think it ... and most women too. + There is a woman here who grieves she loves me, + And she too must be fighting me for ever + With her dim ravenous unsated mind.... + Ay, Hallgerd, there's that in her which desires + Men to fight on forever because she lives: + When she took form she did it like a hunger + To nibble earth's lip away until the sea + Poured down the darkness. Why then should I sail + Upon a voyage that can end but here? + She means that I shall fight until I die: + Why must she be put off by whittled years, + When none can die until his time has come? + +_He turns to the hound by the fire._ + + Samm, drowsy friend, dost scent a prey in dreams? + Shake off thy shag of sleep and get to thy watch: + 'Tis time to be our eyes till the next light. + Out, out to the yard, good Samm. + +_He goes to the left, followed by the hound. In the meantime HALLGERD +has seated herself in the high-seat near the sewing-women, turning +herself away and tugging at a strand of her hair, the end of which she +bites._ + + RANNVEIG, _intercepting him._ + Nay, let me take him. + It is not safe--there may be men who hide.... + Hallgerd, look up; call Gunnar to you there: + +_HALLGERD is motionless._ + + Lad, she beckons. I say you shall not come. + + GUNNAR, _laughing._ + Fierce woman, teach me to be brave in age, + And let us see if it is safe for you. + +_He leads RANNVEIG out, his hand on her shoulder; the hound goes with +them._ + + STEINVOR. + Mistress, my heart is big with mutinies + For your proud sake: does not your heart mount up? + He is an outlaw now and could not hold you + If you should choose to leave him. Is it not law? + Is it not law that you could loose this marriage-- + Nay, that he loosed it shamefully years ago + By a hard blow that bruised your innocent cheek, + Dishonouring you to lesser women and chiefs? + See, it burns up again at the stroke of thought. + Come, leave him, mistress; we will go with you. + There is no woman in the country now + Whose name can kindle men as yours can do-- + Ay, many would pile for you the silks he grudges; + And if you did withdraw your potent presence + Fire would not spare this house so reverently. + + HALLGERD. + Am I a wandering flame that sears and passes? + We must bide here, good Steinvor, and be quiet. + Without a man a woman cannot rule, + Nor kill without a knife; and where's the man + That I shall put before this goodly Gunnar? + I will not be made less by a less man. + There is no man so great as my man Gunnar: + I have set men at him to show forth his might; + I have planned thefts and breakings of his word + When my pent heart grew sore with fermentation + Of malice too long undone, yet could not stir him. + O, I will make a battle of the Thing, + Where men vow holy peace, to magnify him. + Is it not rare to sit and wait o' nights, + Knowing that murderousness may even now + Be coming down outside like second darkness + Because my man is greater? + + STEINVOR, _shuddering._ Is it not rare. + + HALLGERD. + That blow upon the face + So long ago is best not spoken of. + I drave a thrall to steal and burn at Otkell's + Who would not sell to us in famine time + But denied Gunnar as if he were suppliant: + Then at our feast when men rode from the Thing + I spread the stolen food and Gunnar knew. + He smote me upon the face ... indeed he smote me.... + O, Gunnar smote me and had shame of me + And said he'd not partake with any thief; + Although I stole to injure his despiser.... + But if he had abandoned me as well + 'Tis I who should have been unmated now; + For many men would soon have judged me thief + And shut me from this land until I died-- + And then I should have lost him.... Yet he smote me.... + + ASTRID. + He kept you his--yes, and maybe saved you + From a debasement that could madden or kill, + For women thieves ere now have felt a knife + Severing ear or nose. And yet the feud + You sowed with Otkell's house shall murder Gunnar. + Otkell was slain: then Gunnar's enviers, + Who could not crush him under his own horse + At the big horse-fight, stirred up Otkell's son + To avenge his father; for should he be slain + Two in one stock would prove old Njal's fore-telling, + And Gunnar's place be emptied either way + For those high helpless men who cannot fill it. + O, mistress, you have hurt us all in this: + You have cut off your strength, you have maimed yourself, + You are losing power and worship and men's trust. + When Gunnar dies no other man dare take you. + + HALLGERD. + You gather poison in your mouth for me. + A high-born woman may handle what she fancies + Without being ear-pruned like a pilfering beggar. + Look to your ears if you touch ought of mine: + Ay, you shall join the mumping sisterhood + And tramp and learn your difference from me. + _She turns from_ ASTRID. + Steinvor, I have remembered the great veil, + The woven cloud, the tissue of gold and garlands, + That Gunnar took from some outlandish ship + And deemed a thing from Greekland or from Hind: + Fetch it from the ambry in the bower. + +_STEINVOR goes out by the dais door._ + + ASTRID. + Mistress, indeed you are a cherished woman. + That veil is worth a lifetime's weight of coifs: + I have heard a queen offered her daughter for it, + But Gunnar said it should come home and wait-- + And then gave it to you. The half of Iceland + Tells fabulous legends of a fabulous thing, + Yet never saw it: I know they never saw it, + For ere it reached the ambry I came on it + Tumbled in the loft with ragged kirtles. + + HALLGERD. + What, are you there again? Let Gunnar alone. + +_STEINVOR enters with the veil folded. HALLGERD takes it with one hand +and shakes it into a heap._ + + This is the cloth. He brought it out at night, + In the first hour that we were left together, + And begged of me to wear it at high feasts + And more outshine all women of my time: + He shaped it to my head with my gold circlet, + Saying my hair smouldered like Rhine-fire through, + He let it fall about my neck and fall + About my shoulders, mingle with my skirts + And billow in the draught along the floor. + +_She rises and holds the veil behind her head._ + + I know I dazzled as if I entered in + And walked upon a windy sunset and drank it, + Yet must I stammer at such strange uncouthness + And tear it from me, tangling my arms in it-- + I could not so befool myself and seem + A laughable bundle in each woman's eyes, + Wearing such things as no one ever wore, + Useless ... no head-cloth ... too unlike my fellows. + Yet he turns miser for a tiny coif. + It would cut into many golden coifs + And dim some women in their Irish clouts-- + But no; I'll shape and stitch it into shifts, + Smirch it like linen, patch it with rags, to watch + His silent anger when he sees my answer. + Give me thy shears, girl Oddny. + + ODDNY. You'll not part it? + + HALLGERD. + I'll shorten it. + + ODDNY. I have no shears with me. + + HALLGERD. + No matter; I can start it with my teeth + And tear it down the folds. So. So. So. So. + Here's a fine shift for summer: and another. + I'll find my shears and chop out waists and neck-holes. + Ay, Gunnar, Gunnar! + +_She throws the tissue on the ground, and goes out by the dais door._ + + ODDNY, _lifting one of the pieces._ + O me! A wonder has vanished. + + STEINVOR. + What is a wonder less? She has done finely, + Setting her worth above dead marvels and shows.... + +_The deep menacing baying of the hound is heard near at hand. A woman's +cry follows it._ + + They come, they come! Let us flee by the bower! + +_Starting up, she stumbles in the tissue and sinks upon it. The others +rise._ + + You are leaving me--will you not wait for me-- + Take, take me with you.... + +_Mingled cries of women are heard._ + + GUNNAR, _outside._ Samm, it is well: be still. + Women, be quiet; loose me; get from my feet, + Or I will set the hound to wipe me clear.... + + STEINVOR, _recovering herself._ + Women are sent to spy. + +_The sound of a door being opened is heard. GUNNAR enters from the left, +followed by three beggar-women, BIARTEY, JOFRID, and GUDFINN. They +hobble and limp, and are swathed in shapeless nameless rags which trail +about their feet; BIARTEY'S left sleeve is torn completely away, leaving +her arm bare and mud-smeared; the others' skirts are torn, and JOFRID'S +gown at the neck; GUDFINN wears a felt hood buttoned under her chin, the +others' faces are almost hid in falling tangles of grey hair. Their +faces are shrivelled and weather-beaten, and BIARTEY'S mouth is +distorted by two front teeth that project like tusks._ + + GUNNAR. Get in to the light. + Yea has he mouthed ye? ... What men send ye here? + Who are ye? Whence come ye? What do ye seek? + I think no mother ever suckled you: + You must have dragged your roots up in waste places + One foot at once, or heaved a shoulder up-- + + BIARTEY, _interrupting him._ + Out of the bosoms of cairns and standing stones. + I am Biartey: she is Jofrid: she is Gudfinn: + We are lone women known to no man now. + We are not sent: we come. + + GUNNAR. Well, you come. + You appear by night, rising under my eyes + Like marshy breath or shadows on the wall; + Yet the hound scented you like any evil + That feels upon the night for a way out. + And do you, then, indeed wend alone? + Came you from the West or the sky-covering North, + Yet saw no thin steel moving in the dark? + + BIARTEY. + Not West, not North: we slept upon the East, + Arising in the East where no men dwell. + We have abided in the mountain places, + Chanted our woes among the black rocks crouching; + +_GUDFINN joins her in a sing-song utterance._ + + From the East, from the East we drove and the wind waved us, + Over the heaths, over the barren ashes. + We are old, our eyes are old, and the light hurts us, + We have skins on our eyes that part alone to the star-light. + We stumble about the night, the rocks tremble + Beneath our trembling feet; black sky thickens, + Breaks into clots, and lets the moon upon us. + +_JOFRID joins her voice to the voices of the other two._ + + Far from the men who fear us, men who stone us, + Hiding, hiding, flying whene'er they slumber, + High on the crags we pause, over the moon-gulfs; + Black clouds fall and leave us up in the moon-depths + Where wind flaps our hair and cloaks like fin-webs, + Ay, and our sleeves that toss with our arms and the cadence + Of quavering crying among the threatening echoes. + Then we spread our cloaks and leap down the rock-stairs, + Sweeping the heaths with our skirts, greying the dew-bloom, + Until we feel a pool on the wide dew stretches + Stilled by the moon or ruffling like breast-feathers, + And, with grey sleeves cheating the sleepy herons, + Squat among them, pillow us there and sleep. + But in the harder wastes we stand upright, + Like splintered rain-worn boulders set to the wind + In old confederacy, and rest and sleep. + +_HALLGERD'S women are huddled together and clasping each other._ + + ODDNY. + What can these women be who sleep like horses, + Standing up in the darkness.... What will they do.... + + GUNNAR. + Ye wail like ravens and have no human thoughts. + What do ye seek? What will ye here with us? + + BIARTEY, _as all three cower suddenly._ + Succour upon this terrible journeying. + We have a message for a man in the West, + Sent by an old man sitting in the East. + We are spent, our feet are moving wounds, our bodies + Dream of themselves and seem to trail behind us + Because we went unfed down in the mountains. + Feed us and shelter us beneath your roof, + And put us over the Markfleet, over the channels. + We are weak old women: we are beseeching you. + + GUNNAR. + You may bide here this night, but on the morrow + You shall go over, for tramping shameless women + Carry too many tales from stead to stead-- + And sometimes heavier gear than breath and lies. + These women will tell the mistress all I grant you; + Get to the fire until she shall return. + + BIARTEY. + Thou art a merciful man and we shall thank thee. + +GUNNAR _goes out again to the left._ + +_The old women approach the young ones gradually._ + + Little ones, do not doubt us. Could we hurt you? + Because we are ugly must we be bewitched? + + STEINVOR. + Nay, but bewitch us. + + BIARTEY. Not in a litten house: + Not ere the hour when night turns on itself + And shakes the silence: not while ye wake together. + Sweet voice, tell us, was that verily Gunnar? + + STEINVOR. + Arrh--do not touch me, unclean flyer-by-night: + Have ye birds' feet to match such bat-webbed fingers? + + BIARTEY. + I am only a cowed curst woman who walks with death; + I will crouch here. Tell us, was it Gunnar? + + ODDNY. + Yea, Gunnar surely. Is he not big enough + To fit the songs about him? + + BIARTEY. He is a man. + Why will his manhood urge him to be dead? + We walk about the whole old land at night, + We enter many dales and many halls: + And everywhere is talk of Gunnar's greatness, + His slayings and his fate outside the law. + The last ship has not gone: why will he tarry? + + ODDNY. + He chose a ship, but men who rode with him + Say that his horse threw him upon the shore, + His face toward the Lithe and his own fields; + As he arose he trembled at what he gazed on + (Although those men saw nothing pass or meet them) + And said.... What said he, girls? + + ASTRID. "Fair is the Lithe: + So fair I never thought it was so fair. + Its corn is white, its meadows green after mowing. + I will ride home again and never leave it." + + ODDNY. + 'Tis an unlikely tale: he never said it. + No one could mind such things in such an hour. + Plainly he saw his fetch come down the sands, + And knew he need not seek another country + And take that with him to walk upon the deck + In night and storm. + + GUDFINN. He he he! No man speaks thus. + + JOFRID. + No man, no man: he must be doomed somewhere. + + BIARTEY. + Doomed and fey, my sisters.... We are too old, + Yet I'd not marvel if we outlasted him. + Sisters, that is a fair fierce girl who spins.... + My fair fierce girl, you could fight--but can you ride? + Would you not shout to be riding in a storm? + Ah ... h, girls learnt riding well when I was a girl, + And foam rides on the breakers as I was taught.... + My fair fierce girl, tell me your noble name. + + ODDNY. + My name is Oddny. + + BIARTEY. Oddny, when you are old + Would you not be proud to be no man's purse-string, + But wild and wandering and friends with the earth? + Wander with us and learn to be old yet living. + We'd win fine food with you to beg for us. + + STEINVOR. + Despised, cast out, unclean, and loose men's night-bird. + + ODDNY. + When I am old I shall be some man's friend, + And hold him when the darkness comes.... + + BIARTEY. + And mumble by the fire and blink.... + Good Oddny, let me spin for you awhile, + That Gunnar's house may profit by his guesting: + Come, trust me with your distaff.... + + ODDNY. Are there spells + Wrought on a distaff? + + STEINVOR. Only by the Norns, + And they'll not sit with human folk to-night. + + ODDNY. + Then you may spin all night for what I care; + But let the yarn run clean from knots and snarls, + Or I shall have the blame when you are gone. + + BIARTEY, _taking the distaff._ + Trust well the aged knowledge of my hands; + Thin and thin do I spin, and the thread draws finer. + +_She sings as she spins._ + + They go by three, + And the moon shivers; + The tired waves flee, + The hidden rivers + Also flee. + + I take three strands; + There is one for her, + One for my hands, + And one to stir + For another's hands. + + I twine them thinner, + The dead wool doubts; + The outer is inner, + The core slips out.... + +_HALLGERD re-enters by the dais door, holding a pair of shears._ + + HALLGERD. + What are these women, Oddny? Who let them in? + + BIARTEY, _who spins through all that follows._ + Lady, the man of fame who is your man + Gave us his peace to-night, and that of his house. + We are blown beggars tramping about the land, + Denied a home for our evil and vagrant hearts; + We sought this shelter when the first dew soaked us, + And should have perished by the giant hound + But Gunnar fought it with his eyes and saved us. + That is a strange hound, with a man's mind in it. + + HALLGERD, _seating herself in the high-seat._ + It is an Irish hound, from that strange soil + Where men by day walk with unearthly eyes + And cross the veils of the air, and are not men + But fierce abstractions eating their own hearts + Impatiently and seeing too much to be joyful.... + If Gunnar welcomed ye, ye may remain. + + BIARTEY. + She is a fair free lady, is she not? + But that was to be looked for in a high one + Who counts among her fathers the bright Sigurd, + The bane of Fafnir the Worm, the end of the god-kings; + Among her mothers Brynhild, the lass of Odin, + The maddener of swords, the night-clouds' rider. + She has kept sweet that father's lore of bird-speech, + She wears that mother's power to cheat a god. + Sisters, she does well to be proud.... + + JOFRID AND GUDFINN. Ay, Well.... + + HALLGERD, _shaping the tissue with her shears._ + I need no witch to tell I am of rare seed, + Nor measure my pride nor praise it. Do I not know? + Old women, ye are welcomed: sit with us, + And while we stitch tell us what gossip runs-- + But if strife might be warmed by spreading it. + + BIARTEY. + Lady, we are hungered; we were lost + All night among the mountains of the East; + Clouds of the cliffs come down my eyes again.... + I pray you let some thrall bring us to food. + + HALLGERD. + Ye get nought here. The supper is long over; + The women shall not let ye know the food-house, + Or ye'll be thieving in the night. Ye are idle, + Ye suck a man's house bare and seek another. + 'Tis bed-time; get to sleep--that stills much hunger. + + BIARTEY. + Now it is easy to be seeing what spoils you. + You were not grasping or ought but over warm + When Sigmund, Gunnar's kinsman, guested here. + You followed him, you were too kind with him, + You lavished Gunnar's treasure and gear on him + To draw him on, and did not call that thieving. + Ay, Sigmund took your feuds on him and died + As Gunnar shall. Men have much harm by you. + + HALLGERD. + Now have I gashed the golden cloth awry: + 'Tis ended--a ruin of clouts--the worth of the gift-- + Bridal dish-clouts--nay, a bundle of flame. + I'll burn it to a breath of its old queen's ashes: + Fire, O fire, drink up.... + +_She throws the shreds of the veil on the glowing embers: they waft to +ashes with a brief high flare. She goes to JOFRID._ + + There's one of you + That holds her head in a bird's sideways fashion: + I know that reach o' the chin.... What's under thy hair?-- + +_She fixes JOFRID with her knee, and lifts her hair._ + + Pfui, 'tis not hair, but sopped and rotting moss-- + A thief, a thief indeed.... And twice a thief.... + She has no ears. Keep thy hooked fingers still + While thou art here, for if I miss a mouthful + Thou shalt miss all thy nose. Get up, get up; + I'll lodge ye with the mares.... + + JOFRID, _starting up._ Three men, three men, + Three men have wived you, and for all you gave them + Paid with three blows upon a cheek once kissed-- + To every man a blow--and the last blow + All the land knows was won by thieving food.... + Yea, Gunnar is ended by the theft and the thief. + Is it not told that when you first grew tall, + A false rare girl, Hrut your own kinsman said + "I know not whence thief's eyes entered our blood." + You have more ears, yet are you not my sister? + Our evil vagrant heart is deeper in you. + + HALLGERD, _snatching the distaff from Biartey._ + Out and be gone, be gone. Lie with the mountains, + Smother among the thunder; stale dew mould you. + Outstrip the hound, or he shall so embrace you.... + + BIARTEY. + Now is all done ... all done ... and all your deed! + She broke the thread, and it shall not join again. + Spindle, spindle, the coiling weft shall dwindle; + Leap on the fire and burn, for all is done.... + +_She casts the spindle upon the fire, and stretches her hands toward +it._ + + HALLGERD, _attacking them with the distaff._ + Into the night.... Dissolve.... + + BIARTEY, _as the three rush toward the door._ + Sisters, away: + Leave the woman to her smouldering beauty, + Leave the fire that's kinder than the woman, + Leave the roof-tree ere it falls. It falls. + +_GUDFINN joins her. Each time Hallgerd flags they turn as they chant, +and point at her._ + + We shall cry no more in the high rock-places, + We are gone from the night, the winds and the clouds are empty: + Soon the man in the West shall receive our message. + +_JOFRID'S voice joins the other voices._ + + Men reject us, yet their house is unstable.... + The slayers' hands are warm--the sound of their riding + Reached us down the ages, ever approaching. + + HALLGERD, _at the same time, her voice high over theirs._ + Pack, ye rag-heaps--or I'll unravel you. + + THE THREE, _continuously._ + House that spurns us, woe shall come upon you: + Death shall hollow you. Now we curse the woman-- + May all the woes smite her till she can feel them. + Shall we not roost in her bower yet? Woe! Woe! + +_The distaff breaks, and Hallgerd drives them out with her hands. Their +voices continue for a moment outside, dying away._ + + Call to the owl-friends.... Woe! Woe! Woe! + + ASTRID. + Whence came these mounds of dread to haunt the night? + It doubles this disquiet to have them near us. + + ODDNY. + They must be witches--and it was my distaff-- + Will fire eat through me.... + + STEINVOR. Or the Norns themselves. + + HALLGERD. + Or bad old women used to govern by fear. + To bed, to bed--we are all up too late. + + STEINVOR, _as she turns with_ ASTRID _and_ ODDNY + _to the dais._ + If beds are made for sleep we might sit long. + _They go out by the dais door._ + + GUNNAR, _as he enters hastily from the left._ + Where are those women? There's some secret in them: + I have heard such others crying down to them. + + HALLGERD. + They turned foul-mouthed, they beckoned evil toward us-- + I drove them forth a breath ago. + + GUNNAR. Forth? Whence? + + HALLGERD. + By the great door: they cried about the night. + +_RANNVEIG follows GUNNAR in._ + + GUNNAR. + Nay but I entered there and passed them not. + Mother, where are the women? + + RANNVEIG. I saw none come. + + GUNNAR. + They have not come, they have gone. + + RANNVEIG. I crossed the yard, + Hearing a noise, but a big bird dropped past, + Beating my eyes; and then the yard was clear. + _The deep baying of the hound is heard + again._ + + GUNNAR. + They must be spies: yonder is news of them. + The wise hound knew them, and knew them again. + _The baying is succeeded by one wild howl._ + Nay, nay! + Men treat thee sorely, Samm my fosterling: + Even by death thou warnest--but it is meant + That our two deaths will not be far apart. + + RANNVEIG. + Think you that men are yonder? + + GUNNAR. Men are yonder. + + RANNVEIG. + My son, my son, get on the rattling war-woof, + The old grey shift of Odin, the hide of steel. + Handle the snake with edges, the fang of the rings. + + GUNNAR, _going to the weapons by the high-seat._ + There are not enough moments to get under + That heavy fleece: an iron hat must serve.... + + HALLGERD. + O brave! O brave!--he'll dare them with no shield. + + GUNNAR, _lifting down the great bill from the wall._ + Let me but reach this haft, I shall get hold + Of steel enough to fence me all about. + +_He shakes the bill above his head: a deep resonant humming follows. The +dais door is thrown open, and ODDNY, ASTRID, and STEINVOR stream through +in their night-clothes._ + + STEINVOR. The bill! + + ODDNY. The bill is singing! + + ASTRID. The bill sings! + + GUNNAR, _shaking the bill again._ + Ay, brain-biter, waken ... Awake and whisper + Out of the throat of dread thy one brief burden. + Blind art thou, and thy kiss will do no choosing: + Worn art thou to a hair's grey edge, a nothing + That slips through all it finds, seeking more nothing. + There is a time, brain-biter, a time that comes + When there shall be much quietness for thee: + Men will be still about thee. I shall know. + It is not yet: the wind shall hiss at thee first. + Ahui! Leap up, brain-biter; sing again. + Sing! Sing thy verse of anger and feel my hands. + + RANNVEIG. + Stand thou, my Gunnar, in the porch to meet them, + And the great door shall keep thy back for thee. + + GUNNAR. + I had a brother there. Brother, where are you.... + + HALLGERD. + Nay nay. Get thou, my Gunnar, to the loft, + Stand at the casement, watch them how they come. + Arrows maybe could drop on them from there. + + RANNVEIG. + 'Tis good: the woman's cunning for once is faithful. + + GUNNAR, _turning again to the weapons._ + 'Tis good, for now I hear a foot that stumbles + Along the stable-roof against the hall. + My bow--where is my bow? Here with its arrows.... + Go in again, you women on the dais, + And listen at the casement of the bower + For men who cross the yard, and for their words. + + ASTRID. + O, Gunnar, we shall serve you. + +_ASTRID, ODDNY, and STEINVOR go out by the dais door._ + + RANNVEIG. Hallgerd, come; + We must shut fast the door, bar the great door, + Or they'll be in on us and murder him. + + HALLGERD. + Not I: I'd rather set the door wide open + And watch my Gunnar kindling at the peril, + Keeping them back--shaming men for ever + Who could not enter at a gaping door. + + RANNVEIG. + Bar the great door, I say, or I will bar it-- + Door of the house you rule.... Son, son, command it. + + GUNNAR, _as he ascends to the loft._ + O, spendthrift fire, do you waft up again? + Hallgerd, what riot of ruinous chance will sate you?... + Let the door stand, my mother: it is her way. + _He looks out of the casement._ + Here's a red kirtle on the lower roof. + _He thrusts with the bill through the casement._ + + A MAN'S VOICE, _far off._ Is Gunnar within? + +_THORGRIM THE EASTERLING'S VOICE, near the casement._ + + Find that out for yourselves: + I am only sure his bill is yet within. + _A noise of falling is heard._ + + GUNNAR. + The Easterling from Sandgil might be dying-- + He has gone down the roof, yet no feet helped him. + +_A shouting of many men is heard: GUNNAR starts back from the casement +as several arrows fly in._ + + Now there are black flies biting before a storm. + I see men gathering beneath the cart-shed: + Gizur the White and Geir the priest are there, + And a lean whispering shape that should be Mord. + I have a sting for some one-- + _He looses an arrow: a distant cry follows._ + Valgard's voice.... + A shaft of theirs is lying on the roof: + I'll send it back, for if it should take root + A hurt from their own spent and worthless weapon + Would put a scorn upon their tale for ever. + _He leans out for the arrow._ + + RANNVEIG. + Do not, my son: rouse them not up again + When they are slackening in their attack. + + HALLGERD. + Shoot, shoot it out, and I'll come up to mock them. + + GUNNAR, _loosing the arrow._ + Hoia! Swerve down upon them, little hawk. + _A shout follows._ + Now they run all together round one man: + Now they murmur.... + + A VOICE. Close in, lift bows again: + He has no shafts, for this is one of ours. + _Arrows fly in at the casement._ + + GUNNAR. + Wife, here is something in my arm at last: + The head is twisted--I must cut it clear. + +_STEINVOR throws open the dais door and rushes through with a high +shriek._ + + STEINVOR. + Woman, let us out--help us out-- + The burning comes--they are calling out for fire. + +_She shrieks again. ODDNY and ASTRID, who have come behind her, muffle +her head in a kirtle and lift her._ + + ASTRID, _turning as they bear her out._ + Fire suffuses only her cloudy brain: + The flare she walks in is on the other side + Of her shot eyes. We heard a passionate voice, + A shrill unwomanish voice that must be Mord, + With "Let us burn him--burn him house and all." + And then a grave and trembling voice replied + "Although my life hung on it, it shall not be." + Again the cunning fanatic voice went on + "I say the house must burn above his head." + And the unlifted voice "Why wilt thou speak + Of what none wishes: it shall never be." + +_ASTRID and ODDNY disappear with STEINVOR._ + + GUNNAR. + To fight with honest men is worth much friendship: + I'll strive with them again. + +_He lifts his bow and loosens arrows at intervals while HALLGERD and +RANNVEIG speak._ + +_HALLGERD, in an undertone to RANNVEIG, looking out meanwhile to the +left._ + + Mother, come here-- + Come here and hearken. Is there not a foot, + A stealthy step, a fumbling on the latch + Of the great door? They come, they come, old mother: + Are you not blithe and thirsty, knowing they come + And cannot be held back? Watch and be secret, + To feel things pass that cannot be undone. + + RANNVEIG. + It is the latch. Cry out, cry out for Gunnar, + And bring him from the loft. + + HALLGERD. O, never: + For then they'd swarm upon him from the roof. + Leave him up there and he can bay both armies, + While the whole dance goes merrily before us + And we can warm our hearts at such a flare. + +_RANNVEIG, turning both ways, while HALLGERD watches her gleefully._ + + Gunnar, my son, my son! What shall I do.... + +_ORMILD enters from the left, white and with her hand to her side, and +walking as if she is sick._ + + HALLGERD. + Bah--here's a bleached assault.... + + RANNVEIG. O, lonesome thing, + To be forgot and left in such a night. + What is there now--are terrors surging still? + + ORMILD. + I know not what has gone: when the men came + I hid in the far cowhouse. I think I swooned.... + And then I followed the shadow. Who is dead? + + RANNVEIG. + Go to the bower: the women will care for you. + +_ORMILD totters up the hall from pillar to pillar._ + + ASTRID, _entering by the dais door._ + Now they have found the weather-ropes and lashed them + Over the carven ends of the beams outside: + They bear on them, they tighten them with levers, + And soon they'll tear the high roof off the hall. + + GUNNAR. + Get back and bolt the women into the bower. + +_ASTRID takes ORMILD, who has just reached her, and goes out with her by +the dais door, which closes after them._ + + Hallgerd, go in: I shall be here thereafter. + + HALLGERD. + I will not stir. Your mother had best go in. + + RANNVEIG. + How shall I stir? + + VOICES, _outside and gathering volume._ + Ai ... Ai ... Reach harder ... Ai ... + + GUNNAR. + Stand clear, stand clear--it moves. + + THE VOICES. It moves ... Ai, ai ... + +_The whole roof slides down rumblingly, disappearing with a crash behind +the wall of the house. All is dark above. Fine snow sifts down now and +then to the end of the play._ + + GUNNAR, _handling his bow._ + The wind has changed: 'tis coming on to snow. + The harvesters will hurry in to-morrow. + +THORBRAND THORLEIKSSON _appears above the wall-top a little past_ +GUNNAR, _and, reaching noiselessly with a sword, cuts_ GUNNAR'S +_bowstring._ + + GUNNAR, _dropping the bow and seizing his bill._ + Ay, Thorbrand, is it thou? That's a rare blade, + To shear through hemp and gut.... Let your wife have it + For snipping needle-yarn; or try it again. + + THORBRAND, _raising his sword._ + I must be getting back ere the snow thickens: + So here's my message to the end--or farther. + Gunnar, this night it is time to start your journey + And get you out of Iceland.... + + GUNNAR, _thrusting at_ THORBRAND _with the bill._ + I think it is: + So you shall go before me in the dark. + Wait for me when you find a quiet shelter. + +THORBRAND _sinks backward from the wall and is heard to fall farther. +Immediately_ ASBRAND THORLEIKSSON _starts up in his place._ + + ASBRAND, _striking repeatedly with a sword._ + O, down, down, down! + + GUNNAR, _parrying the blows with the bill._ + Ay, Asbrand, thou as well? + Thy brother Thorbrand was up here but now: + He has gone back the other way, maybe-- + Be hasty, or you'll not come up with him. + +_He thrusts with the bill: ASBRAND lifts a shield before the blow._ + + Here's the first shield that I have seen to-night. + +_The bill pierces the shield: ASBRAND disappears and is heard to fall. +GUNNAR turns from the casement._ + + Hallgerd, my harp that had but one long string, + But one low song, but one brief wingy flight, + Is voiceless, for my bowstring is cut off. + Sever two locks of hair for my sake now, + Spoil those bright coils of power, give me your hair, + And with my mother twist those locks together + Into a bowstring for me. Fierce small head, + Thy stinging tresses shall scourge men forth by me. + + HALLGERD. + Does ought lie on it? + + GUNNAR. Nought but my life lies on it; + For they will never dare to close on me + If I can keep my bow bended and singing. + + HALLGERD, _tossing back her hair._ + Then now I call to your mind that bygone blow + You gave my face; and never a whit do I care + If you hold out a long time or a short. + + GUNNAR. + Every man who has trod a war-ship's deck, + And borne a weapon of pride, has a proud heart + And asks not twice for any little thing. + Hallgerd, I'll ask no more from you, no more. + + RANNVEIG, _tearing off her wimple._ + She will not mar her honour of widowhood. + O, widows' manes are priceless.... Off, mean wimple-- + I am a finished widow, why do you hide me? + Son, son who knew my bosom before hers, + Look down and curse for an unreverend thing + An old bald woman who is no use at last. + These bleachy threads, these tufts of death's first combing, + And loosening heart-strings twisted up together + Would not make half a bowstring. Son, forgive me.... + + GUNNAR. + A grasping woman's gold upon her head + Is made for hoarding, like all other gold: + A spendthrift woman's gold upon her head + Is made for spending on herself. Let be-- + She goes her heart's way, and I go to earth. + +AUNUND'S _head rises above the wall near_ GUNNAR. + + What, are you there? + + AUNUND. Yes, Gunnar, we are here. + + GUNNAR, _thrusting with the bill._ + Then bide you there. + +AUNUND'S _head sinks:_ THORGEIR'S _rises in the same place._ + + How many heads have you? + + THORGEIR. + But half as many as the feet we grow on. + + GUNNAR. + And I've not yet used up (_thrusting again_) all my hands. + +_As he thrusts another man rises a little farther back, and leaps past +him into the loft. Others follow, and GUNNAR is soon surrounded by many +armed men, so that only the rising and falling of his bill is seen._ + + The threshing-floor is full.... Up, up, brain-biter! + We work too late to-night--up, open the husks. + + O, smite and pulse + On their anvil heads: + The smithy is full, + There are shoes to be made + For the hoofs of the steeds + Of the Valkyr girls.... + + FIRST MAN. + Hack through the shaft.... + + SECOND MAN. + Receive the blade + In the breast of a shield, + And wrench it round.... + + GUNNAR. + For the hoofs of the steeds + Of the Valkyr girls + Who race up the night + To be first at our feast, + First in the play + With immortal spears + In deadly holes.... + + THIRD MAN. + Try at his back.... + +MANY VOICES, _shouting in confusion._ + + Have him down.... Heels on the bill.... Ahui, ahui.... + +_The bill does not rise._ + + HROALD, _with the breaking voice of a young man, + high over all._ + Father.... It is my blow.... It is I who kill him.... + +_The crowd parts, suddenly silent, showing GUNNAR fallen._ + +_RANNVEIG covers her face with her hands._ + + HALLGERD, _laughing as she leans forward and + holds her breasts in her hands._ + O, clear sweet laughter of my heart, flow out! + It is so mighty and beautiful and blithe + To watch a man dying--to hover and watch. + + RANNVEIG. + Cease: are you not immortal in shame already? + + HALLGERD. + Heroes, what deeds ye compass, what great deeds-- + One man has held ye from an open door: + Heroes, heroes, are ye undefeated? + + GIZUR, _an old white-bearded man, to the other riders._ + We have laid low to earth a mighty chief: + We have laboured harder than on greater deeds, + And maybe won remembrance by the deeds + Of Gunnar when no deed of ours should live; + For this defence of his shall outlast kingdoms + And gather him fame till there are no more men. + + MORD. + Come down and splinter those old birds his gods + That perch upon the carven high-seat pillars; + Wreck every place his shadow fell upon, + Rive out his gear, drive off his forfeit beasts. + + SECOND MAN. + It shall not be. + + MANY MEN. Never. + + GIZUR. We'll never do it: + Let no man lift a blade or finger a clout-- + Is not this Gunnar, Gunnar, whom we have slain? + Home, home, before the dawn shows all our deed. + +_The riders go down quickly over the wall-top, and disappear._ + + HALLGERD. + Now I shall close his nostrils and his eyes, + And thereby take his blood-feud into my hands. + + RANNVEIG. + If you do stir I'll choke you with your hair. + I will not let your murderous mind be near him + When he no more can choose and does not know. + + HALLGERD. + His wife I was, and yet he never judged me: + He did not set your motherhood between us. + Let me alone--I stand here for my sons. + + RANNVEIG. + The wolf, the carrion bird, and the fair woman + Hurry upon a corpse, as if they think + That all is left for them the grey gods need not. + +_She twines her hands in HALLGERD'S hair and draws her down to the +floor._ + + O, I will comb your hair with bones and thumbs, + Array these locks in my right widow's way, + And deck you like the bed-mate of the dead. + Lie down upon the earth as Gunnar lies, + Or I can never match him in your looks + And whiten you and make your heart as cold. + + HALLGERD. + Mother, what will you do? Unloose me now-- + Your eyes would not look so at me alone. + + RANNVEIG. + Be still, my daughter.... + + HALLGERD. And then? + + RANNVEIG. Ah, do not fear-- + I see a peril nigh and all its blitheness. + Order your limbs--stretch out your length of beauty, + Let down your hands and close those deepening eyes, + Or you can never stiffen as you should. + A murdered man should have a murdered wife + When all his fate is treasured in her mouth. + This wifely hair-pin will be sharp enough. + +HALLGERD, _starting up as_ RANNVEIG _half loosens her to take a hair-pin +from her own head._ + + She is mad, mad.... O, the bower is barred-- + Hallgerd, come out, let mountains cover you.... + _She rushes out to the left._ + + RANNVEIG, _following her._ + The night take you indeed.... + +_GIZUR enters from the left._ + + GIZUR. Ay, drive her out; + For no man's house was ever better by her. + + RANNVEIG. + Is an old woman's life desired as well? + + GIZUR. + We ask that you will grant us earth hereby + Of Gunnar's earth, for two men dead to-night + To lie beneath a cairn that we shall raise. + + RANNVEIG. + Only for two? Take it: ask more of me. + I wish the measure were for all of you. + + GIZUR. + Your words must be forgiven you, old mother, + For none has had a greater loss than yours. + Why would he set himself against us all.... + _He goes out._ + + RANNVEIG. + Gunnar, my son, we are alone again. + +_She goes up the hall, mounts to the loft and stoops beside him._ + + O, they have hurt you ... but that is forgot. + Boy, it is bedtime; though I am too changed, + And cannot lift you up and lay you in, + You shall go warm to bed--I'll put you there. + There is no comfort in my breast to-night: + But close your eyes beneath my fingers' touch, + Slip your feet down, and let me smooth your hands; + Then sleep and sleep. Ay, all the world's asleep; + But some will waken. _She rises._ + You had a rare toy when you were awake-- + I'll wipe it with my hair ... Nay, keep it so, + The colour on it now has gladdened you. + It shall lie near you. + _She raises the bill: the deep hum follows._ + No; it remembers him, + And other men shall fall by it through Gunnar: + The bill, the bill is singing.... The bill sings! + +_She kisses the weapon, then shakes it on high._ + + +CURTAIN. + + + + +MIDSUMMER EVE + + + + + _TO CLINTON BALMER + AND THE DEAR MEMORY OF + JAMES HAMILTON HAY + FOR THE SUMMER OF 1900 + AT CARTMEL_ + + + _IN the lost Valley all is still + To-day: upon the stony hill + The heat of the late afternoon + Settles in coppery haze: and soon + A voice not known to me will call + Silent obedient cows to stall, + In the same immemorial cry + From century to century + Changing but by the uttering voice. + And in a while a little noise + (Hou! Hou!) far off near Newton Head + Will tell that at another stead + The browsing cattle pause and turn + Unwilling heads to seem to learn + That which they know, and move in train + Now milking-time has come again. + + In Well Knowe garden now, I know, + Where the pale larkspur used to grow + In the far nook, a sound is heard + (If any is there to hear save bird + And field-mouse in the strawberries + Stirring like a local breeze-- + Here, there--the low leaves soundlessly); + A glistening slender wasp-like fly + Is using will and wing to stand + Upon the air as though it spanned + A chasm with trembling outstretched arms, + And in the silence of heat-stilled farms + And heat-veiled wood that seems to shake + Dim clotted leaves yet does not break + By sigh or rustle the hush so dear + Its tiny sting of sound sings clear._ + + _Oft have I heard that elfin horn + Sound suddenly, as cobweb torn + Must sound in startled elfin ears + Pricked and on edge with elfin fears; + And as I upward watched those spare + Twin shreds of silver like slit air, + Beating and shining, straight and tense, + Simulating impotence + Of motion, enviously I thought + "Had my half useless flesh been caught, + Upborn, and for all limit bound + Between such gossamers of sound, + Not thus, not thus would I deny + My spirit's reach and endlessly + Use all conception and all force + To limit my short vital course. + Had I such wings of urgent light + Insistent not alone on height + But stretched for sweep and latitude + I would not evade flight, I would + Employ my heat and power and sense + In realising difference, + And see my world's variety, + Restricted but by energy."_ + + _But Well Knowe garden only shines + In memory now, and its dear signs + Only persist and gleam again + In a shut chamber of my brain: + While in a distant place I brood + Upon lost things, and in a mood + Of longing and remembrance feel + The wisdom of that immobile + And senseless mote, and think "Were I + Carnate in a slim glistening fly, + I would flash back upon that fair + Laurel-walled rood, then drop in air + Till no translucent nerve should stir + From strained precision, nor wing should whir + But to maintain one changeless height, + Nor move nor waver from that sight; + And think the years have not gone by + When James and Clinton harboured nigh + And, working in another art + Than mine, yet peopled for my heart + The Valley with the very core + Of vital beauty for evermore-- + So that when the air is still + I hear below the meadow-rill + Clinton singing softlier still + Entranced by his own moving brush + Among the stream-side bracken and rush-- + Or James repeats with his long hand + The distant line of hills that stand + Between the Valley and the lake + And yet seem lovelier for his sake."_ + + _How many generations past + Should I be dead had I been cast + In that small rapid shape of light? + Though wings may stand, years move in flight; + And, while I dream, I know, I know + That it is useless I should go + To Well Knowe garden again to see + Things that cannot return to me-- + James dead and Clinton gone away, + And one whose name I cannot say + Who built in Cyclopean sound + Other magic heights around + That little place, then turned apart, + Untrue to friendship and to art, + A man of nothing--vanished things, + Dead friends, dead hopes, that must remain + In a shut chamber of my brain; + While only Clinton far away + Will in these verses and this play + See that country of our youth + And our dead friend and our old troth + Of friendship fixed in amber light, + A timeless hour that holds no night._ + +Summer 1921--Spring 1922. + + +PERSONS: + + NAN } + BET } + URSEL } Kitchen and Dairy Girls. + MAUDLIN } + LIB } + ROGER, a Carter. + MEASE, a Cowherd. + + + + +MIDSUMMER EVE + +_The scene is the interior of an old barn on a knoll, a long time ago. +At the back the barn's doors are opened widely; outside, a road rises +slightly from left to right in front of the barn; beyond this the knoll +sinks softly yet swiftly to a great meadow, and thence to a wide rich +valley of more meadows and ever more meadows with ancient large cherry +and crab and sloe and bullace and damson trees in their hedges whence +the white and pink thorn-blossom clots are not quite gone, and of +pastures shaded by tall clustering trees. Afar the valley ceases in low, +densely wooded hills._ + +_A late June twilight is deepening; a faint moist heat-haze hides +nothing, only distinguishing the planes of the distant trees with a +cloudy delicacy. There is no wind, nor any movement; one blackbird sings +somewhere for a little while, then it ceases and there is no sound in +the fields._ + +_The whole prospect is of a solitary, fruitfully overgrown valley shut +in from everywhere._ + +_Within the barn, to the left, is a high hay-mow with a ladder leaning +against it; much hay has been tumbled at its foot in forking from the +carts. To the right is a space of floor where the corn is to be heaped +in the ending of summer: as yet, however, it is empty, save for a +wooden plough, a homely rough wooden roller, wooden harrows, an +uptilted, pleasantly shaped cart whence the hay-shelvings have not yet +been removed. In the far corner of the bare walls of undressed stone at +this side is an open door leading into a mistal. Presently a cow is +heard moaning sickly beyond this door._ + +_The barn is still more dim than the land, so that a stretch of soft +brown darkness is all that is known of the far-off roof. Nearing +footfalls are heard in the road, and a woman's singing grows clearer._ + + "HOU, Hou," went the neatherd moaning + Down along by the pasture's side; + He turned the cows at the midden-yard loaning, + The loitering cows in the brown owl-tide: + Pale rose the last one, munching, droning, + With wet grass stains on her udder and hide. + + My lantern's rings to the low balks floated + As Whitey's tail shook the mistal-sneck; + When I laid my cheek to her belly spotted + I felt her honey-strong breath i' my neck, + For she turns her head does the curd-dark throated + To watch my mouth start her teats with a peck. + +_NAN, BET and URSEL ascend the road to the left and enter the barn as +NAN ceases singing._ + +_They are white-hooded, clumsily shod, gownless; in the right hand NAN +carries a willow frail, the others stoneware greybeards; each holds +several hay-rakes on her left shoulder._ + + URSEL. + September, O, September's in the song-- + I will not have September in my heart, + The ending of so much deliciousness, + The year's sad luscious over-ripening. + Yet here's the haysel done with: how it hurt + To rake behind the last dim cart; and now + My soul creeps in me like the low pale night-mist + To know that in a moment past this moment + We shall not hear it slowly any more + Down in the lane where, wisping the close trees, + It follows us like a mournful sound of change. + Although the Summer is but newly kindled, + Tiptoe I over-reach the joy of it + (Ah, little perfect weeks of fruitfulness) + Because I tremble lest it be slipping past me + Before my eagerness will let me feel it. + Must joy for me be ever in things gone?... + + NAN, _as they set down their burdens to lean + the rakes against the wall, where four flails are + hung, on the left of the door._ + Nay, there is comfort in the rainy nights, + The long moist twilights of the cider time + When girls hold fitful talk sat in the press-spot + Among the hid sweet apple heaps that gleam + In firelight to a humming out of doors + Of soddening water oozing down the soil; + And there is comfort too at Candlemas + From looking through the casement in the dark, + The last thing ere you chafe your toes in bed, + On the crisp quiet of the woods and fields, + Wondering if 'tis snow or all the moonlight, + Peering so anxiously along the wall + That shades still ewes and whiter first-dropped lambs.... + Ay, but I'm tired, lasses, tired now + Because the haysel's over and 'twas fair + And the land's savour wears me with delight. + I'm for indoors and resting--and, beside, + I'm fainest of my supper o' baking days. + + BET. + Let all times slip to haste the barley week, + For then our nearest dancing-time will ripen ... + But I'm for bed to get me doffed and stripped + To pick much grass seed from my smock and coats. + + URSEL. + Listen, Bet; no cool sheets are yours to-night. + The milk-eyed goodies with grey loose-skinned throats, + Who maunder of rarer girlhoods none can prove, + Tell that at midnight on Midsummer-Eves + They waked in some lone shade far from all sleepers + To feel which should be wedded within the year; + For the year's unknown husbands' images + Come then like swoons from some where ... ay, from some where.... + Thoughts shaping for their women's heedless souls, + And if a maid will watch she sees her own + And knows her own, seeing her own alone, + Peering unseen as breath is in June nights. + Surely such dainties rilled no cow-slow eyes; + But Nan and I mean watching and have bid + Maudlin at Grassgarth, Lib at Appletoft + Under our breath, and hither they steal this eve. + We knew we must not tell you ere the hour, + Or ... or ... too many hinds might creep to be + Their own drowsed leering loutish prophecies. + + BET. + Am I so old or wistful to be ringed + That I must feign to be content with one? + Where is this moon-swayed peeping, then, to be, + This blest eavesdropping on a mood of fate? + + NAN. + Here in the barn, where we may crouch un-thought-of + By moon-estranged eyes in gradual darkness. + And lest we startle at o'er-expected footfalls + Or with night-carried voices rouse the farm, + Maudlin and Lib will warn us by dove-cooings-- + Sometimes I hear a cooing up warm nights + From dove pairs far too wise to be asleep, + But mistress bides awake for no such music. + + BET. + Dove-cooing Lib will be a thing to brood on-- + I'll miss nought here, although you count me least. + + NAN. + All works with us; for at the forenoon drinking + I heard dame Stir-Wench mutter "These kesh-pithed lasses + Shall sleep no longer three-a-bed beneath + The dark damp closeness of the garret thatch, + That nigh their heads leans low upon the floor, + Until this heat is past; or they will grow + Yet more slob-cheeked and sodden and dough-limbed + I never saw maids look more like green sickness." + And then she bade Giles carry our gear and bedding + Into the empty meal-webbed granary. + Nought could have fallen better; now we have + No moaning ladder's and open doors' groped passing, + No stocking feet need pad the dairy flags; + Only a silverly weathered latchless board + Keeps out the bats that flap toward pale shapes, + And waits to let us into the large night + Throughout the holiest of the mothering year. + + BET. + She said green sickness but she meant green apples. + The codlin tree that o'er each moonset stretches + A creeping spider-shadow on the gable + Fills out its fruit weeks earlier this year, + And the one bough with apples onion-roped + Is one the mended ladder will not reach; + It is weight-arched against our garret window, + So that the curled leaves finger on the panes + When midnight winds are sturdy enough to lift it; + Mam Pantry knows and fears bare orchard-shelves + And herds us to an outhouse. Girls, those apples + Will all be basketed before their time, + Ere threshing heaps the granary once more + And sharp nights make her yield our loft again + Because she finds us cuddled on its threshold. + + URSEL. + Mam Patch-Waist counts more eggs than four--she knows + Spring wenches' whifts let loose to sniff the night; + So straightway to the granary Mease she sped + To oil the lock and drive a staple in. + Small is our chance of watching now.... + + NAN. Quick-Pattens + Even ere she rounded must have been a likely, + A very likely maid for her to know + Our scapemell moods howe'er we prim our mouths. + + BET. + Mease for two kisses left the staple loose. + + URSEL, _laughing with_ NAN. + Ay, Bet's the market woman, to be sure. + + BET. + Mouths, even as eyes, were made to earn our wills. + + NAN. + But how came Bet near Mease up in the corn-spot? + And if she knows the need o' the staple loose + Why will she care to watch with us to-night? + + BET. + To learn which one it is, Nanikin sly. + + NAN. + Had it been Mease he'd not have chaffered kisses.... + You know more now than you will learn to-night, + You will wed more than all we see to-night-- + We shall win nought beyond a secret spice + Of unclipt gossip in a tasty hour.... + +_A loitering dull sound is heard of cart-wheels and horse-hooves out in +the lane._ + + URSEL. + Hush, Nan--here come the lads.... + +_They lift their burdens, and stand aside for the cart to enter the +barn; but as it comes in sight it passes along the road from the left to +the right. It is piled with a roped load of hay; ROGER and MEASE, in +long smocks and flapping hats, knee-breeches and ribbed stockings, +accompany it, ROGER leading the horse, MEASE holding to the shelvings +behind with one hand and with the other slanting several hay-forks and a +scythe against his shoulder._ + + URSEL, _continuing._ What, Roger, Mease.... + Why bring you not the cart and top the mow, + To feel in each limb's ebb hay harvest's spent? + + ROGER, _halting._ + As we trailed up from Pear-tree Dale past Sheep-mires + Under a thick dew-breath we seemed to steal + As 'tween chill bed-clothes in December nights; + Into the load it soaked two fingers' length, + So now we needs must throw it off and spread it + To wait to-morrow's sun out in the yard + Ere it is ripe to top the sweating stack. + + MEASE. + Moreover, we are wetter than the crop; + Wherefore be homing, russet-apple-faces, + To take our smocks and dry them off while we + Drink the mulled cider you are going to make. + +_ROGER and MEASE go forward with the horse and cart up the road to the +right._ + + URSEL. + Come, maids, we'd best get in ere mistress seeks us-- + Beside, the longer we do loiter here + The longer shall we hold the house from sleep; + There's bowl and bucket rinsing to be done, + And supper to set out if we would eat it. + Be neither meek nor eager in your toil, + Or Mother Dish-Clout in our gust will read + Some deed afoot; we'll wrangle sluggishly + Until she drives us off to bed unwashed. + Then, though we hear the lock shoot and her steps + Sink down the out-stair as she dips the key + Down the long pocket of her petticoat, + Do nought but cast your shoes--there's but one wall + Between her chamber and the granary-- + Lie dim along the bed, and never whisper; + But, when we hear her bed-stocks creak and know + Her ears are well tied up beneath her night-cap, + Out slip Bet's staple and ourselves as well. + Seek the pale hollyhocks across the garden + (They glimmer a little in all Summer darkness), + And touch behind the hive-house shadow-hung.... + + NAN. + And in the barn make happiness till dawn. + + BET. + Dare we lie still, inside the dark, and wait + In such suppression for such unknown things? + +_As BET speaks they leave the barn to the right; NAN resumes her song +faintly and more faintly._ + + NAN. + Dusked seemed the eve as the cows trod in + Under the roof-drip each to her stalling; + Full udders crusht shagged thighs between + Were warm to my hands in the chill air's palling; + And through the wind's drifting of leaves yet green + "Hou, hou," neared the neatherd's calling.... + _The song ceases in the distance._ + +ROGER _turns into the barn with_ MEASE'S _bundle of hay-forks, and lays +them in the empty cart as he sings._ + + I get no sleep in lambing nights, + My woman gets no sleep; + We fold the ewes if we sniff a thaw, + And when they yean as we crouch i' their straw + She takes the lambs by our horn-fogged lights + While I do handle the sheep. + _Footsteps are heard within the neat-house._ + + ROGER, _calling through the neat-house door._ + Is the sick beast grown easier by now? + + MEASE, _entering from the neat-house._ + Poor Dapple-Back, milk fever's bad on her. + 'Twas her first calf and though 'twas smoothly dropped + She could not gather, but heaped a shapeless flank + Like a maid swooning; when the farrier came + "She'll die, she'll die," he said. "She'll not," said I: + But nothing served at first--her slackened fell + Dried hard and never any sweat would stir, + The udder turned a dull and shivering white; + Yet now her ears twitch up to greet my voice, + The hide-hair moistens and the udder shrinks. + There'll be no need to wake with her to-night-- + I'll not unwrap her till an hour ere dawn. + Come through and look at her as we wend in.... + When you got up the cider for the meadows + Was there a butt still left? + + ROGER, _as they go into the mistal together._ + Surely there was; + But the girls say she'll make it wait till harvest. + I never hired to any stead before + Where last year's cider trickled into June.... + +_All is soundless again save for the cow's moaning. The twilight deepens +no farther, and presently its dead gold brownness becomes cooler in +tone; the mist, which had been merged in the nightfall's dimness, +imperceptibly becomes apparent again, being suffused by an oozing of +silveriness through the pervading brownness; moon-rise is evident, +although the moon is hidden by the permeating mist which it fills. +Perhaps a crying of bats is heard, but this is not certain. An owl cries +somewhere--probably from one of the gable-holes, for it sounds both +inside and outside at once; after many tentative Tu-whits it launches a +full Tu-whoo and swings out far and low across the valley: a chirping of +frogs begins in the nearest ditches._ + +_A closer sound stills all these, being evidently that of a woman's +voice feigning dove-notes; it ceases, light cautious hurried steps are +heard; it sounds again, Maudlin slips round the door corner to the left +and enters the barn. She is white-capped, her gown skirt is bunched +about her waist, her bodice sleeves are turned back beyond her elbows._ + + MAUDLIN. + Nan ... Ursel ... Nan ... Lib ... Appletoft Lib, hast come? + There's no one here--I wish they might forget + And sleep, and let me feel a little lonely. + I need much loneliness wherein to suckle + The sadness that alone can bring content: + I am too burdened by long laughing days, + And as I wavered through this solemn vapour + Of the worn earth, the comfort-smelling earth, + Where unexpected trees rose wearily + And sank again like ashen-bosomed sighs, + I felt a new, delighting mournfulness + That made me know where I am sensitive + To the deep things of life; even the late Maybloom, + That stays the tiring Spring in this strange valley, + Loses its too self-conscious hope to-night-- + The pink would fain be white, and the spent white + Still fog and sink to the moon and make an end. + I must be much alone in sorrowful nights. + I should have ease if Summer would but go, + Its green-lit glory fail; I am so eager + For overgrown too-mellowness loth to pass, + For dripping trees o'er soft decaying grass, + Bare orchards and shorn meadows and stripped gardens, + Brown cloudy woods that drooping mists make taller + About washed fields and muffled hills, subduing + All to a low remote romance and charm.... + Yet soon with other maids I may behold + A change that comes to snirp these buds in me.... + +_She lays herself on her back among the tumbled hay; soon she sings in a +low voice._ + + Fetch the porridge pot hither to me, + The porridge pot and the dairy key, + And bring me a clout to wind my hair + Or the swarming bees will tangle there: + They drip from the hive in the orchard long, + And coil the green-cherried boughs among + As they follow the tanking tune I ring + Under the cherry leaves' shivering.... + They settle, they knit--come Ailce with the skep-- + Step along, Mistyhead--Smearycap, step-- + Steady it while I draw the bough + Warily down and shake it.... Now.... + _After a little silence she resumes._ + The maids went down to dip in the pool + When the mirrored moon had cooled the water; + But they never told the farmer's daughter, + For they knew she would tell her mother, the fool, + That the girls were out + And awaking the water, + With never a clout + Though the night was cool. + +_She hums the latter melody a little while._ + +_Without premonition URSEL, NAN and BET enter singly and noiselessly +from the right, each holding a hand of the one before her. They are +hoodless, white-capped, and barelegged now._ + + URSEL, _in a low voice._ + I bade them hide until we came.... Lib ... Maudlin.... + + MAUDLIN, _sitting up._ + Lib is not here: there's no one nigh at all; + And in the lanes nought moves but squirrel whifts, + Save that long gazing into the green darkness + Seems to show boles half stirred by creeping light + Amid the darker dark of trees impending. + + BET. + Was it not Lib who was dew-drenched last harvest, + Hid in a wheat stook till she fell asleep? + + NAN, _as they all seat themselves by_ MAUDLIN. + Could any watch you as you slipped away? + + MAUDLIN. + Our lambs and three fat beasts must take the road + Ere dawn to reach the morrow's far-off fair; + So I said I would sleep along the settle + And set the hinds their drinking ere they trudge. + None smelt me, but I must start home by three.... + What is the moaning through that little door? + + URSEL, _in alarm._ + I had forgot the beast; will Mease sleep with her? + + NAN. + When I came in to milk soon after seven + He said the deathly loosening was pinched + And we should keep her without more sitting up.... + Yet--the other cows pushed in and nosed her + As cows will do to helpless dying things.... + _To_ MAUDLIN. + A heifer has milk fever. + + MAUDLIN, _rising eagerly._ Let me look-- + I have not touched milk fever once, nor seen it; + I want to know what sense it can be like, + I am made to know with what sick thought it takes them, + To watch it wane and learn to handle it. + Ah, let me feel her, Nan, dear Nannie.... + + NAN. Nay. + The neat-house door is open on her stall + And hints the pool out in the yard beyond + Dreaming a dew-dull wash of unborn moonlight + In darkness sinkingly close as a bat's coat, + And the large stillness of her weary eyes + Might image that ... although we should not see her.... + + MAUDLIN. + I know, I know.... But we can shut our eyes-- + Nay, fear would lift them--let us enter blindfold; + My fingers know just what they ought to do. + + BET. + Nay, she might die ... I saw a cow die once: + She tried to turn her head across her shoulder + And looked at me as if 'twas all my doing, + Then laid it down again with a straight throat ... + I fear for that old wrong I never did.... + +_A deep-voiced woman is heard making low dove-sounds._ + + Comes Lib.... + +_They rise to meet the newcomer, but draw back half in laughter, half in +uneasy amazement as she appears to the left. She is stockinged and shod, +but her topmost apparel is nightgown and nightcap._ + + BET, _continuing._ + Lib ... Lib ... is she asleep or dead? + + LIB, _entering the barn._ + Do I not seem the shadow of a husband? + Am I too late? I could not choose my coming: + 'Tis churning day to-morrow, and nought would serve + The old one but that we must scald the churn + And wipe the cream-pots' lips and set them nigh + Before we slept--she was so cross because + One cow had broken, one cast before its time, + Some hens had laid away, farmer had blamed her + For standing over us to make us strip + The cows too hard; so she was queer with us. + That kept us late from bed, and when at last + Our fallen skirts were cooling on the floor + I had to lay me down beside Ruth + Until she slept; for Candle-Face tells tales-- + 'Twas she who lost us the low garden-chamber + Where hang the dry sweet herbs, and earned instead + One with a lattice up against the stars, + By peaching of my clambering through the casement + 'Mid dropping plums that night I went somewhere; + But when I heard her wet mouth on the pillow + I left her, stuffed my coats within my arm + And out along the landing. As I neared + The old one's chamber-door a warped board chirped, + My limbs went loose and motionless with fear; + On I slid again and down the stairs, + And in the kitchen found I had no raiment. + I dared not grope for it nor make a light; + So two unmended stockings on the settle, + My shoes upon the hearth, were all I had: + But in the warm night it was comforting + To feel myself half indistinguishable + From the grey, stirless oats I stood among, + Or the evasive gleams and thinner places + Of mist-lit woodlands, or from slim birch boles; + And when a woman met me by the brook + I was so pale and slow she ran from me. + +_The others laugh as they lead her to crouch with them in the hay._ + + Why is there moaning through that little door? + + NAN. + A heifer has milk fever. _There is a silence._ + + LIB, _in a low voice._ Women have that.... + Why are we thankful for a deal of trouble?... + My sister Jen was pleased and proud with herself; + And when her second obedience came to her + She was well eased--but goody Slippy-Stockings, + Who went for wisdom-dame, bore the hot jug + Too brimmed when it was time to draw the milk.... + They had to dry the milk, and it, being eager, + Went the wrong way and oozed into her head: + The little one died so soon. She lay there + Sooing the oldest milking-croon of all-- + "Baby calf-lips nuzzle not nigh you, + 'Tis my fingers firm that try you Knowingly; + Patch-Eye, Teaty, I'll not wry you, + Let your warm milk down to me...." + Then she would wear her wedding gown all night, + And in the orchard we could hear her sing + Mall, go, gather a Posy--Lasses turn Grey-- + Wander, Wonder--and, Peg was clouting her Nightcaps; + She sank heavily to uneasy stillness, + Then mooed a baby-noise; till, the fourth dawn, + She hollowed her arms gently across her body, + "Cold, cold," she said, and then "Cover us up".... + And she grew colder.... + + MAUDLIN. Much strangeness comes in it: + I've wondered what there is in me to gather + So secretly, why life can leak such whiteness, + And if we feel it change, and how in it + We sow hid things that never were in us-- + Can it be that our thoughts go into it, + And all we feel and see must alter it + From white to white that seems but white to us? + I knew a woman and her daughter once + Who went together.... The young one's died; she cried, + O she did cry, until the mother said + "Here, lass, have mine; I know, and you shall know." + Girls, she did that quite calmly: ere he would take, + Mab had to cover his eyes with a warm cloth, + And even o' nights to wear her mother's clothes. + 'Tis grave to suckle across the brood like that-- + It threads the mind.... + + BET. Mothering, mothering, mothering-- + Cannot we find our lives except that way? + +_The moon seems to be high over the mist now, for there is light +everywhere outside; so that, on peering into the night, it is with +surprise all is found obscure and not easily definable or detachable +amid the faint daze of light that feigns to illumine the valley. The +women have become only black shapes upon the square litten patch which +is the doorway surrounded by the blackness of the barn. A dog howls +somewhere far away._ + + LIB. + That dog sounds from some low-set roadside farm; + What does it hear? _There is a short silence._ + + MAUDLIN. Women, what does it see? + They say dogs howl when someone's fetch goes by. + + LIB. + Mayhap it is the husband-shapes a-coming. + + NAN. + We shall see nought but what is in our thoughts. + Yet I'd be very fain to see my man.... + When Gib at Hornbeam-Shallows lost his wife + He had to hire a wench for the first time + And at next Martimas hiring came to me + And offered me four pounds for the half year, + Saying he'd give me his wife's milking coats + To make it up, ay, and her two best shawls, + One darned across the neck-place, one loom-new; + I told him I would liefer have her shoes-- + That frightened him so well he stammered off. + But Sib had heard; she drew him with her eyes, + And said she'd go for three pounds and the shawls + If he would let her use a gown sometimes. + Then at each hiring she stayed on for less, + Till in the third year's end he wedded her; + And so she's gotten shawls and shoes as well. + I missed a savoury chance, for he is old + And childless; both stock and land are his: + Ay, if I had gone quietly to him + Ere now I might have had him for myself. + + BET. + I should not wait three years for any man.... + When Sib would hire a lass Gib said his other + Had done without for seven and thirty years, + And he had ringed her but to save her wage: + At first he sent the hind to milk for her, + But stopped him soon, saying that men's hands + Made cow-teats horny; then at Whitsun hiring + He let him go, grutching it was waste + With such a goodly woman in the yard; + So now she has to herd and fork and winnow, + To drive the cart and take a side of thatch.... + Gib says young wives are better worth their fodder + Than worn ones. Truly she has a gown sometimes, + For she goes ever in an old woman's wear-- + He says the other's gear will last her days. + Nan must surely see more than that to-night. + + LIB. + Ah, but Sib knows him: he does so fondle her; + He lets her hair down every eve to spread it + And feel the pleasure of the comb's sleek goings, + Bidding her "Stand over" as when a cow + Rubs up against the boust at milking-time; + While, when they gleaned their harvest fields by moonlight + To stint the widows, he would bend down as she + Bobbed up a mouth all blackberry-stains to kiss ... + Before she is fit for kitchen toil again + He will so wonder how she has grown the mistress.... + BET _laughs._ + + URSEL, _shivering._ + Hush, do not laugh; it creeps up in the roof, + And drips on us again like the thick water + Through the black pulpy thatch-leak in November.... + That laugh sounded as lonely as one flail.... + _There is a silence._ + + MAUDLIN. + The heifer ceased to moan a moment past-- + It seems as if it holds its breath to listen.... + _There is a long silence._ + + BET. + I need to speak, but what I have forgotten.... + + URSEL. + Lass, do not make us speak, or we may miss it.... + + MAUDLIN. + O, do not speak to us, or we may miss it.... + + LIB. + We could not hear you for this listening.... + + NAN. + I look so deeply that I cannot see... + I cannot listen for it for listening.... + +_There is a long silence which pulses slowly with half-caught heavy +breaths and slight restless rustlings of the hay in which the women seem +motionless._ + + BET. + Do I feel something? Do we feel something growing?... + +_Quiet steps are heard to shift the lane's pebbles. The women look +sharply at each other, start soundlessly to their feet and lean toward +the door; they move forward half eagerly, yet each seeks to put the +others before her, so that as they near the door> NAN poises unwillingly +foremost; when the light catches their faces they seem about to laugh._ + + NAN. + Nay, I'll not meet it--perhaps it is not mine ... + I will not know aforetime to despoil + The gradual joy of waking to a man-- + I will not lose one feeling of dear change, + Or slur it by being conscious of the next.... + Yet even then love should be marvellous + As the surprise of secret lights expected ... + O, if I meet some one I do not want.... + Come, maids, join hands and let us go together-- + Still, we might make too sure.... + +_When NAN is across the threshold the others huddle back. The steps come +nearer. In the road beyond NAN a woman appears quietly from the left; so +far as it is possible to see, her features and array are the counterpart +of NAN'S._ + + NAN, _continuing._ Hey, here's a woman ... + Lib, did you tell the slatterns at Cherry-Close mill? + Nay, 'tis some rag-bag sleeper under hedges.... + + BET, _in an undertone of wonder._ + Why are their coats alike? + + NAN, _turning her head and calling._ + Ursel, Ursel, + She's from the farm--our granary has been searched; + For see, she wears my old plum petticoat-- + Come, let us strip her and pen her in a sty ... + But ... I have on my old plum petticoat ... + And how can she come from the farm when she goes to the farm?... + + LIB, _hastily and below her breath._ + Fetches and wraiths ... fetches and wraiths ... fetches and wraiths + ... _Peering about her._ + Is there no way from here? + + MAUDLIN, _under her breath._ + My mother's grandmam + Saw her own fetch a week before she died.... + + BET, _in a low tone._ + Come through the neat-house ere we too see ours-- + Ursel, come ... come.... + + URSEL, _in a hushed voice._ + If all your days are used + Your fetch can meet you at the neat-house door-- + Ah, stay, for Nan will need us when ... that goes.... + +_BET, LIB, and MAUDLIN hurry and crowd into the mistal unheedingly. +Meanwhile the woman has passed from left to right along the road, +turning always to NAN and holding out her arms to her._ + + NAN, _leaning out toward her with her hands pressed over her heart._ + Her unapparent features make me feel + How others must feel my face.... The droop of her skirt + Is creeping on my hips.... I have watched my feet + Draw sideways so.... Her shadow is long like mine + About the bosom ... I wish I could touch her hair-- + I know so well the tingle and smell of my hair ... + Is this a fetch? + +_She reaches forward as if she would follow, until she is in the middle +of the road; the woman passes from, sight to the right. NAN'S body +loosens; she turns confusedly to the barn and sees URSEL'S face pale in +the shade._ + + NAN, _continuing._ O, Ursly, where have I gone? + I have lost myself, for I was here but now.... + _She remembers and shakes._ + Dear soul, what did you see? + + URSEL, _taking her in her arms._ + I saw what you saw. + + NAN. + Was it my fetch? + + URSEL. I think it was a fetch. + + NAN, _numbly._ + I must be going to die.... I cannot feel so ... + There's nought I want to do when I am dead ... + +_She is silent a moment, then seems startled into sobbing._ + + O, Ursel, Ursel, I cannot let me die.... + + URSEL. + Folk say a fetch is seen at its departing + From a cold house whence it shall lead a soul; + But this comes like a child-birth closing in, + And so perchance it does but signify + The consciousness of death that breaks in all. + We stand outside the process of the earth + And watch it as immortals; and consider + Death, which we think a deeply moving thing + (Observing eagerly its fine emotions, + The impressive strangeness of its mean romance, + Its strong-tanged character and accidents, + And all the keen new chances it affords + For sympathy and for imagination), + But think not to connect it with ourselves-- + So sure we are all's possible to us. + Then a near comprehension that is love + Of trees or sheep, songs or some man or woman, + Shakes us one day and nothing is the same, + Because we grow aware that we must leave + The very joy that lights ourselves for us + And shows where we may greaten for its sake. + 'Tis life's beginning; we perceive the earth + And go down into it and nestle to it + Defeatedly before its larger thought: + Numbly we measure ourselves by all we see, + We feel uneasily yet willingly + Each thing that happens may happen to us too, + And we are cheated by each grief unsuffered-- + Yea, ever we interrogate decay + To know our own duration; we must touch + Each lovesome thing lest it or we should fade, + Until the searching quiver of contact reaches + And makes us conscious where we can be lovesome; + We find ourselves in others and thus learn + How others are in us, and so we creep + To large experiences we could not think-- + Effectual perfection of ripe life; + The earth and all the darling ways of it + Are ours by love, for all that we must leave + Comes into us and makes us live it swiftly + Lest we should miss some thing. So that one love + Insists that every love in earth shall feed it, + To keep it from the unsafety of ignorance + And let our brief days yield their sweetness up. + Such is the consciousness of death--ah, such + Must be made yours; mayhap this is the way. + + NAN. + The consciousness of death.... Though that be all, + It is too much: even if this fetch abides + Unnumbered years ere I see it depart, + Yet all is made unsure and I may sink + Before I have felt half I need to feel. + I must make every passion in myself, + Have each emotion of my wilful sowing-- + The pain of sap, the pain of bud and bloom, + Of hard green fruit sun-bruised to thick gold juice, + The pain of the sharp kernel in the pulp + (Transmuter of sweet to inmost bitterness), + The pain of orderly corruption too-- + Of the withdrawing sap, of the sick falling + Into long grass beneath the rain-soaked boughs, + Of gentle decomposing for small roots; + So that if death's the end, the true completion, + I could believe myself fulfilled and ripe, + A sufferer of the topmost joy and grief, + And past the need of any eternity ... + O, I desire old age, because old age + Has more capacity, more ways of joy.... + +_Her sobs hide her words. URSEL leads her to the hay and seats her among +it again and herself by her, putting her arms about her and drawing her +head down upon her bosom._ + + URSEL. + Old age must sit and wait as we must wait ... + We can grow old so quickly in our souls.... + One utters a love-call and no answer comes, + One suffers motherhood within one's heart + Of cold unconscious children who can render + A tolerance of affection more remote + Than strait denial; and such maternity + Waits not for any bearing through the body-- + When love has come maternity must follow, + And if the body may not be made fruitful + The spirit chooses its own fruitfulness: + All that we miss is happening in others, + Others are feeling all we yearn to feel, + And if we will not let ourselves forget + How love has wrung us we pass through it with them.... + Ah, wonder, joy, of contact that enlarges + Our bodies' possibilities and times, + And gathers life for us to nourish.... + +_A stifled cry from BET is heard from the neat-house._ + + BET. Aa--h.... + + NAN, _sinking back faintly in_ URSEL'S _arms._ + Does ... it return and ... call?... + + URSEL. Hush, 'tis Bet's voice.... + +_After a brief interval filled with slight sounds,_ BET _appears in the +neat-house doorway; she peeps before her until she sees the two women in +the hay._ + + BET, _in a low eager tone._ + Ursel, Ursel.... + URSEL _rises and goes toward her._ + The cow has died ... in the dark.... + When I returned but now by the yard door + I missed the boust and groped into her stall-- + And did not know until I heaved and spread + Up a flat softness that went sick beneath me + With long stiff shakings, while her unearned wind + Broke far within, then slid against my cheek ... + I could have borne it if she had been cold; + But she was nearly cold, so that I felt + A thread-thin warmth I could not stay nor make ... + + NAN, _approaching_ BET _swiftly from behind and + grasping her shoulder._ + Is the cow dead? + + BET, _shrinking from her touch._ + Nannie, the cow is dead. + + NAN. + I milked her last of all, and now my fetch + Has milked her too; will ... it ... take all from me + I own through love? + (_To_ BET.) Why did you shrink from me? + + BET. + I did not shrink from you; what need is there? + +NAN _holds out her arms to her; again she draws away from_ NAN. + + Nannie, I cannot help it ... I cannot help it.... + There's more than this world in you, and I know not + What you might do to me past your own will: + You have seen your fetch and are not one of us, + For we know not your being's dim half-conditions ... + And maybe if you touch ought that has life + You make it that your fetch can take it too-- + So died the heifer.... Or maybe your least touch + Draws life from others to win you a few hours; + Or you are of the dead, and call folk to them + Through sympathy of the senses' understanding.... + Poor Nannie ... O, poor Nannie ... O, poor Nannie.... + +_She sobs loudly, stooping to wipe her eyes with her petticoat-hem._ + + URSEL, _while seeking to still her._ + Let us turn home to bed: we shall not sleep; + But once we're stripped we can relax our bodies, + Lying past thought for misery till insight + Returns again and brings us the proportion + Of all ... and us.... + + NAN. I shall bide here till dawn + To see if ... I return and go out ... out.... + (_To_ BET.) + Have you left Lib and Maudlin hiding somewhere; + Or do they home by now? + + BET, _overcoming her tears gradually._ + We fled from here + When ... when ... and reached the neat-yard ere we knew; + We climbed the knoll and passed behind the barn; + Then through the corn land, dew-wet to our hearts, + We beat the thick rye down that choked our feet + Amid its shaggy sighing stilly weight, + Until the cottages at Damson-Closes + Hung o'er us like a dark broody-winged hen + We shunned the watcher's light where the old woman + Waits for her death, and dripped into the lane + Soft as cast shadows.... Ever all feared to speak: + Yet I went with the others through lost fields, + Straining to see the thing we prayed to miss, + Because I knew I dared not near the homestead; + Until I felt that neither should I dare + A more remote returning by myself-- + When, loitering unnoticed by those trances, + I sought even you rather than be alone. + + NAN, _rigidly, her head having been long averted to the barn's + doorway._ + I hear my feet. + + URSEL, _in alarm._ Nan, do not go.... + + NAN. I must. + + BET, _wildly._ + Again.... Wherever shall I go alone?... + +_She tugs her cap-strings loose and her cap over her eyes; she breathes +so deeply that her trembling is heard by her breath as she fumbles her +way into the mistal. The quiet steps are heard again; as_ NAN +_approaches the threshold the woman reappears to the right and passes +down the lane to the left, always holding out her arms to_ NAN, _whose +arms hang tensely at her sides while her fingers twitch at her petticoat +as she holds back and back from meeting the embrace._ URSEL _tries to go +to_ NAN, _but she cannot trail her feet after her nor draw down her +hands that cover her face._ + + NAN. + How have I parted?... Where am I in deed?... + What of me is unseen?... Go.... + +_The woman having disappeared to the left, still opening her arms to_ +NAN, NAN _turns and totters to the door's edge on that side; thence she +feels her way supportedly along the door, but when she comes to its end +she slides to her knees; after moving a little farther so, she sinks +forward on her face and crawls blindly toward_ URSEL'S _feet. At the +fall_ URSEL'S _hands drop; she reaches to_ NAN, _kneels by her, feels +her heart and hands, holds her own hand before_ NAN'S _mouth and +nostrils; then with one swift movement she loosens her own raiment +nearly to her waist, and, lying against_ NAN, _clasps her in her arms +and gathers her into her bosom._ + + URSEL. Nan.... O, Nan.... + +_The two lie quite still; the stirred dust settles on them slowly and +greyly in the moonlight._ + + +CURTAIN. + + + + +LAODICE AND DANAE + + + + + _"And, O, perchance it is the fairest lot + At once to be a queen and be forgot; + For queens are oft remembered by the weighed + Wild dusky peacock-flashing sins they played, + But queens clean-hearted leave us and grow less, + Lost in the common light of righteousness."_ + From KING RENE'S HONEYMOON: A MASQUE, Scene vii. + + + + +_TO B. J. FLETCHER_ + + + _O RARE Ben Fletcher, oft I bless + Your rotund Jacobean name; + If the great crew could still express + Their hearts in their dim place of Fame, + As once at Globe or Mermaid-ales, + With love your liking they would greet + For country things and queens' mad tales + And lines with sounding feet._ + + _But in this troublous newer time + Such fellows have not filled your days, + So it is left for me to chime + These quieter verses of your praise: + For a fair theme I need not strive + While manhood knows as boyhood knew + The joys of art, the joys of life, + I have received from you._ + + _What days could ever be so long + As those our pristine Summers poised + O'er a charmed valley isled among + Their bright slow-breaking tides unnoised? + Then _Dials_ were new and came to stir + A passionate thirst within the eyes; + Each dawn was a discoverer + Of poets unearthly wise._ + + _First-comer of my friends, the years + Behold much friendship fade and set; + The shrunken world imparts its fears, + Most men their early power forget. + But art stays true for us, and we + In it are steadfast: for a sign + Its wonder joins us changelessly + Your name stands here with mine._ + +March 8th, 1909. + + +ARGUMENT + + Antiochus Theos, one of the Hellenic Kings of the East + of the line of Seleucus, reigned in Antioch. He had + espoused Laodice his kinswoman, according to the usage + of his race; but after many years he put her from him, + and took to wife Berenice, daughter and sister of + Ptolemys of Egypt, for reasons of state. + + Laodice withdrew to Ephesus and kept court there: long + affection, resurgent, sent Antiochus thither to join + her. Shortly afterward he died at Ephesus in Laodice's + care. + + Berenice and Laodice then warred, each to gain the + kingdom for her child: the infant son of Berenice + disappeared, and eventually Seleucus II., the son of + Laodice, held the throne of Antiochus. + + In the course of their wars Laodice retired from + Ephesus on finding that Sophron, the governor of the + city, secretly trafficked with the party of Berenice. + While she sat in some adjacent city Sophron + unsuspiciously rejoined her counsels; she immediately + devised his death, but he, being warned by his old + love Danae, the queen's favourite, saved himself by + flight. + + +PERSONS: + + LAODICE, a Queen of the Seleucid House in Asia. + DANAE, MYSTA, RHODOGUNE, BARSINE, and other Waiting-Women. + Three Women-Musicians. + SOPHRON, Seleucid Governor of Ephesus. + + _In Smyrna._ B.C. 246. + + + + +LAODICE AND DANAE + + +_Behind the curtain a woman sings to the accompaniment of a harp and a +bell._ + + I WILL sing of the women who have borne rule, + The severe, the swift, the beautiful; + I will praise their loftiness of mind + That made them too wise to be true or kind; + I will sing of their calm injustice loved + For the pride it fed and the power it proved. + + Once in Egypt a girl was queen + Ashamed that her womanhood should be seen; + She wore a beard, she called herself king, + She was uneasy with governing; + She believed a king was greater than she, + So she found a king and his mastery. + + In Smyrna sits a queen to-night + Who does not shine by another's light; + She has laid her husband on time's dust-heap, + But for that she holds not her title cheap; + New radiance comes on woman by her, + New force in woman is seen to stir. + + She has taken the land and the sea from men; + She has shewn men the power of their source again.... + +_The curtain rises._ + +_A lofty chamber of mingled Hellenic and Asiatic architecture is seen. +The walls are of black stone: on the right a portal toward the front of +the stage is concealed by a curtain embroidered with parrots and +Babylonian branch-work; high and toward the back is a double window, +with open cedar lattices, of an inner room: high in the opposed wall is +a short arcade with a projecting gallery. An open colonnade extends +across the rear wall at two-thirds of its height; its pillars support +the roof: the platform of this colonnade is accessible by an open stair +recessed in the wall._ + +_QUEEN LAODICE reclines on a great divan set toward the left centre of +the chamber. The musicians whose singing and playing have just ceased +kneel on a Persian carpet before her: between them and the portal stands +a tall brazier whence a wavering heat rises. A golden evening sky is +visible through the colonnade, where DANAE leans against a pillar._ + + LAODICE. + BE silent now; I let you sing too much. + I am awaiting now too many things + To bear this fret of waiting till you end + And I can think again. Be quietly gone. + _The women go out._ + + DANAE. + You bade them sing to make one moment brief. + + LAODICE. + What are you watching like a larger cat, + Sweetheart, little heart, noiseless and alert? + You shall not watch me like a prim wise cat. + + DANAE. + I watch a girl sway slightly, near the tide, + As if rehearsing dance-steps in her heart; + She hangs lit snakes of sea-weed down her bosom; + She takes a letter from her bunchy hair.... + +_She laughs and leans over, holding the pillar._ + + LAODICE. + Find me a ship, ships; dark ones, strange ones. + I must have ships, so find them, little heart; + And, more than all, a ship of Antioch. + + DANAE. + How tiny a girl looks under these deep rocks.... + LAODICE _yawns._ + Madam, I have searched well; yet until now + No deep-sea ship has passed the promontory; + Now a great ship with tawny sails comes on, + An ocean-threatening centaur for its prow. + + LAODICE. + That is from Ephesus, not Antioch.... + I purge one thought thereby and make repayment. + I am taken with an inward shivering: + Perhaps I am cold with night--come down and warm me. + +_DANAE descends and reclines by LAODICE._ + + Haughty and passive and obedient, + May not my queen's bosom receive your head? + When I worked empery in Ephesus + That Sophron, governor--did he not love you? + + DANAE. + He said he did. + + LAODICE. And you? + + DANAE. I said he did. + Thereon he made too sure of me too soon: + It is unwise to let men be too sure, + And for that reason I hung up my silks + On a swart Nabataean, having smeared her + With my rare private unguent, and concealed her + In his choice corner--where she bit his lip, + Then let her laughing teeth take light of moon. + There was no more of Sophron afterward.... + Although I looked at him almost penitently.... + + LAODICE. + No more? Was there no more, my little one? + + DANAE. + Ah, yes.... When he would never look at me + I felt I could not live outside his arms. + I went to him at night in a slave's skirt, + And by humiliating actions soothed + His wincing mind, until he stooped to me. + I had him soon. And then I tired of him. + + LAODICE. + And then, indeed, there was no more at all? + + DANAE. + I have not seen him since. We left that city. + You have my faith. You know I am all yours. + + LAODICE. + That is quite well. He has no years for you; + He is found treasonous, and must be undone. + O, he goes out.... Dear, I am very cold. + Is it because my heart is cold? Men say it. + + DANAE. + Your heart is warm to me. + + LAODICE. What do men say? + + DANAE. + They say you fled to Sardis and to Smyrna + Because you poisoned him at Ephesus + And heard his feet when a room echoed. + + LAODICE. Him? + + DANAE. + Antiochus the God, your king and spouse. + + LAODICE. + Why do they so consider me the cause? + + DANAE. + You hold the physician Smerdis in more favour. + + LAODICE. + And did I poison him, my Danae? + + DANAE. + Dear lady, surely. + + LAODICE. Surely.... It is sure. + Was I not made the Sister, natural wife? + Did he not change me for a daughter of Egypt + Robed with a satrapy, crowned by an isle? + She laved her body daily in Nile water, + Which can make fruitful even stones and virgins; + It soon brought forth the mud's accustomed spawn, + A valuable heir of all the lands. + How could she keep him? Needing me he turned: + Was it not best for him to die still needing me + And leave the amount of kingdoms to my boy, + The climbing vine of gold up Shushan's front, + The cedar palaces of Ecbatana, + Though Berenice sits in Antioch + Safe with her suckling, in her suckling's name? + Winds, bring to me a ship from Antioch. + Since that dread night when Mysta stept not down + With all you speechless ones to disarray me, + Have you not dreamed that I did poison her? + Her love is more than yours, for she had crept + To Antioch to sell herself in bondage + Where Berenice buys, that she may nurse + The child for Berenice--and for me, + While uncle Egypt plucks my crown for it. + + DANAE. + Which fingers mixed the poison? See, I kiss them, + Trust them ever to do their will with me. + There is no poison in a poppy-seed; + The seedling draws its venom from the earth-- + 'Tis the earth's natural need for such event. + + LAODICE. + Ay, but the disposition is in the seed; + I poison by a motion of the heart. + +_RHODOGUNE, a Parthian waiting-woman, enters._ + + RHODOGUNE. + Madam, the governor of Ephesus + Comes newly from the harbour to your will. + + DANAE. + Sophron! + + LAODICE. Lie still. _A silence._ + + RHODOGUNE. Madam, must I go down? + + LAODICE. + Bid this Ephesian governor to me. + +RHODOGUNE _goes out._ LAODICE _lays a hand on_ DANAE'S _heart._ + +_It is now twilight._ SOPHRON _enters._ + + SOPHRON. + Queen, am I swift enough to your commanding? + + LAODICE. + I am ever rich in your discerning service. + Why came you by the sea? + +_She sees that_ SOPHRON'S _gaze is fixed on_ DANAE, _who does not look +at him._ + + Girl, stand behind me. + +DANAE _obeys._ + + Why came you by the sea? + + SOPHRON. Lady ... the sea?... + + LAODICE. + Does not the way by land still fit mine urgence? + + SOPHRON. + Your safety's urgence made it seem most good + To search the straits for masts of Ptolemy. + + LAODICE. + Ha.... Yes.... And did you speak with any such? + +_DANAE looks at SOPHRON and shakes her head._ + + SOPHRON. + The seas were void of alien keels to-night. + + LAODICE. + Are there Egyptians seen in Ephesus? + + SOPHRON. + None since the aged men who mummied the king. + + LAODICE. + Tell me the common talk of Egypt's plan; + And what device to handle Ptolemy + Is in your friendly mind. + + SOPHRON. + There's but a common fear of Egypt's secret. + We cannot meet him yet unless the cities, + Yes, all these cities of men, take hands with us. + + LAODICE. + Must I keep house in Smyrna still, my man? + Play queen in a corner harmlessly? + + SOPHRON. Madam, + The coast is safer here than at Ephesus, + Retreat on Sardis safer and more ready. + + LAODICE. + I more withdrawn apart from my main kingdom, + Baffled from drainage of the unended East. + I have required you here because a word, + Perhaps a word malicious, has crept here: + It has been said that some Ephesian men + Have bartered for my town with Ptolemy-- + Do you know any of these? Do they live? + + SOPHRON. + There are none known: such could not sell past me. + + LAODICE. + They use my palace: examine those about you. + + SOPHRON. + There is no need: I know them to be clean. + +_DANAE again shakes her head, but more eagerly._ + + LAODICE, _turning her head and looking up at + DANAE suddenly._ + Why do you tremble, girl? There's nought to fear. + +_As she begins to speak_ DANAE'S _hair is shaken loose; a rose falls +from it and breaks on_ LAODICE'S _shoulder._ LAODICE _laughs and plays +with the petals, continuing without pause._ + + LAODICE. + Do you drop me a sleepy kiss, maiden, my rare one? + But, O, you have so tumbled your hair to cull it-- + Come hither, kneel, and I will bind it up. + + DANAE, _obeying._ + Lady, I coiled it carelessly.... Indeed + Such ministration is my precious pardon. + + LAODICE. + Silk, silky silk so delicious to finger.... + Rose I held; ruby-glows; then dark hair in my hands.... + Nay, I am hot; I burn; stay there and fan me.... + Dear, do not cease at all. + _To_ SOPHRON. + Well, my captain? + + SOPHRON. + You shall have men's minds searched in Ephesus. + + LAODICE. + I like your mind. Also, I have considered + You must shut up your port, let out no ship; + Then Ptolemy shall be more sure each night + That he has wiped the seas ... till you slip out. + + SOPHRON, _in stupefaction._ + Slip ... out? + + LAODICE. + Ay, Sophron, fall on him. + + SOPHRON, _eagerly._ Yes, yes: + These things shall be, and you shall not complain. + + LAODICE. + Nay, go not now; be my great guest this night. + The tide will take you not until more day, + And in the dawn, white hour of clearest thought, + I need more counsel from you for my deeds. + +_She claps her hands:_ BARSINE, _a Persian, enters._ + + Let this strong captain be well feasted now + In winy webs of my embroidering-- + Or--no--a purple suits his temper best; + And send a slave to him for him to rule. + + SOPHRON. + Graciousness, yours: let me but stay my seamen. + + LAODICE. + Haretas the Pisidian shall go down + Into the place of ships, but not my guest: + Entrust your ring to this, and she will bear it. + + +_BARSINE and SOPHRON go out. LAODICE nods to herself._ + + I saw his ring: it was a new green scarab. + +_DANAE ceases fanning without LAODICE heeding._ + + RHODOGUNE, _outside._ + She-dog, come back and you shall have but whips. + +_A dirty woman runs in, bearing a bundle within her ragged robe;_ +RHODOGUNE _follows her._ + + LAODICE, _slowly._ + I have not need of rinds and lees to-night; + Come, take these out and burn them. + + THE WOMAN. Ay, come. + + LAODICE, _starting up._ + Mysta, Mysta, my joy! What have you there? + The thing a mother called Antiochus? + +_To RHODOGUNE._ + + Do you not know your fellow and my hand? + +_RHODOGUNE retires._ + + MYSTA. + I was the handmaid of a displaced queen; + I am dry nurse to the undoubted queen, + Come back merely to boast and make display + How lusty a baby grows in careful hands, + How noble I to carry a living king. + + LAODICE, _leaping to her._ + Unwind, dishevel, give it up to me. + _Clapping her hands._ + Let there be lights above: I must see closely. + If I embrace you I shall touch it too. + +_A woman hangs a lamp from long chains over the gallery on the left, +then withdraws. After a moment she passes along the colonnade from left +to right and disappears. A moment later she leans from the latticed +windows on the right to light two lamps suspended from the roof to a +point immediately below her. The lights are such that, when the twilight +has gone, the figures of the persons are more definite than their +features, and the upper part of the chamber is almost unlit. In the +meantime_ Mysta _has continued._ + + MYSTA. + Nay, we are but harbour-drift from Antioch: + Come, take us out and burn us. + + LAODICE. Aha, Mysta. + + MYSTA. + Touch not my hair; 'tis foul from many ships. + + LAODICE. + I have ached by watching ships that were not yours. + Were you in Sophron's vessel? Did he know? + + MYSTA. + She did not trust me soon to tend her child, + Returning oft like the uneasy cat: + When I had slipt these rags on it and me + I herded with night-women by the shore. + Ere there, I passed a rift in palaces, + Moment of empty street and Berenice + Marching with hunger in her bright fixed eyes, + Champing her golden chain--one hand on it + Tugged her mouth downward--one hand smote a spear + Upon the stones as she stepped on and on + Toward the house of Caeneus your known friend. + They spied the harbour; I must leave by land; + Then was some tale of fishers, trading sloops: + Sophron knows not the thief like a fierce mother + Whose hard feet last left ship at Ephesus-- + Where Ptolemy is looked for eagerly. + +_As she speaks LAODICE has drawn a scarf from her shoulders, twisted it +and strained it in her hands; it tears and she throws it down._ + +_MYSTA holds out the child to her._ + + 'Twas warm and quiet so long. Let it live. + + LAODICE, _taking the child and scanning it._ + Let me read here: + This is the mould, wrongly retouched and spent-- + It is his child and yet I have not known it.... + +_Clasping it closely to her._ + + I am the changeless mother of this race, + And this a younger seed. By the opened womb + I have decided being: and I decide. + Much Asia has been spanned to leave it here, + More Asia will be narrowed by her searchers; + Mysta might die next time. It must die. + I reached my hand and took it to make sure + My order and number of children still were true. + I have looked on it--its purport is completed. + + MYSTA. + It could be hid for ever: let it live. + + LAODICE. + Mysta shall need my ritual bath and wardrobe; + Serve me by delicate sleep. Mysta must go. + +_She kisses_ MYSTA _and leads her to the portal._ MYSTA _goes out +passively._ + + LAODICE. + Danae, pile me cushions and hollow them-- + There in the shadowed seat beyond the breeze. + No; larger cushions with no rough gold in stitchings. + One softer for his head--now hold it there + Till I can kneel and lay him in the dimmest, + For he may sleep a little yet. Ay, so.... + I had well-nigh forgotten to appoint + Sophron a chamber. + + DANAE. Madam, I will go. + + LAODICE. + You speak too loudly. Madam, you will remain: + I need you to cast gums upon the censer + To make me drowsy--I must sleep some moments. + + DANAE. + Storax alone, or juniper? + + LAODICE. O, storax. + +_DANAE goes to a recess in the wall near the portal, and takes out a +painted bowl. She pours grains from it slowly upon the brazier; brief +cloudy flames illumine her face._ + + Did the Silk-People shape that bowl? + + DANAE. Maybe.... + I could burn up the world like this to-night, + To make an end of conflicts and of burdens. + +_As_ LAODICE _claps her hands_ BARSINE _hurries in breathlessly._ + + BARSINE. + Queen, Queen.... + + LAODICE, _watching_ DANAE. + Make ready fragrantly and freshly + Chamber for Sophron next to that of Smerdis. + Then send Smerdis with knives and drugs to me. + +_DANAE opens her mouth as if to speak--the flames fall as she holds the +bowl poised motionlessly._ + + BARSINE. + Sophron--none can find him; he has gone. + +_DANAE lets the contents of the bowl slide into the brazier; a shaft of +flame flares high, she averts her face._ + + LAODICE. + Ho, are we dropping roses all the time? + Men; bring me men and torches and sharp spears-- + A boat to cut the Centaur's rudder-ropes-- + I will go down and take him back.... Hui.... + +_She sweeps out followed by_ BARSINE. + + DANAE. + O, Sophron, out by the land! Nay, he knows more-- + And she, and she; watch-towers divide this earth, + Horses go here; and he may save a ship. + _She draws aside the curtain to look beyond._ + May women's skirts impede you, ravening queen. + _She ascends swiftly to the colonnade: a + starry night shows her form dimly._ + Fishers' small lights, be drenched--you show too much + At height of settling gulls above the water.... + Ah ... h, nothing, nothing. Something will not happen, + And let this life go on again. Nothing. + Yet ... yet ... the air is beating on my temples + As though a rabble murmured beyond hearing. + +_RHODOGUNE enters._ + + RHODOGUNE. + Danae, are you here? + + DANAE. I am here. + + RHODOGUNE. + Where is the Queen? + + DANAE. Nearing the shore by now. + + RHODOGUNE. + I have a drunken woman with nine snakes + That follow her as freshets a drowned body, + Then lift wise sibilant heads in guardian swaying; + Her lair could well be traced by emptied streets. + She is too drunk to speak, but sings the better + A praise of poisonous snakes and the fools of wine, + While in the night they circle and streak for answer + Like wine-cups' lines of light, black rubies' gleams. + Shall I not bring her for the Queen to use, + Who loves delights like dangers come too near? + + DANAE. + Put her away in a safe place till morning-- + The Queen is smouldering again to-night, + And, if she sees your epileptic mummer, + Will make us tie her up with her own serpents.... + Babble no more to me--I must be watching. + + RHODOGUNE. + You are not the Queen, although the Queen's plaything; + Deign not your high commandments unto us. + +_She goes out._ + + DANAE. + Sophron, your bare grand neck's a tawny pillar + To lean a cheek against in burning noons; + Your careless eyes look deeplier than you know; + You must be kept in life.... Down there, down there + Is something darker, swifter than the sea.... + An unseen smoky glare is mirrored now.... + That was his boat: he is gone.... Sophron, Sophron! + The sea is suddenly empty--and all places. + I have given him to mine enemies. She'll not kill him. + Now I must waken and repent my dreams: + Ay, Sophron, get you gone--I am whole again; + I am the Queen's--and O, farewell, farewell. + +_She descends the stair slowly._ + + I am the Queen's indeed. Is she yet mine? + Ditizele-- + +_A VOICE, from within the cedar lattice._ + + Who is it calls me? + + DANAE. Danae. + + THE VOICE. Yes? + + DANAE. + The queen has spoilt my rose--throw me a young one. + +_A rosebud falls from the lattice: DANAE sets it in her hair._ + + Thanks, dear.... She has put up my hair awry-- + It will remind her she put up my hair. + +_She shakes down her hair and knots it again, holding the rose-stalk in +her mouth until she can replace it._ + + These Asiatic nights ruin the hair, + Their humid heat puts out its inner lights-- + Mine waves with gleams no more than manes of Iran.... + Now she has left the shore--now she will set + Her feet upon the stairs like setting-of teeth.... + +_The child cries a little once: DANAE goes to it._ + + O, baby, the old silence of palaces + Is settling on you steadily. Your crying + Is shut within--and shall be farther enclosed. + One light small cry shows all so much too quiet. + +_LAODICE, who has entered noiselessly and come close behind DANAE._ + + Ay, do you consort with mine enemies? + + DANAE, _wailing._ + Ah ... Ah ... I sickened with the secret thing, + The too faint sound that crept about my neck. + + LAODICE, _slipping an arm about her._ + Nay, Rose-Locks, calm thy heart; I did but tease + Thy mothering this lost child, kings' waif and surplus. + Rare nurses his: the next will be the last: + Some treachery will ever draw toward him. + Rest you again upon the Persian couch, + And I will sit with you and comfort you. + +_Leading her to the divan._ + + Do not forget the cherishing of a queen: + I could not catch your Sophron for you, child. + + DANAE. + I did not want him: he is better gone. + + LAODICE. + Yet such delight to lead him to your arms: + You said you looked at him almost penitently. + + DANAE. + Madam, you mock me; I have passed from him. + + LAODICE. + Yes, yes; but rapture, for your mind severe, + Lies in the nearness of wise and powerful men-- + As once for famous high Leontion, + That philosophic courtesan your mother. + Let be; but tell me of his quietest scheme. + + DANAE. + I know him not: I never knew his mind. + +_Several women appear dimly at the latticed windows and the gallery._ + + LAODICE. + Ah, well ... I am tired, and it is your dear turn + To open your arms. Hold me and I will nestle, + Will murmur for you to hear along your neck. + What shall we do to-morrow, Danae? + + DANAE. + Fair mistress, I can dance for you to-morrow. + + LAODICE. + Yes, but my dainty cannot dance all day-- + She must have long, long quiet for her thoughts. + + DANAE. + Then shall I wing the bright and silken birds + About the border of your Persian mantle? + + LAODICE. + How should I do without you so many hours? + + DANAE. + Your Parthian has a witch of snakes for you-- + + LAODICE. + I can charm snakes and even pith their fangs. + + DANAE. + This is a rare one and, if she is drunken, + Does uncouth things delicious to the senses. + Steep in her wine the herb that makes insane-- + + LAODICE. + The herb....? + + DANAE. + The viscous plant that grows i' your chamber: + Strange longer serpents shall be swiftly snared + And mixt untamed with hers, for you to read + Her gaping and ridiculous tragedy + As the cold perils sober her to pallor. + + LAODICE. + It is not novel: with a secret call + I have turned snakes upon such things before. + I am learned and I need some graver pang-- + Something as unsuspected as to tell you + That I had poisoned you three hours ago, + And see you disbelieve--begin to believe. + + DANAE. + But you did not. + + LAODICE. There is the disbelief. + +_A pause._ + + If I had done so I should here avouch + I could not do it--then await a sign. + + DANAE. + Ah, I am yours.... You have not doomed me yet. + Queen with the wells of night for human eyes, + Let us descend upon the sea to-morrow, + Rule your own kingdom by your cedarn barge: + We will recline together, hushed as here-- + Save for the waters' converse just beneath, + Permeant as my pulse veiled by your cheek. + + LAODICE. + I am uneasy now and should disturb you-- + And thence your restlessness would chafe me more. + I must make sure that you will lie quite still: + May I so still you? Then you shall to sea. + We'll sail about the limit of the lands + Until you reach the river of Babylon. + + DANAE. + So much in one rapt day? + The days of life can never compass that. + + LAODICE. + Not in a day, but in a day and night: + Conceive the night, my Danae, the night-- + It is the natural state of being and space, + Briefly interrupted by casual suns. + Much unknown empires are attained in night-- + Perhaps not Babylon, yet far enough. + One night can be a very proper length. + + DANAE. + You mean that I am poisoned after all. + + LAODICE. + Indeed, my Danae, it is not so. + In this barbaric land, this bright harsh dye-pot, + Peopled by camels and cynocephali + And hairy men of soiled uncertain hue, + O, do you not remember nights of Athens + Built well about with marbles and clear skies, + Wherein your mother and such noble women + Conversed with poets and heroes in lit groves, + And life subtled? Have you not longed for them? + I am sending you to such a farther country, + Away from this shrunk mummy of live earth. + + DANAE. + Madam, I know you not--when must I leave you? + + LAODICE, _clapping her hands._ + It is the hour, and you shall launch to-night. + Women, women, come hither every woman. + +_The faces disappear from the upper windows: eleven women appear on the +colonnade, some from each side, and descend the stair rapidly._ + + Get to your knees about us--both knees. + Stand up, my Danae, be overbearing. + Women, when any woman has a kingdom + And is a regnant being, does it not suit + That in the disposition of her state + Women should figure her and power afar? + This kingdom I control has thrones of cities, + So many that I, when I would sit therein, + Must cast my shadow there: and chief of these + Is Babylon the nest of bygone things. + 'Tis to that Babylon I now appoint + My bosom's clasp, my Danae, for satrap; + She shall oppress among dead queens and gods, + Keep house where sheer dominion walks, command + Enamelled palaces with copper roofs, + Pillars with gardens for their pediments-- + Staircase for Anakim in Babylon: + And when ye are as dear to me as she + Ye shall advance upon such larger ways. + + DANAE. + O, what is this you do? I am lost in it. + + A WOMAN. + But how? The duplicate queen holds Babylon. + + LAODICE. + It shall be mine again ere Danae's advent.... + Danae, sister of pearls, do I displease you? + + DANAE. + Tell out your purpose, though I wreck by it. + + LAODICE. + Could higher estate persuade such disbelief? + Barsine, now disburden of its store + The old brass coffer in my inner house-- + The gems, the flower-striped silks, the mousse-lines + Worn by such royal girls of Babylon; + So rare a satrap as we do devise + Must be as Babylonish as her earth. + +_BARSINE goes out._ + + Put out your hand, young princess, dip your hand + Among these herded common indiscretions, + And gratefully they'll mouth it. Nay, I'll lead you. + + SECOND WOMAN. + Madam, remember me when you are mighty. + + THIRD WOMAN. + And, O, forget not me. + + LAODICE. + Arise, you humbled ones, jealous too long; + Take off her Greekish marks of my poor service, + Make ready her precious body to be tangled + In clotted skeins of her affiliate province. + +_The women strip DANAE of all but her under-robe._ + + O friend, I do reproach you, for your gay heart + Has surely turned from me too easily + When something in you fades and alters so.... + I have done this--my cherished, still keep mine.... + +_BARSINE enters, her arms heaped with robes: LAODICE fingers them._ + + These are your pretties. Greeks know not how to use + Layers of denial--you Persian, can you say? + +_BARSINE, attiring DANAE in the new garments._ + + These silken trousers tied above the knees, + Yet falling to the feet, are first. + + LAODICE. Ay, so. + + BARSINE. + And now this inner gown shrinks close. + + LAODICE. Ay, so. + + BARSINE. + Then this brocady robe with fan-flung train + And widening muffling sleeves. + + LAODICE, _holding up a sleeve._ Can it be so? + Pure Greeks conceive not slavery of sleeves. + + BARSINE. + The pointed citron shoes. + + LAODICE. Not even sandals? + + BARSINE. + There needs a shawl like gardens for a girdle, + But none was hoarded. + + LAODICE. Put your own on her. + Give me the jewels: I wish to play with the jewels. + + BARSINE. + In the horn sphere: press on the metal hands. + The strings of golden tears and yellow stones + Hang hidy in the hair. I will unbind + Your lady's locks and shew you. + + LAODICE. Keep off: I must unloose them, + It is my custom. + + DANAE, _in a low voice._ O, what are you doing? + + BARSINE. + Round to the temples, so: this drops upon the brow.... + That breast of gold--pierced roses, diamond dew-- + Curves on the head, no heavier than your hand.... + Coils chime upon the ankles--the East walks slowly. + + LAODICE. + We come to the necklace. + + BARSINE. Yes, but it is lacking. + + LAODICE, _to the_ SECOND WOMAN. + You white-faced marvel, body of straight lines, + Give me your necklace dropt inside your chiton. + + SECOND WOMAN. + O, do you see it? I cannot let it go-- + It was my sister's, and she is dead since.... Ah ... h ... + + LAODICE, _snatching the necklace roughly._ + 'Tis well for you it did not strangle you + When caught: but ye are all so envious yet. + There, Danae, my hands shall finish you. + A painted wonder this I have created-- + I am no better than the rest before it, + And I will do my homage, knees and lips. + + DANAE, _faintly._ + What is the end, ah me! + + LAODICE. But in true Asia + Great ladies must live veiled; they are too choice + For foreign casual sight. + + BARSINE, _veiling_ DANAE. This is the veil. + + _LAODICE, peeping behind the veil._ + Bound so beneath the eyes? Show slipper-tips? + Indeed you are ended, Danae, and shall part. + Farewell! Farewell! Fare delicately! Fare swiftly! + Will you go down by Ephesus, my rose; + Or all the sea? + + FIRST WOMAN. Not Babylon by sea! + + LAODICE. + If not to Babylon, yet far enough. + Tie up these arms and bind these feet together; + Bear to the columns and cast her forth to sea, + Where she shall be my satrap of the darkness. + She has been dying many moments now, + She shall have burial as one who ceases + In a strange ship, unfriended on the deeps. + +_The women laugh._ + + FIRST WOMAN. + Joy--but wherewith, O Light? + + LAODICE. Your sandal-thongs: + You are good enough to obey me on bare feet. + +_Several of the women hastily untie their sandals._ + + FOURTH WOMAN, _kneeling to bind DANAE'S feet._ + Forget not me to heel, my mighty lady. + + VARIOUS WOMEN, _clustering about_ DANAE _and seizing her._ + Come on, come on to Babylon, dread Madam.... + Up and down to Babylon, cold Highness.... + I'll be her coiffing slave and tend her head.... + I'll be her nurse and hold her in my breast.... + More humbly I will take her feet in mine.... + What honour to be trusted with such life-- + priceless load.... Ah, do not let it fall.... + + DANAE, _to_ LAODICE. + Yet I have served you well. + + LAODICE. Yea, very well. + Whereto did Sophron flee? + + DANAE. I do not know. + + LAODICE. + Tell me why Sophron fled, and what he knew. + +_A pause._ + + Tell even where your thoughts are following him. + +_A pause._ + + Even at what point of my research in him + Your heart lifted, and I will keep you back. + +_A pause._ + + Then are you both completed and concluded. + Knot elbows too, and lift her to the columns. + + DANAE. + Yet I have loved you. + + LAODICE. + You are not mine: this earth shall not contain you. + I could unmake the stars to ensure darkness, + To cheat me of the places that have known you. + + DANAE. + Must I go out? + + Then pay me for my spent devotion first. + Let not these spittly weeds close in and choke me; + Undrape these silk and Asiatic jeers; + Let me go loose, and I will go indeed + As far as your desire--serving you yet. + +_LAODICE, severing DANAE'S bonds with her dagger, then rending away her +veil and upper garments._ + + Your rigid mortal bonds, ... + Your isolating veil, ... + Your scarf of earthly flowers, ... + Your robe that once was royal, ... + Your chill, worn-out simarre, + Slide as the world slides.... + Put off your useless shoes + To enter a holy place.... + Get to your high estate. + + DANAE, _standing in her under-garment._ + Gather your jewels. + + LAODICE. You trifle to gain moments. + + DANAE. + Give me one kiss. + + LAODICE. You have not time. These wait. + +_Indicating the surrounding women._ + + DANAE. + Your house shall be the firmer by your sentence. + +_She takes the sleeping child in her arms, and mounts the stair +quickly._ + + SEVERAL WOMEN. + The child; she has the child. + + LAODICE. Yes. And then? + + _DANAE, pausing by a column._ + The common run of men make small account + Of high religion; and they are very right. + I saved my lover, and I now receive + This recognition from the Powers who still + Dispose of us: Laodice killed hers, + And she is held deserving of all that honour. + + LAODICE, _pointing at the_ FOURTH WOMAN. + Thrust her down, you. + +_DANAE disappears while the FOURTH WOMAN stealthily mounts the stair. +LAODICE has thrown herself on the divan, with her back to the +colonnade._ + + To-morrow will be soon. + To-morrow I will sit with men in council, + And muster men to leaguer Ephesus. + These fretting hens, these women, burden me-- + I know their eyes too well; let them keep hid. + To-morrow I will walk upon the harbour, + And board my ships and see them manned and ready-- + No, no, I will not step toward the sea.... + + SEVERAL WOMEN, _as_ LAODICE _speaks._ + Ai! Ai! Is she down? Not yet.... + I cannot see.... No one can see. + + SECOND WOMAN, _sobbing in the corner near the stair._ + My necklace + Save my dear gems! + + FOURTH WOMAN, _from the colonnade._ + She is not here. She falls. + + LAODICE. + Is that hoarse dashing how the surge receives her? + + FOURTH WOMAN. + It is the old recession of the waves; + The rocks are bare. No movement could be seen; + No pallor could emerge. There is no sound. + + LAODICE, _in a dull voice._ + She was as false as all the rest of you; + But she was brave. Remember that she died; + Be cowards still, and so be false and safe. + She had a lulling hand.... Put me to sleep. + +_RHODOGUNE goes toward her._ + + +CURTAIN. + + + + +APPENDICES + + + + +APPENDIX A + +"KING LEAR'S WIFE" was performed for the first time on 25 September 1915 +at the Birmingham Repertory Theatre, with the following cast: + + Lear Mr. E. Ion Swinley. + Hygd Miss Cathleen Orford. + Goneril Miss Margaret Chatwin. + Cordeil Miss Betty Pinchard. + Merryn Miss Dorothy Taylor. + Gormflaith Miss Mary Merrall. + Physician Mr. Ivor Barnard. + {Miss Betty Pinchard. + Two Elderly Women {Miss Maud Gill. + +Costumes and decoration designed by Mr. Barry V. Jackson. + +Production by Mr. John Drinkwater. + +In the course of the production the song of the Elder Woman, toward the +close of the play, was fitted with so appropriate a melody, by a +fortunate modification of a folk-tune, that it seems well to continue +the connexion by printing the arrangement here. + + + +[Illustration: music] + + The louse made off unhappy and wet-- + A-humm, A-humm, A-hee-- + He's looking for us, the little pet; + So haste, for her chin's to tie up yet, + And let us be gone with what we can get-- + Her ring for thee, her gown for Bet, + Her pocket turned out for me ... me.... + +This represents the extension of the melody used for the final stanza of +the song: it can be adapted to the forms of the first and second stanzas +by the omission of the sections A-C and B-C respectively. The Coda is +intended for use with the final stanza only. + + +First performed in London on 19 May 1916 at His Majesty's Theatre, under +the direction of Miss Viola Tree. + + Lear Mr. Murray Carrington. + Hygd Lady Tree. + Goneril Miss Viola Tree. + Cordeil Miss Odette Goimbault. + Gormflaith Miss Julia James. + Merryn Miss Beatrice Wilson. + Physician Mr. H. A. Saintsbury. + {Miss Ada King + Two Elderly Women {Miss Bertha Fordyce. + +Play produced by Mr. John Drinkwater, and mounted by Mr. Purcell Jones: +music by Mr. Ivor Novello. + +SONGS + +For the London performance of "King Lear's Wife." + +I (p. 43) + + Mother, it is my wedding morn, + Come, bring the linen fine, + And wash my face with milk so warm + Drawn from the young white kine. + The blackbird in the apple-tree + Was waking ere the day; + But I was ready sooner than he, + For I watched the night away. + +II (p. 44) + + The Queen has gone to bed + In the middle of the day; + But what about her bedfellow? + No one dares to say. + + She cannot sleep at night: + She does not care to try; + The darkness makes her restless, + And nobody knows why. + +III (p. 48) + + O, merry, merry will my heart be + When I can sit me down and rest: + If you would live to make old bones + Keep your knees off the kitchen-stones, + And go like a lady, warmly drest. + + + + +APPENDIX B + +"THE CRIER BY NIGHT" was first performed by Mr. Stuart Walker's +Portmanteau Theatre Company in Wyoming, U.S.A., in September 1916, and +in New York at the Princess Theatre on 18 December 1916, with the +following cast: + + Hialti Mr. McKay Morris. + Thorgerd Miss Judith Lowry. + Blanid Miss Florence Buckton. + An Old, Strange Man Mr. Edgar Stehli. + +Play produced by Mr. Stuart Walker and mounted by Mr. W. J. Zimmerer. + + + + +_SOME PRESS OPINIONS OF_ + + +KING LEAR'S WIFE AND OTHER PLAYS. 1920. 4to. With binding design by +Charles Ricketts. Pp. 209. 15_s._ net. (_Out of print._) + +A special edition of 50 copies signed by the author, in white and gold +binding. 31_s._ 6_d._ net. (_Out of print._) + + * * * * * + + +Mr. Lascelles Abercrombie (Lecturer in Poetry at the University of +Liverpool) in _The Liverpool Daily Post and Mercury_. + + This volume has been long overdue. It was the great + good fortune of "Georgian Poetry" that it was + permitted to give this remarkable tragedy of "King + Lear's Wife" to the world, and thus to have the + privilege of pioneering Mr. Bottomley's reputation + among those who are unable to do much experimental + reading. It was obviously not only a dramatic poem but + an actable play; so actable, indeed, that it had the + extraordinary fortune of being acted; and what was + perhaps even more remarkable of a poetic play + nowadays, it showed itself capable of being acted + precisely and entirely as it had been written, the + technique of the poet contriving to be, with a + completeness not to be paralleled anywhere to-day + except in Italy, simultaneously the technique of the + playwright. + + The other plays contained in this volume are still to + be staged. They would certainly be not less effective + than "King Lear's Wife" ... the cunning elaboration of + supernaturalism in "The Crier by Night" and "The + Riding to Lithend," its combination in the former with + the elemental humanities, in the latter with vivid + character and strangely heroic passion; the deft + lucidity of "Laodice and Danae," which might serve as + a type of dramatic suspense passing at the exact + moment into inevitable catastrophe: these things, one + would think, should be eminently practical politics + for the theatre. If any manager wants plays in which + exciting action is at the same time profound + significance, here they are. + + However, we are only able to speculate on this aspect + of Mr. Bottomley's work. But we can console ourselves + by simply reading the plays as poetry.... In the days + when theurgy was still an honourable profession, + Apollonius of Tyana said "Knowing what people say is + nothing; I know what people don't say." That might be + put as motto for such poetry as Mr. Bottomley writes. + It is the art of exhibiting realities. What people + don't say is what they really are; and they don't say + it because they can't get hold of it. But he can, and + he can make them say it ... they speak and act as + unconstrainedly as the folk of the everyday world; yet + every word and every gesture is a flashing revelation + of spiritual destiny. And not only men and women, but + nature also: tarns and mountains, winds and the night, + trees and stars--of these, too, Mr. Bottomley "knows + what they don't say." + + To the technical beauty of Mr. Bottomley's poetry I + have not alluded. It is extraordinary; but, as in all + great poetry, it is no more than the sign that the + reality of things is being successfully exhibited. + + +Mr. John Drinkwater in "The Nature of Drama" ("Prose Papers": London, +Elkin Mathews, 1917, p. 220). + + I do say that the capital power of the commercialised + theatre in England to-day is so great that it has been + able to impose its standard on nearly all the people + who are habitually in contact with its merchandise ... + so that one piece of catchpenny insincerity after + another is extolled by what passes for expert opinion + as a valuable contribution to the great art of the + dramatist, while a piece of work like Mr. Gordon + Bottomley's "King Lear's Wife," which ... is for + vigour of imagination, poetic eagerness, and dramatic + passion not to be excelled by anything that has been + put on to the English stage since the Elizabethans, is + met with a clamour of ignorance ... in most cases + (1915-16) we find no standard whatever being brought + to the judgment of an original work of art other than + a spurious morality. + + +Solomon Eagle in _The Outlook_. + + The various societies which desire to regenerate the + theatre talk a good deal about the poetic drama of the + future, but they do not seem to take much trouble to + find it.... Of Mr. Gordon Bottomley's fine plays only + one, to the best of my knowledge, has yet been + produced in this country.... There is certainly the + possibility of a great play in their author, and one + at least of them is better than any play in verse + which has been staged for many years, and is likely to + live longer than most of the so-called masterpieces of + our time. If "Midsummer Eve" had been by Claudel, or + "The Riding to Lithend" by some German (a most + unlikely supposition) all the coteries would have been + talking about them years ago.... + + "Midsummer Eve" is original, and the work of a + poet.... There is fine meditative poetry in it, + poetry, moreover, not grafted or glued on to its main + structure, but growing out of the dialogue naturally, + in an inevitable manner.... "Laodice and Danae" is + equally good reading, and it is dramatic. But none of + these plays is equal to the two latest, "The Riding to + Lithend" and "King Lear's Wife."... + + Enough has been written about the grimness of "King + Lear's Wife," the fine bursts of poetry in it, and the + remarkable character of Goneril.... "The Riding to + Lithend" is, up to the present, the best of Mr. + Bottomley's plays; and its superiority is a + superiority which, I think, would be still more + evident on the stage than it is in print.... It comes + straight out of an old tale; the characters are + recreated and enriched.... The diction is, as a rule, + perfect in its propriety and often striking in its + beauty. And, above all, Gunnar is a hero, his fight a + heroic fight, his courage, his generosity, his + humanity (a few sentences to wife and hound are + wonderfully chosen), and even his weaknesses are such + as to move the heart. His fall is like the fall of all + noble and fighting things; the sense of defeat comes + with it, but above that a feeling of exultation. On + the stage the end, I fancy, would be profoundly + moving, and the fight exciting to a degree, though + there is no obvious rhodomontade about it. + + +Mr. John Freeman in _The Bookman_. + + This comely volume at last makes public what has been + too long a fugitive and cloistered pleasure.... These + five plays show the author in the most powerful + exercise of his faculties. Imagination here is free + and moves with growing ease, music enlarges like a + splendid wind through the verse; and the common + reproach of mere "poetic plays" has been avoided in + these, where character and action develope as surely + as music itself. Gordon Bottomley has remembered that + his plays can have no life except in the activity of + his characters.... Fine careless raptures alone will + not produce a play like "The Riding to Lithend" ... + you may quote almost any lines from this fierce + Icelandic play and find that what you are reading is + vital and essential to the expression of character and + action. And in this poetry, too ... the beautiful + images flow in and out with the ease of light on + water; the rhythms have the natural movement of + thought, and the secret discipline of masculine habit. + "King Lear's Wife" will be familiar to many readers, + but to others it will come with the delicious shock of + a new creation.... The new play is a beam of light + crossing the darkness of the old. Few passages of + modern verse reach the beauty of Goneril's + hunting-narration; and it is no isolated beauty. + + +Mr. William Rose Benet in The Literary Review of the _New York Evening +Post_. + + "The Crier by Night" is one of the most powerful and + eerie poetic dramas of the supernatural that have been + written in the last two decades. To me the best-known + translations of Maeterlinck pale beside it.... I hold + "The Riding to Lithend" his greatest achievement. To + me it is like a piece of gorgeous tapestry blurred by + wood-smoke and sea-mist and hung on a granite wall. + The dramatic structure is knit as compact as a rock. + Across the shimmering imagery of the diction blows a + chill and foreboding wind of the spirit.... The verse + is nobly distinguished. "King Lear's Wife" is also a + notable piece of work.... It possesses convincing + reality.... Again the dramatic structure satisfies + completely. "Midsummer Eve" is packed with fragrant + beauty ... that creeps around the heart.... The + atmosphere is the important thing about this play and + is unforgettable. "Laodice and Danae" is more usual + (for Bottomley, for very few other writers), but it is + the work of a sure dramatic craftsman with an + enthralling tale to tell.... There is a splendid + artistic austerity about his work ... yet mixed with + this there is an entirely full-blooded love of the + earth, a delight in intensely human detail.... He has + indeed displayed many gifts imperishably bright. His + name should stand high in the roster of modern English + verse. + + +_The Morning Post._ + + The rare beauty and distinction of these works have + been ungrudgingly acclaimed by many critics, but they + have hitherto lacked that wider recognition for which + they are indubitably destined.... But now the bringing + of them together in one volume permits us all to + appraise the quality of what is the most significant + accomplishment of our Georgians. It is impossible to + be impervious to the strength and beauty, knit + together, of these dramas.... Criticism may note with + admiration the unerring skill of dramatic structure; + with delight the mastery of language, which constrains + the simplest words to the greatest needs; with wonder + the reading of the human heart.... The man who can + handle character and emotion with such mastery both of + language and imagination is indeed a poet.... In Mr. + Bottomley the Georgian era has found an authentic + voice--a veritable interpreter. + + +_The Times Literary Supplement._ + + We must honour the devoted writers who keep alive the + desire for the poetic drama, and none more than Mr. + Gordon Bottomley.... He is a poet and justifies his + use of poetic speech; he is eloquent, incisive, has a + blank verse of his own which he writes with increasing + mastery.... In "The Riding to Lithend" he rises with + his story ... the death of Gunnar is well done; you + read it breathlessly, for he makes it the death of + Gunnar indeed; and even the slayers feel the greatness + of it. Mr. Bottomley, in a more fortunate age, might, + we think, have been a dramatic poet like Fletcher; he + has Fletcher's eloquence though not his fun,... but + not, of course, Fletcher's familiarity with the + stage.... If he had been bred in the theatre, he + might, we think, have had Fletcher's real and + delightful success. + + +_John O' London's Weekly._ + + The cumulative effect of a re-reading of Mr. + Bottomley's work is to convince one that he is a real + poet who can write real drama. In the matter of + construction these plays approach perfection; the + building up is masterly, and the verse is full of + variety and imagination.... The finest as drama is + "King Lear's Wife," though for sheer beauty and + spiritual significance I should be inclined to place + "Midsummer Eve" first. Only one of these plays has + been acted in England. If we had a live stage they + would all be acted. + + +_The New Statesman._ + + Mr. Gordon Bottomley's plays are good art. There are + moments in "King Lear's Wife" when he approaches + greatness.... It contains passages of very rare force, + and the dramatic power ... is of a very high quality. + In this play and in "The Crier by Night" he recalls to + us not the late Elizabethans so much as that strange + uneasy genius Thomas Lovell Beddoes.... He is a purer + poet, dramatically, than was Beddoes, and his song has + a clearer richer quality, more imaginative, though + not quite so fantastic; but he resembles Beddoes in + his stern saddened preoccupations with the passing of + mortals. Few plays have a greater unity of atmosphere + or a more boding one than has "The Riding to Lithend." + In all the plays, however, one finds a real poet who + is also a real dramatist; there is little of + decoration in any of the plays, and nothing of that + windy seasonal rhetoric which is so common in some + poetic plays. + + +I. B. in _The Manchester Guardian_. + + It is an excellent thing that these plays, the + earliest of which was published twenty years ago, + should have been brought together and given a new + lease of public life.... It is indeed quite + extraordinary that, with so much publishing of poetry + during the last few years, work of such high + distinction should have remained under cover. Mr. + Gordon Bottomley's art of tragedy, as well as his + craftsmanship in verse, can be seen ripening through + this series until it comes to a rich maturity in "King + Lear's Wife." Here ... austerity and compassion are + compounded, and so create the tragic atmosphere in + which small words are big with infinite meaning and + hints develope the power of hammer-blows.... It is the + best of the group, and it is significant, as showing + the inherent union between matter and form, that when + the poet writes his best play he also writes his best + verse.... He is admirably master of himself and of his + medium. + + +_The Spectator._ + + Neither in the setting of the scene of "King Lear's + Wife," the conduct of the story, or its embellishment + and illustration, is there a wasted word.... But amid + the abundance of this most rich, most ample of little + plays, there is surely nothing--nothing, we mean, that + can be detached from its setting--that surpasses + Goneril's two speeches to her mother.... Whether Mr. + Gordon Bottomley--though calling his creations by + their Shakespearean names in his heart--would not have + done better to call his monarch Cole or Cadwallader in + print is a question with which controversy will + probably long be busy. It is a play which would not be + spoiled if, in a pet, he had called the protagonists + Smith, Jones, and Robinson. We recommend this test, by + the way, to those who are called upon to pronounce + judgment upon the poetic drama. There is more in it + than meets the eye. + + +_The London Mercury._ + + It is some years since the public was surprised to + learn that Mr. Gordon Bottomley had written a prelude + to "King Lear," which not only offered some solution + of the problems of that work, but was also in itself a + play of considerable beauty, originality, and power. + This piece now serves for the title of a volume of + collected plays.... It was effective and moving on the + stage, and it makes its effect, though perhaps a + different one, when it is read in the study.... An + extract will serve to illustrate the flexible, + elastic, and individual versification. We should do + wrong, however, if we were to give the impression that + his plays are only for the study, valuable for such + passages, and lacking in the harder bones of dramatic + merit. The action is not an excuse for decorative + poetry, but is the immediate and all-important + thing.... These are the creations of a dramatist who + has no need of descriptive decoration to conceal the + weakness of his prime conceptions. + + +_The Nation._ + + The wave of poetic drama has now ebbed, and this form + is practised very little to-day, lyrical and + experimental verse having almost entirely supplanted + it. Mr. Bottomley's plays are the only ones which, + with the going-out of the tide, have managed to escape + its "long withdrawing roar" and retain a place on the + shore.... Without any doubt they express a singular + power of mysterious evocation.... They are not at all + vague and inchoate--on the contrary, these towering + shadows are remarkably and firmly differentiated.... + We find "The Crier by Night" and "The Riding to + Lithend"--especially the former--the most darkly and + magically impressive of all the plays.... An image in + the former positively makes you jump as Donne makes + you jump with his imagery.... But perhaps his most + striking achievement is the way he can make these + shapes of an intensely brooding ... imagination speak + out in taut, muscular, even gruffly vivid language. He + has avoided, and very properly avoided, the tenuous + chantings, effeminate imagery, and listless monochrome + of the Celtic drama. Mr. Bottomley's plays, in fact, + are peculiar and esoteric, but they undoubtedly + achieve a strong success in their own character. + + +_The Athenaeum._ + + Mr. Gordon Bottomley is one of the few writers of + poetical plays whom it is necessary to take very + seriously: his blemishes are minor and few in number; + his poetical qualities very much outweigh his defects. + He is at his best in expressing subtle states of mind, + and in formulating generalizations. His real + distinction lies in his dramatic power. His characters + have solidity and life ... they are not mere symbols, + but human beings. His plays are marked by the economy + of construction of stage plays. It is significant to + note that Mr. Bottomley's pieces are excellent in + proportion as they are actable. + + +_The Saturday Westminster Gazette._ + + Of their kind, Mr. Bottomley's plays are remarkably + good. They have atmosphere and action; they are + exquisitely wrought; they are moving and dramatic. + They will surely be among the most delightful + discoveries of future generations; and if by the + beginning of the twenty-first century our successors + have contrived to establish a national or folk + theatre, it is fairly safe to prophesy that three at + least of them will find a place in its repertory. + + +_The Observer._ + + Since the issue of "The Crier by Night" in 1902, Mr. + Bottomley has worked with a sincerity and devotion + which are more commendable than the more frequent + essays of less conscientious artists. We remember one + considerable and beautifully produced book of + miscellaneous verse, "The Gate of Smaragdus," and + there have been other plays issued semi-privately, + until the publication of "King Lear's Wife" gave him a + wider public, and reminded younger readers of his very + definite and dignified talent.... If as a _tour de + force_, the latter is the greatest, we still prefer, + for sheer poetic beauty, for propriety of phrase and + for directness of action, the earlier "Riding to + Lithend." Hallgerd is an exceptionally fine creation, + and she is given to speak passages of rare force and + beauty. This play, too, has a fierce dramatic quality. + +Mr. R. Ellis Roberts in _The Daily News_. + + Mr. Bottomley's plays have all one merit without which + poetical drama is a thing indefensible. There is + always in them a definite note of necessity.... Not + only does Mr. Bottomley choose subjects which make his + decision to write in verse seem natural and right, he + writes blank verse of a dignity and worth which + responds at once to the needs of natural, and the + convention of poetic, speech. His poetry is in the + full English tradition; he enjoys his vocabulary with + that careful, inventive joy which is the privilege of + all who are sensitive to the individual word. He can + use rhetoric; but he rarely allows himself to be drawn + away into mere hectic luxury of language. The best of + his plays is, I think, "The Riding to Lithend," a + rendering of the old life of Iceland, which really + represents for us the passionate, hasty life of the + old Sagas, while it is free from the pedantry which + spoils so many efforts to reproduce Scandinavian + heroics. Hallgerd is a genuine piece of dramatic + creation. "Midsummer Eve," with its quiet, wind-blown + pathos, is equally notable; and the quality of its + verse shows Mr. Bottomley's talent at its highest and + simplest. + +_The Actor._ + + In these plays, the public is reminded of Mr. Gordon + Bottomley's almost unique power, as among his + contemporaries, of presenting the sinister, the grim, + the tragic, or the merely weird, in a poetic garment + of power and beauty ... in dramatic force and verse + charm. + +_The Journal of Commerce_, Chicago, U.S.A. + + These plays are put into a format and style of book + that honour the contents, and when you know the + contents of this remarkable dramatic poetry that is + praise indeed. They hold you strangely.... The + dialogue is skilfully modulated, it is a veritable + song-speech, illuminated by luminous pauses, by the + speaking silences that can invest, if rightly used, + the static with so much more dramatic feeling than the + more obviously emotional action. The plays are + impressive even in the reading of them, then how much + more effective they would be if acted and + declaimed--but in a manner worthy of their high art. + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes: + +Obvious punctuation errors repaired. + +Varied hyphenation was retained. This includes things such as +bed-clothes, bedclothes and bed-time, bedtime. + +Page 9, repeated word "the" removed from text (from the body estranged) + +Page 39, "gradully" changed to "gradually" (she gradually forces) + +Page 107, "dais" changed to "dais" (by the dais door) + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of King Lear's Wife; The Crier by Night; +The Riding to Lithend; Midsummer-Eve; Laodice and Danae, by Gordon Bottomley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KING LEAR'S WIFE *** + +***** This file should be named 37446.txt or 37446.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/4/4/37446/ + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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