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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 Danaë + +Author: Gordon Bottomley + +Release Date: September 16, 2011 [EBook #37446] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** 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 + + + + + + +</pre> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h1>KING · LEAR'S · WIFE<br /> + +THE · CRIER · BY · NIGHT<br /> + +THE · RIDING · TO · LITHEND<br /> + +MIDSUMMER-EVE<br /> + +LAODICE · AND · DANAË<br /> + +PLAYS · BY · GORDON<br /> +BOTTOMLEY</h1> + +<div class='center'><br /><br /> +BOSTON<br /> +SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY<br /> +<span class='small'>PUBLISHERS</span><br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class='copyright'> +MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY<br /> +CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND GRIGGS (PRINTERS), LTD. AT THE<br /> +CHISWICK PRESS, TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.<br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><span class='small'>PAGE</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">King Lear's Wife</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Crier by Night</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Riding To Lithend</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Midsummer Eve</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Laodice and Danaë</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Appendix a (king Lear's Wife)</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Appendix B (the Crier by Night)</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p><span class="smcap">Note</span>.—<i>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.</i> +</p></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'> +"REMEMBER THE<br /> +LIFE OF THESE<br /> +THINGS CONSISTS<br /> +IN ACTION."<br /> +<br /> +JOHN MARSTON: 1606.<br /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> + +<h2>BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> 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.</p> + +<div class="hang1">I. <span class="smcap">The Crier by Night</span>. (1900.) Published by the +Unicorn Press, London, 1902. 32 pp. Quarto, +boards. 500 copies.</div> + +<div class="hang1">II. <span class="smcap">Midsummer Eve</span>. (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.</div> + +<div class="hang1">III. <span class="smcap">Laodice and Danaë</span>. (1906.) Printed for private +circulation, 1909. iv + 26 pp. Royal 8vo, wrappers. +150 copies.</div> + +<div class="hang1">IV. <span class="smcap">The Riding To Lithend</span>. (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.)</div> + +<div class="hang1">V. <span class="smcap">King Lear's Wife</span>. (1911-13.) Published in +"Georgian Poetry, 1913-1915," pp. 1 to 47. The +Poetry Bookshop, London, 1915.</div> + +<div class="hang1"><span class="smcap">The Crier by Night</span>, <span class="smcap">The Riding to Lithend</span>, and +<span class="smcap">Laodice and Danaë</span> 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.</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span></p> + +<h2>NOTE</h2> + + +<div class='blockquot'><span class="smcap">Applications</span> 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.</div> + +<div class="blockquot2"><span class="smcap">King Lear's Wife</span> <i>is copyright by +Gordon Bottomley in the United +States of America</i>, 1915.</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> +<h2>KING LEAR'S WIFE</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><i>TO T. STURGE MOORE</i></h2> + + +<div class='cap'><div class='poem'> +<i>THE years come on, the years go by,<br /> +And in my Northern valley I,<br /> +Withdrawn from life, watch life go by.<br /> +But I have formed within my heart<br /> +A state that does not thus depart,<br /> +Richer than life, greater than being,<br /> +Truer in feeling and in seeing<br /> +Than outward turbulence can know;<br /> +Where time is still, like a large, slow<br /> +And lofty bird that moves her wings<br /> +In far, invisible flutterings<br /> +To gaze on every part of space<br /> +Yet poise for ever in one place;<br /> +Where line and sound, colour and phrase<br /> +Rebuild in clear, essential ways<br /> +The powers behind the veil of sense;<br /> +While tragic things are made intense<br /> +By passion brooding on old dread,<br /> +Till a faint light of beauty shed<br /> +From night-enfolded agony<br /> +Shews in the ways men fail and die<br /> +The deeps whose knowledge never cloys<br /> +But, striking inward without voice,<br /> +Stirs me to tremble and rejoice.</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>For twenty years and more than twenty<br /> +I have found my riches and my plenty<br /> +In poets dead and poets living,<br /> +Painters and music-men, all giving,<br /> +By life shut in creative deeds,<br /> +Live force and insight to my needs;<br /> +And long before I came to stand<br /> +And hear your voice and touch your hand<br /> +In that great treasure-house new-known,<br /> +Where in their tower above the Town<br /> +The masters of </i>The Dial<i> sit,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>I loved in every word of it<br /> +Your finely tempered verse that told me<br /> +Of patient power, and still can hold me<br /> +By its authentic divination<br /> +Of the right knowledge of creation,<br /> +Its grave, still beauty brought to day<br /> +Tissue by tissue in nature's way,<br /> +Petal by petal sure to shew<br /> +Imagination's quiet glow<br /> +That burns intenseliest at the core.<br /> +And through that twenty years and more<br /> +I have been envious of your reach<br /> +In speaking form and plastic speech,<br /> +Your double energy of hand<br /> +That puts two arts at your command<br /> +While I must be content with one<br /> +And feel true life but half begun;<br /> +So that by graver as by pen<br /> +You can create earth, stars, and men,<br /> +And prove yourself by more than rime<br /> +A prince of poets in our time.</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>For these delights, and the delight<br /> +Of converse in a Surrey night<br /> +After the deep sound had lapsed by<br /> +Of ocean-haunted poetry,<br /> +For counsel and another zest<br /> +Added to beauty's life-long quest<br /> +I, in acknowledgment, would bring<br /> +The homage of an offering;<br /> +And, being too poor to reach the height<br /> +Of my conception or requite<br /> +Your greater giving equally,<br /> +I search in my capacity<br /> +And, by my self-appointed trade,<br /> +Find something I myself have made,<br /> +That here I offer. Let it be<br /> +A token betwixt you and me<br /> +Of admiration and loyalty.</i><br /> +</div></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">February 29th, 1916.</span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'>PERSONS:</div> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Cast"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Lear</span>, King of Britain.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Hygd</span>, his Queen.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Goneril</span>, daughter to Lear and Hygd.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Cordeil</span>, daughter to Lear and Hygd.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span>, waiting-woman to Hygd.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Merryn</span>, waiting-woman to Hygd.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Physician</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Two Elderly Women</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> +<h2>KING LEAR'S WIFE</h2> + + +<div class="hang1"><i>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.</i> + +<p><i>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 <span class="smcap">Hygd</span>, +an emaciated woman, is asleep in the bed; her +plenteous black hair, veined with silver, spreads +over the pillow. Her waiting-woman, <span class="smcap">Merryn</span>, +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.</i></p></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Merryn</span>.<br /> +<div class='cap'>MANY, many must die who long to live,<br /> +Yet this one cannot die who longs to die:<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>Even her sleep, come now at last, thwarts death,<br /> +Although sleep lures us all half way to death....<br /> +I could not sit beside her every night<br /> +If I believed that I might suffer so:<br /> +I am sure I am not made to be diseased,<br /> +I feel there is no malady can touch me—<br /> +Save the red cancer, growing where it will.<br /> +</div></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Taking her beads from her girdle, she +kneels at the foot of the bed.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +O sweet Saint Cleer, and sweet Saint Elid too,<br /> +Shield me from rooting cancers and from madness:<br /> +Shield me from sudden death, worse than two death-beds;<br /> +Let me not lie like this unwanted queen,<br /> +Yet let my time come not ere I am ready—<br /> +Grant space enow to relish the watchers' tears<br /> +And give my clothes away and calm my features<br /> +And streek my limbs according to my will,<br /> +Not the hard will of fumbling corpse-washers.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She prays silently.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">King Lear</span>, a great, golden-bearded man +in the full maturity of life, enters +abruptly by the door beyond the bed, +followed by the <span class="smcap">Physician</span>.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +Why are you here? Are you here for ever?<br /> +Where is the young Scotswoman? Where is she?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Merryn.</span><br /> +O, Sire, move softly; the Queen sleeps at last.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear</span>, <i>continuing in an undertone.</i><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>Where is the young Scotswoman? Where is Gormflaith?<br /> +It is her watch.... I know; I have marked your hours.<br /> +Did the Queen send her away? Did the Queen<br /> +Bid you stay near her in her hate of Gormflaith?<br /> +You work upon her yeasting brain to think<br /> +That she's not safe except when you crouch near her<br /> +To spy with your dropt eyes and soundless presence.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Merryn.</span><br /> +Sire, midnight should have ended Gormflaith's watch,<br /> +But Gormflaith had another kind of will<br /> +And ended at a godlier hour by slumber,<br /> +A letter in her hand, the night-lamp out.<br /> +She loitered in the hall when she should sleep.<br /> +My duty has two hours ere she returns.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +The Queen should have young women about her bed,<br /> +Fresh cool-breathed women to lie down at her side<br /> +And plenish her with vigour; for sick or wasted women<br /> +Can draw a virtue from such abounding presence,<br /> +When night makes life unwary and looses the strings of being,<br /> +Even by the breath, and most of all by sleep.<br /> +Her slumber was then no fault: go you and find her.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Physician.</span><br /> +It is not strange that a bought watcher drowses;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>What is most strange is that the Queen sleeps<br /> +Who would not sleep for all my draughts of sleep<br /> +In the last days. When did this change appear?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Merryn.</span><br /> +We shall not know—it came while Gormflaith nodded.<br /> +When I awoke her and she saw the Queen<br /> +She could not speak for fear:<br /> +When the rekindling lamp showed certainly<br /> +The bed-clothes stirring about our lady's neck,<br /> +She knew there was no death, she breathed, she said<br /> +She had not slept until her mistress slept<br /> +And lulled her; but I asked her how her mistress<br /> +Slept, and her utterance faded.<br /> +She should be blamed with rods, as I was blamed<br /> +For slumber, after a day and a night of watching,<br /> +By the Queen's child-bed, twenty years ago.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +She does what she must do: let her alone.<br /> +I know her watch is now: get gone and send her.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Merryn</span> goes out by the door beyond the bed.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Is it a portent now to sleep at night?<br /> +What change is here? What see you in the Queen?<br /> +Can you discern how this disease will end?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Physician.</span><br /> +Surmise might spring and healing follow yet,<br /> +If I could find a trouble that could heal;<br /> +But these strong inward pains that keep her ebbing<br /> +Have not their source in perishing flesh.<br /> +I have seen women creep into their beds<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>And sink with this blind pain because they nursed<br /> +Some bitterness or burden in the mind<br /> +That drew the life, sucklings too long at breast.<br /> +Do you know such a cause in this poor lady?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +There is no cause. How should there be a cause?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Physician.</span><br /> +We cannot die wholly against our wills;<br /> +And in the texture of women I have found<br /> +Harder determination than in men:<br /> +The body grows impatient of enduring,<br /> +The harried mind is from <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'the the'">the</ins> body estranged,<br /> +And we consent to go: by the Queen's touch,<br /> +The way she moves—or does not move—in bed,<br /> +The eyes so cold and keen in her white mask,<br /> +I know she has consented.<br /> +The snarling look of a mute wounded hawk,<br /> +That would be let alone, is always hers—<br /> +Yet she was sorely tender: it may be<br /> +Some wound in her affection will not heal.<br /> +We should be careful—the mind can so be hurt<br /> +That nought can make it be unhurt again.<br /> +Where, then, did her affection most persist?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +Old bone-patcher, old digger in men's flesh,<br /> +Doctors are ever itching to be priests,<br /> +Meddling in conduct, natures, life's privacies.<br /> +We have been coupled now for twenty years,<br /> +And she has never turned from me an hour—<br /> +She knows a woman's duty and a queen's:<br /> +Whose, then, can her affection be but mine?<br /> +How can I hurt her—she is still my queen?<br /> +If her strong inward pain is a real pain<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>Find me some certain drug to medicine it:<br /> +When common beings have decayed past help,<br /> +There must be still some drug for a king to use;<br /> +For nothing ought to be denied to kings.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Physician.</span><br /> +For the mere anguish there is such a potion.<br /> +The gum of warpy juniper shoots is seethed<br /> +With the torn marrow of an adder's spine;<br /> +An unflawed emerald is pashed to dust<br /> +And mingled there; that broth must cool in moonlight.<br /> +I have indeed attempted this already,<br /> +But the poor emeralds I could extort<br /> +From wry-mouthed earls' women had no force.<br /> +In two more dawns it will be late for potions....<br /> +There are not many emeralds in Britain,<br /> +And there is none for vividness and strength<br /> +Like the great stone that hangs upon your breast:<br /> +If you will waste it for her she shall be holpen.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear</span>, <i>with rising voice.</i><br /> +Shatter my emerald? My emerald? My emerald?<br /> +A High King of Eire gave it to his daughter<br /> +Who mothered generations of us, the kings of Britain;<br /> +It has a spiritual influence; its heart<br /> +Burns when it sees the sun.... Shatter my emerald!<br /> +Only the fungused brain and carious mouth<br /> +Of senile things could shape such thought....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My emerald!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Hygd</span> stirs uneasily in her sleep.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Physician.</span><br /> +Speak lower, low; for your good fame, speak low—<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>If she should waken thus....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">There is no wise man</span><br /> +Believes that medicine is in a jewel.<br /> +It is enough that you have failed with one.<br /> +Seek you a common stone. I'll not do it.<br /> +Let her eat heartily: she is spent with fasting.<br /> +Let her stand up and walk: she is so still<br /> +Her blood can never nourish her. Come away.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Physician.</span><br /> +I must not leave her ere the woman comes—<br /> +Or will some other woman....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">No, no, no, no;</span><br /> +The Queen is not herself; she speaks without sense;<br /> +Only Merryn and Gormflaith understand.<br /> +She is better quiet. Come....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>He urges the <span class="smcap">Physician</span> roughly away by +the shoulder.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 15.5em;">My emerald!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>He follows the <span class="smcap">Physician</span> out by the door +at the back.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Queen <span class="smcap">Hygd</span> awakes at his last noisy +words as he disappears.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hygd.</span><br /> +I have not slept; I did but close mine eyes<br /> +A little while—a little while forgetting....<br /> +Where are you, Merryn?... Ah, it is not Merryn....<br /> +Bring me the cup of whey, woman; I thirst....<br /> +Will you speak to me if I say your name?<br /> +Will you not listen, Gormflaith? ... Can you hear?<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>I am very thirsty—let me drink....<br /> +Ah, wicked woman, why did I speak to you?<br /> +I will not be your suppliant again....<br /> +Where are you? O, where are you?... Where are you?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She tries to raise herself to look about the +room, but sinks back helplessly.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The curtains of the door at the back are +parted, and <span class="smcap">Goneril</span> 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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Mother, were you calling?<br /> +Have I awakened you?<br /> +They said that you were sleeping.<br /> +Why are you left alone, mother, my dear one?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd.</span><br /> +Who are you? No, no, no! Stand farther off!<br /> +You pulse and glow; you are too vital; your presence hurts....<br /> +Freshness of hill-swards, wind and trodden ling,<br /> +I should have known that Goneril stands here.<br /> +It is yet dawn, but you have been afoot<br /> +Afar and long: where could you climb so soon?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Dearest, I am an evil daughter to you:<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>I never thought of you—O, never once—<br /> +Until I heard a moor-bird cry like you.<br /> +I am wicked, rapt in joys of breath and life,<br /> +And I must force myself to think of you.<br /> +I leave you to caretakers' cold gentleness;<br /> +But O, I did not think that they dare leave you.<br /> +What woman should be here?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd.</span> <span style="margin-left: 7em;">I have forgot....</span><br /> +I know not.... She will be about some duty.<br /> +I do not matter: my time is done ... nigh done ...<br /> +Bought hands can well prepare me for a grave,<br /> +And all the generations must serve youth.<br /> +My girls shall live untroubled while they may,<br /> +And learn happiness once while yet blind men<br /> +Have injured not their freedom;<br /> +For women are not meant for happiness.<br /> +Where have you been, my falcon?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +I dreamt that I was swimming, shoulder up,<br /> +And drave the bed-clothes spreading to the floor:<br /> +Coldness awoke me; through the waning darkness<br /> +I heard far hounds give shivering aëry tongue,<br /> +Remote, withdrawing, suddenly faint and near;<br /> +I leapt and saw a pack of stretching weasels<br /> +Hunt a pale coney in a soundless rush,<br /> +Their elfin and thin yelping pierced my heart<br /> +As with an unseen beauty long awaited;<br /> +Wolf-skin and cloak I buckled over this night-gear,<br /> +And took my honoured spear from my bed-side<br /> +Where none but I may touch its purity,<br /> +And sped as lightly down the dewy bank<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>As any mothy owl that hunts quick mice.<br /> +They went crying, crying, but I lost them<br /> +Before I stept, with the first tips of light,<br /> +On Raven Crag near by the Druid Stones;<br /> +So I paused there and, stooping, pressed my hand<br /> +Against the stony bed of the clear stream;<br /> +Then entered I the circle and raised up<br /> +My shining hand in cold stern adoration<br /> +Even as the first great gleam went up the sky.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd.</span><br /> +Ay, you do well to worship on that height:<br /> +Life is free to the quick up in the wind,<br /> +And the wind bares you for a god's descent—<br /> +For wind is a spirit immediate and aged.<br /> +And you do well to worship harsh men-gods,<br /> +God Wind and Those who built his Stones with him:<br /> +All gods are cruel, bitter, and to be bribed,<br /> +But women-gods are mean and cunning as well.<br /> +That fierce old virgin, Cornish Merryn, prays<br /> +To a young woman, yes and even a virgin—<br /> +The poorest kind of woman—and she says<br /> +That is to be a Christian: avoid then<br /> +Her worship most, for men hate such denials,<br /> +And any woman scorns her unwed daughter.<br /> +Where sped you from that height? Did Regan join you there?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Does Regan worship anywhere at dawn?<br /> +The sweaty half-clad cook-maids render lard<br /> +Out in the scullery, after pig-killing,<br /> +And Regan sidles among their greasy skirts,<br /> +Smeary and hot as they, for craps to suck.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>I lost my thoughts before the giant Stones...<br /> +And when anew the earth assembled round me<br /> +I swung out on the heath and woke a hare<br /> +And speared it at a cast and shouldered it,<br /> +Startled another drinking at a tarn<br /> +And speared it ere it leapt; so steady and clear<br /> +Had the god in his fastness made my mind.<br /> +Then, as I took those dead things in my hands,<br /> +I felt shame light my face from deep within,<br /> +And loathing and contempt shake in my bowels,<br /> +That such unclean coarse blows from me had issued<br /> +To crush delicate things to bloody mash<br /> +And blemish their fur when I would only kill.<br /> +My gladness left me; I careered no more<br /> +Upon the morning; I went down from there<br /> +With empty hands:<br /> +But under the first trees and without thought<br /> +I stole on conies at play and stooped at one;<br /> +I hunted it, I caught it up to me<br /> +As I outsprang it, and with this thin knife<br /> +Pierced it from eye to eye; and it was dead,<br /> +Untorn, unsullied, and with flawless fur.<br /> +Then my untroubled mind came back to me.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd.</span><br /> +Leap down the glades with a fawn's ignorance;<br /> +Live you your fill of a harsh purity;<br /> +Be wild and calm and lonely while you may.<br /> +These are your nature's joys, and it is human<br /> +Only to recognize our natures' joys<br /> +When we are losing them for ever.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">But why</span><br /> +Do you say this to me with a sore heart?<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>You are a queen, and speak from the top of life,<br /> +And when you choose to wish for others' joys<br /> +Those others must have woe.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd.</span><br /> +The hour comes for you to turn to a man<br /> +And give yourself with the high heart of youth<br /> +More lavishly than a queen gives anything.<br /> +But when a woman gives herself<br /> +She must give herself for ever and have faith;<br /> +For woman is a thing of a season of years,<br /> +She is an early fruit that will not keep,<br /> +She can be drained and as a husk survive<br /> +To hope for reverence for what has been;<br /> +While man renews himself into old age,<br /> +And gives himself according to his need,<br /> +And women more unborn than his next child<br /> +May take him yet with youth<br /> +And lose him with their potence.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +But women need not wed these men.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd.</span><br /> +We are good human currency, like gold,<br /> +For men to pass among them when they choose.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A child's hands beat on the outside of the +door beyond the bed.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Cordeil's Voice</span>, <i>a child's voice, outside.</i><br /> +Father.... Father.... Father.... Are you here?<br /> +Merryn, ugly Merryn, let me in....<br /> +I know my father is here.... I want him.... Now....<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>Mother, chide Merryn, she is old and slow....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd,</span> <i>softly.</i><br /> +My little curse. Send her away—away....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cordeil's Voice.</span><br /> +Father.... O, father, father.... I want my father.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril</span>, <i>opening the door a little way.</i><br /> +Hush; hush—you hurt your mother with your voice.<br /> +You cannot come in, Cordeil; you must go away:<br /> +Your father is not here....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cordeil's Voice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">He must be here:</span><br /> +He is not in his chamber or the hall,<br /> +He is not in the stable or with Gormflaith:<br /> +He promised I should ride with him at dawn<br /> +And sit before his saddle and hold his hawk,<br /> +And ride with him and ride to the heron-marsh;<br /> +He said that he would give me the first heron,<br /> +And hang the longest feathers in my hair.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Then you must haste to find him;<br /> +He may be riding now....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cordeil's Voice.</span><br /> +But Gerda said she saw him enter here.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Indeed, he is not here....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cordeil's Voice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Let me look....</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>You are too noisy. Must I make you go?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cordeil's Voice.</span><br /> +Mother, Goneril is unkind to me.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd</span>, <i>raising herself in bed excitedly, and speaking so vehemently that her utterance strangles itself.</i><br /> +Go, go, thou evil child, thou ill-comer.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Goneril</span>, 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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Though she is wilful, obeying only the King,<br /> +She is a very little child, mother,<br /> +To be so bitterly thought of.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd.</span><br /> +Because a woman gives herself for ever<br /> +Cordeil the useless had to be conceived<br /> +(Like an after-thought that deceives nobody)<br /> +To keep her father from another woman.<br /> +And I lie here.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril</span>, <i>after a silence.</i><br /> +Hard and unjust my father has been to me;<br /> +Yet that has knitted up within my mind<br /> +A love of coldness and a love of him<br /> +Who makes me firm, wary, swift and secret,<br /> +Until I feel if I become a mother<br /> +I shall at need be cruel to my children,<br /> +And ever cold, to string their natures harder<br /> +And make them able to endure men's deeds;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>But now I wonder if injustice<br /> +Keeps house with baseness, taught by kinship—<br /> +I never thought a king could be untrue,<br /> +I never thought my father was unclean....<br /> +O mother, mother, what is it? Is this dying?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd.</span><br /> +I think I am only faint....<br /> +Give me the cup of whey....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Goneril</span> takes the cup and, supporting +<span class="smcap">Hygd</span>, lets her drink.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +There is too little here. When was it made?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd.</span><br /> +Yester-eve.... Yester-morn....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">Unhappy mother,</span><br /> +You have no daughter to take thought for you—<br /> +No servant's love to shame a daughter with,<br /> +Though I am shamed—you must have other food,<br /> +Straightway I bring you meat....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd.</span> It is no use....<br /> +Plenish the cup for me.... Not now, not now,<br /> +But in a while; for I am heavy now....<br /> +Old Wynoc's potions loiter in my veins,<br /> +And tides of heaviness pour over me<br /> +Each time I wake and think. I could sleep now.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Then I shall lull you, as you once lulled me.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Seating herself on the bed, she sings.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The owlets in roof-holes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Can sing for themselves;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The smallest brown squirrel</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Both scampers and delves;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But a baby does nothing—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She never knows how—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She must hark to her mother</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who sings to her now.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sleep then, ladykin, peeping so;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hide your handies and ley lei lo.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She bends over <span class="smcap">Hygd</span> and kisses her; they +laugh softly together.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Lear</span> parts the curtains of the door at the +back, stands there a moment, then +goes away noiselessly.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The lish baby otter</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is sleeky and streaming,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With catching bright fishes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ere babies learn dreaming;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But no wet little otter</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is ever so warm</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As the fleecy-wrapt baby</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Twixt me and my arm.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sleep big mousie....</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd</span>, <i>suddenly irritable.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Be quiet.... I cannot bear it.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She turns her head away from <span class="smcap">Goneril</span> +and closes her eyes.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>As <span class="smcap">Goneril</span> watches her in silence, +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span> 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.</i></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<i><span class="smcap">Goneril</span>, meeting her near the door and speaking in a low voice.</i><br /> +Why did you leave the Queen? Where have you been?<br /> +Why have you so neglected this grave duty?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span>.<br /> +This is the instant of my duty, Princess:<br /> +From midnight until now was Merryn's watch.<br /> +I thought to find her here: is she not here?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Hygd</span> turns to look at the speakers; then, +turning back, closes her eyes again +and lies as if asleep.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Goneril</span>.<br /> +I found the Queen alone. I heard her cry your name.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span>.<br /> +Your anger is not too great, Madam; I grieve<br /> +That one so old as Merryn should act thus—<br /> +So old and trusted and favoured, and so callous.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril</span>.<br /> +The Queen has had no food since yester-night.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span>.<br /> +Madam, that is too monstrous to conceive:<br /> +I will seek food—I will prepare it now.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril</span>.<br /> +Stay here: and know, if the Queen is left again,<br /> +You shall be beaten with two rods at once.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She picks up the cup and goes out by the +door beyond the bed.</i></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span> 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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span>, <i>to herself, reading.</i><br /> +"Open your window when the moon is dead,<br /> +And I will come again.<br /> +The men say everywhere that you are faithless,<br /> +The women say your face is a false face<br /> +And your eyes shifty eyes. Ah, but I love you, Gormflaith.<br /> +Do not forget your window-latch to-night,<br /> +For when the moon is dead the house is still."<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Lear</span> again parts the door-curtains at the +back, and, seeing <span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span>, enters. +At the first slight rustle of the +curtains <span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span> stealthily slips +the letter back into her bosom before +turning gradually, a finger to her +lips, to see who approaches her.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Lear</span>, <i>leaning over the side of her chair.</i><br /> +Lady, what do you read?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">I read a letter, Sire.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +A letter—a letter—what read you in a letter?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span>, <i>taking another letter from her girdle.</i><br /> +Your words to me—my lonely joy your words....<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>"If you are steady and true as your gaze"—<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear</span>, <i>tearing the letter from her, crumpling it, and flinging it to the back of the room.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;">Pest!</span><br /> +You should not carry a king's letters about,<br /> +Nor hoard a king's letters.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span> <span style="margin-left: 5em;">No, Sire.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +Must the King also stand in the presence now?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span>, <i>rising.</i><br /> +Pardon my troubled mind; you have taken my letter from me.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Lear</span> seats himself and takes <span class="smcap">Gormflaith's</span> +hand.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span><br /> +Wait, wait—I might be seen. The Queen may waken yet.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Stepping lightly to the bed, she noiselessly +slips the curtain on that side as far +forward as it will come. Then she +returns to <span class="smcap">Lear</span>, who draws her to +him and seats her on his knee.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +You have been long in coming:<br /> +Was Merryn long in finding you?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span>, <i>playing with <span class="smcap">Lear's</span> emerald.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;">Did Merryn....</span><br /> +Has Merryn been.... She loitered long before she came,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>For I was at the women's bathing-place ere dawn....<br /> +No jewel in all the land excites me and enthralls<br /> +Like this strong source of light that lives upon your breast.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear</span>, <i>taking the jewel-chain from his neck and slipping it over <span class="smcap">Gormflaith's</span> head while she still holds the emerald.</i><br /> +Wear it within your breast to fill the gentle place<br /> +That cherished the poor letter lately torn from you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span><br /> +Did Merryn at your bidding, then, forsake her Queen?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><i><span class="smcap">Lear</span> nods.</i></span><br /> +You must not, ah, you must not do these masterful things,<br /> +Even to grasp a precious meeting for us two;<br /> +For the reproach and chiding are so hard to me,<br /> +And even you can never fight the silent women<br /> +In hidden league against me, all this house of women.<br /> +Merryn has left her Queen in unwatched loneliness,<br /> +And yet your daughter Princess Goneril has said<br /> +(With lips that scarce held back the spittle for my face)<br /> +That if the Queen is left again I shall be whipt.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +Children speak of the punishments they know.<br /> +Her back is now not half so white as yours,<br /> +And you shall write your will upon it yet.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>Ah, no, my King, my faithful... Ah, no... no...<br /> +The Princess Goneril is right; she judges me:<br /> +A sinful woman cannot steadily gaze reply<br /> +To the cool, baffling looks of virgin untried force.<br /> +She stands beside that crumbling mother in her hate,<br /> +And, though we know so well—she and I, O we know—<br /> +That she could love no mother nor partake in anguish,<br /> +Yet she is flouted when the King forsakes her dam,<br /> +She must protect her very flesh, her tenderer flesh,<br /> +Although she cannot wince; she's wild in her cold brain,<br /> +And soon I must be made to pay a cruel price<br /> +For this one gloomy joy in my uncherished life.<br /> +Envy and greed are watching me aloof<br /> +(Yes, now none of the women will walk with me),<br /> +Longing to see me ruined, but she'll do it....<br /> +It is a lonely thing to love a king....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She puts her cheek gradually closer and +closer to <span class="smcap">Lear's</span> 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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +Goldilocks, when the crown is couching in your hair<br /> +And those two mingled golds brighten each other's wonder,<br /> +You shall produce a son from flesh unused—<br /> +Virgin I chose you for that, first crops are strongest—<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>A tawny fox with your high-stepping action,<br /> +With your untiring power and glittering eyes,<br /> +To hold my lands together when I am done,<br /> +To keep my lands from crumbling into mouthfuls<br /> +For the short jaws of my three mewling vixens.<br /> +Hatch for me such a youngster from my seed,<br /> +And I and he shall rein my hot-breathed wenches<br /> +To let you grind the edges off their teeth.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span>, <i>shaking her head sadly.</i><br /> +Life holds no more than this for me; this is my hour.<br /> +When she is dead I know you'll buy another Queen—<br /> +Giving a county for her, gaining a duchy with her—<br /> +And put me to wet nursing, leashing me with the thralls.<br /> +It will not be unbearable—I've had your love.<br /> +Master and friend, grant then this hour to me:<br /> +Never again, maybe, can we two sit<br /> +At love together, unwatched, unknown of all,<br /> +In the Queen's chamber, near the Queen's crown<br /> +And with no conscious Queen to hold it from us:<br /> +Now let me wear the Queen's true crown on me<br /> +And snatch a breathless knowledge of the feeling<br /> +Of what it would have been to sit by you<br /> +Always and closely, equal and exalted,<br /> +To be my light when life is dark again.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +Girl, by the black stone god, I did not think<br /> +You had the nature of a chambermaid,<br /> +Who pries and fumbles in her lady's clothes<br /> +With her red hands, or on her soily neck<br /> +Stealthily hangs her lady's jewels or pearls.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>You shall be tiring-maid to the next queen<br /> +And try her crown on every day o' your life<br /> +In secrecy, if that is your desire:<br /> +If you would be a queen, cleanse yourself quickly<br /> +Of menial fingering and servile thought.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span><br /> +You need not crown me. Let me put it on<br /> +As briefly as a gleam of Winter sun.<br /> +I will not even warm it with my hair.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +You cannot have the nature of a queen<br /> +If you believe that there are things above you:<br /> +Crowns make no queens, queens are the cause of crowns.<br /> +<br /> +Gormflaith, <i>slipping from his knee.</i><br /> +Then I will take one. Look.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She tip-toes lightly round the front of the +bed to where the crown hangs on the +wall.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +Come here, mad thing—come back!<br /> +Your shadow will wake the Queen.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span><br /> +Hush, hush! That angry voice<br /> +Will surely wake the Queen.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She lifts the crown from the peg, and returns +with it.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +Go back; bear back the crown:<br /> +Hang up the crown again.<br /> +We are not helpless serfs<br /> +To think things are forbidden<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>And steal them for our joy.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span><br /> +Hush! Hush! It is too late;<br /> +I dare not go again.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +Put down the crown: your hands are base hands yet.<br /> +Give it to me: it issues from my hands.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Gormflaith,</span> seating herself on his knee again, +and crowning herself.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Let anger keep your eyes steady and bright<br /> +To be my guiding mirror: do not move.<br /> +You have received two queens within your eyes.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She laughs clearly, like a bird's sudden +song. <span class="smcap">Hygd</span> 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 +<span class="smcap">Lear</span> and <span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span> for a short +time, then the curtain slips from her +weak grasp and she lies motionless.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Lear</span>, <i>continuing meanwhile.</i><br /> +Doff it. (<i><span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span> kisses him.</i>) Enough. (<i>Kiss</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Unless you do (<i>Kiss</i>) my will (<i>Kiss</i>)</span><br /> +I shall (<i>Kiss</i>) I shall (<i>Kiss</i>) I'll have you (<i>Kiss</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">sent (<i>Kiss</i>) to (<i>Kiss</i>)——</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hush.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>Come to the garden: you shall hear me there.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span><br /> +I dare not leave the Queen.... Yes, yes, I come.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +No, you are better here: the guard would see you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span><br /> +Not when we reach the pathway near the apple-yard.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><i>They rise.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +Girl, you are changed: you yield more beauty so.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>They go out hand in hand by the doorway +at the back. As they pass the +crumpled letter <span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span> drops +her handkerchief on it, then picks up +handkerchief and letter together and +thrusts them into her bosom as she +passes out.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hygd</span>, <i>fingering back the bed-curtain again.</i><br /> +How have they vanished? What are they doing now?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span>, <i>outside, singing to a quick, chattering tune.</i><br /> +If you have a mind to kiss me<br /> +You shall kiss me in the dark:<br /> +Yet rehearse, or you might miss me—<br /> +Make my mouth your noontide mark....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Gormflaith's</span> voice grows fainter as the +song progresses, until all sound is +lost.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hygd.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>Does he remember love-ways used with me?<br /> +Shall I never know? Is it too near?<br /> +I'll watch him at his wooing once again,<br /> +Though I peer up at him across my grave-sill.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Limbs, will you die? It is not yet the time.<br /> +I know more discipline: I'll make you go.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She fumbles along the bed to the head, +then, clinging against the wall, +drags herself toward the back of the +room.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +It is too far. I cannot see the wall.<br /> +I will go ten more steps: only ten more.<br /> +One. Two. Three. Four. Five.<br /> +Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.<br /> +Sundown is soon to-day: it is cold and dark.<br /> +Now ten steps more, and much will have been done.<br /> +One. Two. Three. Four. Ten.<br /> +Eleven. Twelve. Sixteen. Nineteen. Twenty.<br /> +Twenty-one. Twenty-three. Twenty-eight. Thirty. Thirty-one.<br /> +At last the turn. Thirty-six. Thirty-nine. Forty.<br /> +Now only once again. Two. Three.<br /> +What do the voices say? I hear too many.<br /> +The door: but here there is no garden.... Ah!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Goneril</span> enters by the door beyond the +bed, carrying the filled cup carefully +in both hands.</i></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Where are you? What have you done? Speak to me.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Turning and seeing <span class="smcap">Hygd</span>, she lets the +cup fall and leaps to the open door by +the bed.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Merryn, hither, hither.... Mother, O mother!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She goes to <span class="smcap">Hygd</span>. <span class="smcap">Merryn</span> enters.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Merryn.</span><br /> +Princess, what has she done? Who has left her?<br /> +She must have been alone.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span> <span style="margin-left: 12em;">Where is Gormflaith?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Merryn.</span><br /> +Mercy o' mercies, everybody asks me<br /> +For Gormflaith, then for Gormflaith, then for Gormflaith,<br /> +And I ask everybody else for her;<br /> +But she is nowhere, and the King will foam.<br /> +Send me no more; I am old with running about<br /> +After a bodiless name.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">She has been here,</span><br /> +And she has left the Queen. This is her deed.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Merryn.</span><br /> +Ah, cruel, cruel! The shame, the pity—<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span> <span style="margin-left: 12em;">Lift.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Together they raise <span class="smcap">Hygd</span>, and carry her +to bed.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +She breathes, but something flitters under her flesh:<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>Wynoc the leech must help us now. Go, run,<br /> +Seek him, and come back quickly, and do not dare<br /> +To come without him.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Merryn.</span> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">It is useless, lady:</span><br /> +There's fever at the cowherd's in the marsh,<br /> +And Wynoc broods above it twice a day,<br /> +And I have lately seen him hobble thither.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +I never heard such scornful wickedness<br /> +As that a king's physician so should choose<br /> +To watch and even heal base men and poor—<br /> +And, more than all, when there's a queen a-dying....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd</span>, <i>recovering consciousness.</i><br /> +Whence come you, dearest daughter? What have I done?<br /> +Are you a dream? I thought I was alone.<br /> +Have you been hunting on the Windy Height?<br /> +Your hands are not thus gentle after hunting.<br /> +Or have I heard you singing through my sleep?<br /> +Stay with me now: I have had piercing thoughts<br /> +Of what the ways of life will do to you<br /> +To mould and maim you, and I have a power<br /> +To bring these to expression that I knew not.<br /> +Why do you wear my crown? Why do you wear<br /> +My crown I say? Why do you wear my crown?<br /> +I am falling, falling! Lift me: hold me up.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Goneril</span> climbs on the bed and supports +<span class="smcap">Hygd</span> against her shoulder.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +It is the bed that breaks, for still I sink.<br /> +Grip harder: I am slipping!<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">Woman, help!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Merryn</span> hurries round to the front of the +bed and supports <span class="smcap">Hygd</span> on her other +side.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Hygd</span> points at the far corner of the room.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hygd.</span><br /> +Why is the King's mother standing there?<br /> +She should not wear her crown before me now.<br /> +Send her away, she had a savage mind.<br /> +Will you not hang a shawl across the corner<br /> +So that she cannot stare at me again?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>With a rending sob she buries her face in +<span class="smcap">Goneril's</span> bosom.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Ah, she is coming! Do not let her touch me!<br /> +Brave splendid daughter, how easily you save me:<br /> +But soon will Gormflaith come, she stays for ever.<br /> +O, will she bring my crown to me once more?<br /> +Yes, Gormflaith, yes.... Daughter, pay Gormflaith well.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Gormflaith has left you lonely:<br /> +'Tis Gormflaith who shall pay.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hygd.</span><br /> +No, Gormflaith; Gormflaith.... Not my loneliness....<br /> +Everything.... Pay Gormflaith....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Her head falls back over <span class="smcap">Goneril's</span> +shoulder and she dies.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Goneril</span>, <i>laying <span class="smcap">Hygd</span> down in bed again.</i><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>Send horsemen to the marshes for the leech,<br /> +And let them bind him on a horse's back<br /> +And bring him swiftlier than an old man rides.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Merryn.</span><br /> +This is no leech's work: she 's a dead woman.<br /> +I'd best be finding if the wisdom-women<br /> +Have come from Brita's child-bed to their drinking<br /> +By the cook's fire, for soon she'll be past handling.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +This is not death: death could not be like this.<br /> +She is quite warm—though nothing moves in her.<br /> +I did not know death could come all at once:<br /> +If life is so ill-seated no one is safe.<br /> +Cannot we leave her like herself awhile?<br /> +Wait awhile, Merryn.... No, no, no; not yet!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Merryn.</span><br /> +Child, she is gone and will not come again<br /> +However we cover our faces and pretend<br /> +She will be there if we uncover them.<br /> +I must be hasty, or she'll be as stiff<br /> +As a straw mattress is.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>She hurries out by the door near the bed.</i></span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Goneril</span>, throwing the whole length of her body +along <span class="smcap">Hygd's</span> body, and embracing it.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Come back, come back; the things I have not done<br /> +Beat in upon my brain from every side:<br /> +I know not where to put myself to bear them:<br /> +If I could have you now I could act well.<br /> +My inward life, deeds that you have not known,<br /> +I burn to tell you in a sudden dread<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>That now your ghost discovers them in me.<br /> +Hearken, mother; between us there 's a bond<br /> +Of flesh and essence closer than love can cause:<br /> +It cannot be unknit so soon as this,<br /> +And you must know my touch,<br /> +And you shall yield a sign.<br /> +Feel, feel this urging throb: I call to you. Come back.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span>, still crowned, enters by the +garden doorway.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span><br /> +Come back! Help me and shield me!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>She disappears through the curtains.</i></span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Goneril</span> has sprung to her feet at the first +sound of <span class="smcap">Gormflaith's</span> voice.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Lear</span> enters by the garden doorway, leading +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span> by the hand.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span> <span style="margin-left: 10em;">What is to do?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril</span>, <i>advancing to meet them with a deep obeisance.</i><br /> +O, Sir, the Queen is dead: long live the Queen.<br /> +You have been ready with the coronation.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +What do you mean? Young madam, will you mock?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +But is not she your choice?<br /> +The old Queen thought so, for I found her here,<br /> +Lipping the prints of her supplanter's feet,<br /> +Prostrate in homage, on her face, silent.<br /> +I tremble within to have seen her fallen down.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>I must be pardoned if I scorn your ways:<br /> +You cannot know this feeling that I know,<br /> +You are not of her kin or house; but I<br /> +Share blood with her, and, though she grew too worn<br /> +To be your Queen, she was my mother, Sir.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span><br /> +The Queen has seen me.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">She is safe in bed.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Do not speak low: your voice sounds guilty so;<br /> +And there is no more need—she will not wake.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +She cannot sleep for ever. When she wakes<br /> +I will announce my purpose in the need<br /> +Of Britain for a prince to follow me,<br /> +And tell her that she is to be deposed....<br /> +What have you done? She is not breathing now.<br /> +She breathed here lately. Is she truly dead?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Your graceful consort steals from us too soon:<br /> +Will you not tell her that she should remain—<br /> +If she can trust the faith you keep with a queen?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She steps to <span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span>, who is sidling +toward the garden doorway, and, +taking her hand, leads her to the foot +of the bed.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Lady, why will you go? The King intends<br /> +That you shall soon be royal, and thereby<br /> +Admitted to our breed: then stay with us<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>In this domestic privacy to mourn<br /> +The grief here fallen on our family.<br /> +Kneel now; I yield the eldest daughter's place.<br /> +Why do you fumble in your bosom so?<br /> +Put your cold hands together; close your eyes,<br /> +In inward isolation to assemble<br /> +Your memories of the dead, your prayers for her.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She turns to <span class="smcap">Lear</span>, who has approached +the bed and drawn back the curtain.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +What utterance of doom would the king use<br /> +Upon a watchman in the castle garth<br /> +Who left his gate and let an enemy in?<br /> +The watcher by the Queen thus left her station:<br /> +The sick bruised Queen is dead of that neglect.<br /> +And what should be the doom on a seducer<br /> +Who drew that sentinel from his fixt watch?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +She had long been dying, and she would have died<br /> +Had all her dutiful daughters tended her bed.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Yes, she had long been dying in her heart.<br /> +She lived to see you give her crown away;<br /> +She died to see you fondle a menial:<br /> +These blows you dealt now, but what elder wounds<br /> +Received them to such purpose suddenly?<br /> +What had you caused her to remember most?<br /> +What things would she be like to babble over<br /> +In the wild helpless hour when fitful life<br /> +No more can choose what thoughts it shall encourage<br /> +In the tost mind? She has suffered you twice over,<br /> +Your animal thoughts and hungry powers, this day,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>Until I knew you unkingly and untrue.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +Punishment once taught you daughterly silence;<br /> +It shall be tried again.... What has she said?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +You cannot touch me now I know your nature:<br /> +Your force upon my mind was only terrible<br /> +When I believed you a cruel flawless man.<br /> +Ruler of lands and dreaded judge of men,<br /> +Now you have done a murder with your mind<br /> +Can you see any murderer put to death?<br /> +Can you—<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">What has she said?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Continue in your joy of punishing evil,<br /> +Your passion of just revenge upon wrong-doers,<br /> +Unkingly and untrue?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">Enough: what do you know?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +That which could add a further agony<br /> +To the last agony, the daily poison<br /> +Of her late, withering life; but never word<br /> +Of fairer hours or any lost delight.<br /> +Have you no memory, either, of her youth,<br /> +While she was still to use, spoil, forsake,<br /> +That maims your new contentment with a longing<br /> +For what is gone and will not come again?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +I did not know that she could die to-day.<br /> +She had a bloodless beauty that cheated me:<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>She was not born for wedlock. She shut me out.<br /> +She is no colder now.... I'll hear no more.<br /> +You shall be answered afterward for this.<br /> +Put something over her: get her buried:<br /> +I will not look on her again.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>He breaks from <span class="smcap">Goneril</span> and flings +abruptly out by the door near the bed.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span><br /> +My King, you leave me!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">Soon we follow him:</span><br /> +But, ah, poor fragile beauty, you cannot rise<br /> +While this grave burden weights your drooping head.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Laying her hand caressingly on <span class="smcap">Gormflaith's</span> +neck, she <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'gradully'">gradually</ins> forces +her head farther and farther down.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +You were not nurtured to sustain a crown,<br /> +Your unanointed parents could not breed<br /> +The spirit that ten hundred years must ripen.<br /> +Lo, how you sink and fail.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span> <span style="margin-left: 5em;">You had best take care,</span><br /> +For where my neck has bruises yours shall have wounds.<br /> +The King knows of your wolfish snapping at me:<br /> +He will protect me.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">Ay, if he is in time.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Gormflaith,</span> taking off the crown and holding it +up blindly toward <span class="smcap">Goneril</span> with one hand.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Take it and let me go!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">Nay, not to me:</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>You are the Queen's, to serve her even in death.<br /> +Yield her her own. Approach her: do not fear;<br /> +She will not chide you or forgive you now.<br /> +Go on your knees; the crown still holds you down.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span> stumbles forward on her +knees and lays the crown on the bed, +then crouches motionlessly against the +bedside.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Goneril,</span> taking the crown and putting it on the +dead Queen's head.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Mother and Queen, to you this holiest circlet<br /> +Returns, by you renews its purpose and pride;<br /> +Though it is sullied with a menial warmth,<br /> +Your august coldness shall rehallow it,<br /> +And when the young lewd blood that lent it heat<br /> +Is also cooler we can well forget.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She steps to <span class="smcap">Gormflaith.</span></i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Rise. Come, for here there is no more to do,<br /> +And let us seek your chamber, if you will,<br /> +There to confer in greater privacy;<br /> +For we have now interment to prepare.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She leads <span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span> to the door near +the bed.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +You must walk first, you are still the Queen elect.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>When <span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span> has passed before her +<span class="smcap">Goneril</span> unsheathes her hunting +knife.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Gormflaith,</span> <i>turning in the doorway.</i><br /> +What will you do?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril,</span> <i>thrusting her forward with the haft of the knife.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">On. On. On. Go in.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She follows <span class="smcap">Gormflaith</span> out.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>After a moments interval two elderly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Younger Woman.</span><br /> +We were listening. We were listening.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Elder Woman.</span> <span style="margin-left: 6em;"> We were both listening.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Younger Woman.</span><br /> +Did she struggle?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Elder Woman.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">She could not struggle long.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>They set down the cauldron at the foot of +the bed.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Elder Woman,</span> <i>curtseying to the Queen's body.</i><br /> +Saving your presence, Madam, we are come<br /> +To make you sweeter than you'll be hereafter,<br /> +And then be done with you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Younger Woman,</span> <i>curtseying in turn.</i><br /> +Three days together, my Lady, y'have had me ducked<br /> +For easing a foolish maid at the wrong time;<br /> +But now your breath is stopped and you are colder,<br /> +And you shall be as wet as a drowned cat<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>Ere I have done with you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Elder Woman,</span> <i>fumbling in the folds of the robe that hangs on the wall.</i><br /> +Her pocket is empty; Merryn has been here first.<br /> +Hearken, and then begin:<br /> +You have not touched a royal corpse before,<br /> +But I have stretched a king and an old queen,<br /> +A king's aunt and a king's brother too,<br /> +Without much boasting of a still-born princess;<br /> +So that I know, as a priest knows his prayers,<br /> +All that is written in the chamberlain's book<br /> +About the handling of exalted corpses,<br /> +Stripping them and trussing them for the grave:<br /> +And there it says that the chief corpse-washer<br /> +Shall take for her own use by sacred right<br /> +The coverlid, the upper sheet, the mattress<br /> +Of any bed in which a queen has died,<br /> +And the last robe of state the body wore;<br /> +While humbler helpers may divide among them<br /> +The under sheet, the pillow, and the bed-gown<br /> +Stript from the cooling queen.<br /> +Be thankful, then, and praise me every day<br /> +That I have brought no other women with me<br /> +To spoil you of your share.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Younger Woman.</span><br /> +Ah, you have always been a friend to me:<br /> +Many's the time I have said I did not know<br /> +How I could even have lived but for your kindness.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The <span class="smcap">Elder Woman</span> draws down the bedclothes +from the Queen's body, loosens +them from the bed, and throws them +on the floor.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Elder Woman.</span><br /> +Pull her feet straight: is your mind wandering?<br /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She commences to fold the bedclothes, +singing as she moves about.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A louse crept out of my lady's shift—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ahumm, Ahumm, Ahee—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Crying "Oi! Oi! We are turned adrift;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The lady's bosom is cold and stiffed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And her arm-pit's cold for me."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>While the <span class="smcap">Elder Woman</span> sings, the +<span class="smcap">Younger Woman</span> 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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Elder Woman,</span> <i>running to the vacant side of the bed.</i><br /> +What have you there? Give it to me.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Younger Woman.</span> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">It is mine:</span><br /> +I found it.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Elder Woman,</span> <i>seizing the jewel.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Leave it.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Younger Woman.</span> Let go.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Elder Woman.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Leave it, I say.</span><br /> +Will you not? Will you not? An eye for a jewel, then!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She attacks the face of the <span class="smcap">Younger +Woman</span> with her disengaged hand.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Younger Woman,</span> <i>starting back.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">Oh!</span><br /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The <span class="smcap">Elder Woman</span> breaks the cord and +thrusts the jewel into her pocket.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Younger Woman.</span><br /> +Aie! Aie! Aie! Old thief! You are always thieving!<br /> +You stole a necklace on your wedding-day:<br /> +You could not bear a child, you stole your daughter:<br /> +You stole a shroud the morn your husband died:<br /> +Last week you stole the Princess Regan's comb....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She stumbles into the chair by the bed, and, +throwing her loose sleeves over her +head, rocks herself and moans.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Elder Woman,</span> <i>resuming her clothes-folding and her song.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"The lady's linen's no longer neat;"—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ahumm, Ahumm, Ahee—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Her savour is neither warm nor sweet;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It's close for two in a winding-sheet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And lice are too good for worms to eat;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So here's no place for me."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Goneril</span> enters by the door near the bed: +her knife and the hand that holds it +are bloody. She pauses a moment irresolutely.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Elder Woman.</span><br /> +Still work for old Hrogneda, little Princess?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Goneril</span> 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.</i></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Goneril,</span> <i>speaking to herself.</i><br /> +The way is easy: and it is to be used.<br /> +How could this need have been conceived slowly?<br /> +In a keen mind it should have leapt and burnt:<br /> +What I have done would have been better done<br /> +When my sad mother lived and could feel joy.<br /> +This striking without thought is better than hunting;<br /> +She showed more terror than an animal,<br /> +She was more shiftless....<br /> +A little blood is lightly washed away,<br /> +A common stain that need not be remembered;<br /> +And a hot spasm of rightness quickly born<br /> +Can guide me to kill justly and shall guide.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Lear</span> enters by the door near the bed.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +Goneril, Gormflaith, Gormflaith.... Have you seen Gormflaith?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +I led her to her chamber lately, Sir.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +Ay, she is in her chamber. She is there.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Have you been there already? Could you not wait?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +Daughter, she is bleeding: she is slain.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril,</span> <i>rising from the cauldron with dripping hands.</i><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>Yes, she is slain: I did it with a knife:<br /> +And in this water is dissolved her blood,<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>(Raising her arms and sprinkling the +Queen's body)</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +That now I scatter on the Queen of death<br /> +For signal to her spirit that I can slake<br /> +Her long corrosion of misery with such balm—<br /> +Blood for weeping, terror for woe, death for death,<br /> +A broken body for a broken heart.<br /> +What will you say against me and my deed?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +That now you cannot save yourself from me.<br /> +While your blind virgin power still stood apart<br /> +In an unused, unviolated life,<br /> +You judged me in my weakness, and because<br /> +I felt you unflawed I could not answer you;<br /> +But you have mingled in mortality<br /> +And violently begun the common life<br /> +By fault against your fellows; and the state,<br /> +The state of Britain that inheres in me<br /> +Not touched by my humanity or sin,<br /> +Passions or privy acts, shall be as hard<br /> +And savage to you as to a murderess.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril,</span> <i>taking a letter from her girdle.</i><br /> +I found a warrant in her favoured bosom, King:<br /> +She wore this on her heart when you were crowning her.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear,</span> <i>opening the letter.</i><br /> +But this is not my hand:<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>(Looking about him on the floor)</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Where is the other letter?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>Is there another letter? What should it say?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +There is no other letter if you have none.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>(Reading)</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +"Open your window when the moon is dead,<br /> +And I will come again.<br /> +The men say everywhere that you are faithless....<br /> +And your eyes shifty eyes. Ah, but I love you, Gormflaith...."<br /> +This is not hers: she'd not receive such words.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +Her name stands twice therein: her perfume fills it:<br /> +My knife went through it ere I found it on her.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +The filth is suitably dead. You are my true daughter.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goneril.</span><br /> +I do not understand how men can govern,<br /> +Use craft and exercise the duty of cunning,<br /> +Anticipate treason, treachery meet with treachery,<br /> +And yet believe a woman because she looks<br /> +Straight in their eyes with mournful, trustful gaze,<br /> +And lisps like innocence, all gentleness.<br /> +Your Gormflaith could not answer a woman's eyes.<br /> +I did not need to read her in a letter;<br /> +I am not woman yet, but I can feel<br /> +What untruths are instinctive in my kind,<br /> +And how some men desire deceit from us.<br /> +Come; let these washers do what they must do:<br /> +Or shall your Queen be wrapped and coffined awry?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She goes out by the garden doorway.</i></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Lear.</span><br /> +I thought she had been broken long ago:<br /> +She must be wedded and broken, I cannot do it.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>He follows <span class="smcap">Goneril</span> out.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The two women return to the bedside.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Elder Woman.</span><br /> +Poor, masterful King, he is no easier,<br /> +Although his tearful wife is gone at last:<br /> +A wilful girl shall prick and thwart him now.<br /> +Old gossip, we must hasten; the Queen is setting.<br /> +Lend me a pair of pennies to weight her eyes.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Younger Woman.</span><br /> +Find your own pennies: then you can steal them safely.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Elder Woman.</span><br /> +Praise you the gods of Britain, as I do praise them,<br /> +That I have been sweet-natured from my birth,<br /> +And that I lack your unforgiving mind.<br /> +Friend of the worms, help me to lift her clear<br /> +And draw away the under sheet for you;<br /> +Then go and spread the shroud by the hall fire—<br /> +I never could put damp linen on a corpse.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She sings.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The louse made off unhappy and wet;—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ahumm, Ahumm, Ahee—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He's looking for us, the little pet;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So haste, for her chin's to tie up yet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And let us be gone with what we can get—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her ring for thee, her gown for Bet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her pocket turned out for me.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><br /><span class="smcap">Curtain.</span></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE CRIER BY NIGHT</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'> +<i>TO<br /> +MY DEAR SCRIBE</i><br /></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'>PERSONS:</div> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Cast"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Hialti</span>, a Northman.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span>, His Wife.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Blanid</span>, an Irish Bondmaid.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">An Old Strange Man.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE CRIER BY NIGHT</h2> + + +<div class='hang1'><i>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 <span class="smcap">Hialti</span> is sitting mending +harness. <span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span> is standing near the +loom, spinning with a distaff.</i><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +<div class='cap'>THE lass is late about; where is she now?<br /></div> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>Let the lass be. What is the lass to you?<br /> +She is my lass to handle as I will—<br /> +My father gave her to me for my own,<br /> +And so I use her as I use my gear....<br /> +"She will not last" say you? Well, what of that?<br /> +I know gear must wear out, being well used;<br /> +Shoes must be trodden under-foot all day,<br /> +Though in the mire they go and to the mire;<br /> +The hearth-fire wastes the irons used to tend it:<br /> +I am the huswife—leave the house to me<br /> +And buy me new gear when the old is rotten.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +You drive her over hard. In the cold dark,<br /> +Hours ere the thin late dawn, she was afoot,<br /> +And she has been afoot each moment since:<br /> +The butter will not come now without fire,<br /> +But I was wakened in the frosty night<br /> +By the slow moaning of her weary churn,<br /> +And when I rose she stood here without shoes—<br /> +She said you took them from her; so I sought,<br /> +And gave her them again, and lit the fire.<br /> +She dare not sleep with half your tasks undone,<br /> +But you slept and your sleep was all her rest;<br /> +Yet in her land 'tis you would be the thrall.<br /> +You shut the hens in from the storm all day,<br /> +But she must trudge with peat-mull in a swill<br /> +Up from the water-side and down all day....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span><br /> +Spare her and have my firing spoilt? Not I.<br /> +Had it been sodden, how could you light her fires?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>You drive her over hard.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">What is it to you?</span><br /> +Fodder and yoke your neats, see to your swine,<br /> +Put them to breed, and leave my stock to me.<br /> +If this is over hard, what will it be—<br /> +Last week she still could smile sometimes, so yet<br /> +She smiles too often for my happiness.<br /> +What money did the calves fetch at the fair?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +Where is she now?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">What money did the calves</span><br /> +Fetch at the fair last week?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span> <span style="margin-left: 7em;">Where is she now?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span><br /> +I spilt the water; she must needs draw more.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +The roof-drip at the door would fill her pails.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span><br /> +What money did the calves fetch at the fair?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +You need not ask; you had it all to hoard.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span><br /> +You kept some back; who bought them?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span> He who paid.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The outside door opens and, as the rain +drives in, <span class="smcap">Blanid</span> enters carrying two +pails of water by a yoke. Her short-sleeved,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +The bird in my heart's a-calling through a far-fled, tear-grey sea<br /> +To the soft slow hills that cherish dim waters weary for me,<br /> +Where the folk of rath and dun trail homeward silently<br /> +In the mist of the early night-fall that drips from their hair like rain.<br /> +<br /> +The bird in my heart's a-flutter, for the bitter wind of the sea<br /> +Shivers with thyme and woodbine as my body with memory;<br /> +I feel their perfumes ooze in my ears like melody—<br /> +The scent of the mead at the harping I shall not hear again.<br /> +<br /> +The bird in my heart's a-sinking to a hushed vale hid in the sea,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>Where the moonlit dew o'er dead fighters is stirred by the feet of the Shee,<br /> +Who are lovely and old as the earth but younger than I can be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who have known the forgetting of dying to a life one lonely pain ...</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She returns from the outhouse.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span><br /> +Come here; give me your shoes; quickly, I say.<br /> +Why must you go shod softly? Give me your shoes.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She takes them and puts them on the fire.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Is there some joy so deep within you still<br /> +That I have missed it though 'tis bright for singing?<br /> +It shall not be so long; sing while you can.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +No joy ever sank deep enough for singing;<br /> +Trouble and all the sorrowful ways of men<br /> +Must stir the sad unrest that ends in song.<br /> +Joy seeks but peace and silence and still thought;<br /> +But those who cannot weep must sing for ease,<br /> +And in the sound forget the thought that smote it.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span><br /> +I am made glad, hearing your misery;<br /> +Yet all the shapeless, creeping, shivering sounds<br /> +You wail about the house will make me share it.<br /> +Your songs of faëry and nameless kings<br /> +And things that never happened long ago<br /> +And an unknown, impossible, shadowy land<br /> +Are useless as the starlight after moonset<br /> +That will not light men homeward from the fair—<br /> +Nay, useless as its melting down thin water:<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>If you must sing, sing truth to gut-strong tunes<br /> +Of Gunnar or of Freya or Andvari,<br /> +Vineland the Good and the old Western sea.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +Things need not happen that they may be true;<br /> +Although impossible, they may be true—<br /> +The things that matter happen in the heart.<br /> +All earthly truth is true but for a time,<br /> +Whilst ages may be altered by one dream—<br /> +The things that matter happen in the heart ...<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span><br /> +Useless as starlight or the aimless wind.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +The wind is all the souls of those sad dead<br /> +Who will not stay in Heaven for love of earth;<br /> +Hither and thither they surge to find the gate<br /> +They see and know not on its new, strange side,<br /> +For they have learned too much to be let back.<br /> +Ah, some have learned too much before they die.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>As she crosses the house at the back +<span class="smcap">Hialti</span> turns and, catching her hands +in his, draws her toward him.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +Is it too hard, the thought of that lost vale?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +It is too hard, because I must so love it<br /> +That were I free I should go there no more,<br /> +Lest I should hate it. I must always suffer,<br /> +I only suffer this way rather than that—<br /> +'Tis the eternal suffering of love<br /> +Must search me somehow with love's pitilessness<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>To make me know all souls; what matter how?<br /> +O, I am but a troubled dream of God's,<br /> +And even His will can alter not His dreams;<br /> +Yea, He is dreaming me a little while—<br /> +I must be dreamed out to the hardest end,<br /> +Returning then to be unknown in Him;<br /> +I shall be Him again when He awakes.<br /> +Ah, God, awake, and so forget me soon.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Thorgerd,</span> swinging her aside by the collar on +her neck.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Set on the water for the porridge; go.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Blanid</span> goes into the outhouse; <span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span> +continues to <span class="smcap">Hialti</span>.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Why must you hold her hands and hold her eyes?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +Under each dark grey lash a long tear slid,<br /> +Like rain in a wild rose's shadowy curve<br /> +Bowed in the wind about the morning twilight.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span><br /> +Have done; I know; you left the fair at noon<br /> +To reach the copse just at the young moon's setting—<br /> +I could not find her till i' the night-hid copse<br /> +A woman's voice sobbed "If he would but come..."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +It is not true; you know it is not true.<br /> +Let her alone; you know that I must love you,<br /> +And if she loves me she will know it too<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>And hurt herself far more than you can hurt her.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span><br /> +I hear you say it: and afterward?... Perhaps<br /> +My little shears are sharp as any knife.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +You would not kill her?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span> When have I grown kind-hearted?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She lays her hand on his shoulder and, +leaning her mouth to his ear, speaks +in a low, distinct voice.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Slit nose and lip and where's her beauty then?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>He starts from his stool.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Nay, are my kinsfolk as far off as hers?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>He turns away as <span class="smcap">Blanid</span> 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.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span> takes the pot from the fire.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Here's too much water; it will never boil,<br /> +And if it did the mess would be too thin.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She pours water from the pot upon the +floor, then hangs the pot over the fire +again.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Set out the bowls, and finger not their lips.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Blanid</span> goes again to the outhouse, and, +returning, sets three bowls with spoons +on the table, and a jar of meal by the +hearth.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Though porridge needs meal you shall not think for me;<br /> +Do nought until I bid you—once. The grain.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Blanid</span> goes yet again to the outhouse +and returns with a bag of grain.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +You know what grain is for; why do you stand?<br /> +Your feet are mine. Down to the quern. Get down.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +There's meal in plenty for to-morrow.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd,</span> <i>laying down her distaff to make porridge.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 19em;">Ay,</span><br /> +But is there meal in plenty for next month?<br /> +You may be dead then; therefore you must toil,<br /> +That I may need to do no aching tasks<br /> +Until my man can buy another drudge<br /> +From the next herd; for so we shall forget you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid,</span> <i>kneeling by the quern between the window and the door, and commencing to grind grain.</i><br /> +You hate me far too subtly to forget me;<br /> +There is not enough kindness in your heart<br /> +To let you thus forego your joy of hate.<br /> +Then, too, despite the accident of death,<br /> +I cannot go from here against my will.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span><br /> +You shall not die ere I have done with you;<br /> +And death shall only come by suffering<br /> +Until you are too feeble even to suffer.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +The sound of death is ever in mine ears,<br /> +Monotonous as the night's infinity<br /> +Wherein I was once born where salt winds sweep<br /> +The wailing of the waters of the West.<br /> +I die, but you can ne'er have done with me.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd,</span> <i>the porridge being made.</i><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>Come, drudge, lift off the pot and fill the bowls.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid,</span> <i>having filled two bowls.</i><br /> +The pot is empty.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">But the bowls are full.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +Now give the lass some supper; fill her bowl.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd,</span> <i>pouring milk over the porridge.</i><br /> +There's but enough for two; I'll make no more.<br /> +Here, take the pot and scrape it at the quern.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Hialti</span> and <span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span> draw stools to the +table; <span class="smcap">Blanid</span> carries the pot to the +outhouse and returns to the quern; +supper proceeds in silence for a few +moments, then <span class="smcap">Hialti</span> rises and +offers his bowl to <span class="smcap">Blanid.</span></i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +Share with me, lass; I need no more to-night.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Before <span class="smcap">Blanid</span> can taste the porridge +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span> strikes the bowl from her +hand.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hialti,</span> <i>indignantly, as he reaches to <span class="smcap">Thorgerd's</span> bowl.</i><br /> +She shall have yours; go you and make us more ...<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>He is interrupted by a distant wailing +which is heard through the storm.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Voice.</span><br /> +Ohey! Ohey! Ohohey!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>Master, I hear one calling in the night.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti,</span> <i>in a subdued voice.</i><br /> +It is the wind across the chimney-slates.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Voice.</span><br /> +Ohey! Ohohey!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +Master, a man is calling in the night.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +An owl, storm-beaten, drowns down the long mere.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Voice,</span> <i>sounding nearer on a gust of wind.</i><br /> +Ohohey! Ohohey!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +Master, one lost is helpless in the night.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd,</span> <i>gently and with an eager smile.</i><br /> +Ay, lass, good lass; go, lass, and seek for him—<br /> +Maybe he sinks amid the marshy reeds;<br /> +Bring him to warmth and supper and a bed.<br /> +I'll shut the door; the light will only daze you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti,</span> <i>leaping to the door in front of <span class="smcap">Blanid,</span> and setting his back to it.</i><br /> +No, no; back, girl, get back. (<i>To <span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span></i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You murderess,</span><br /> +You know it is the Crier of the Ford,<br /> +Who wakens when the clashing waters rise<br /> +And the thick night is choked with level rain.<br /> +He is not seen; he was not born; he gathers<br /> +His bodiless being from the treacherous tarn.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>His aged crying gropes about the storm<br /> +To snare the spent wayfarer to the ford,<br /> +Or draw some pitiful helper to the ford,<br /> +And drown them where the unknown water swirls<br /> +And strangle them with long brown water-weed:<br /> +He seeks their souls for his old soul to feed on,<br /> +Because it has no body to nourish it.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd,</span> <i>hastily yet sullenly.</i><br /> +How should I know?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She grips <span class="smcap">Blanid's</span> shoulder and hurries +her to the outhouse.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 10.5em;">Get in with you to your straw.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She thrusts her into the outhouse and shuts +the door upon her; then she turns to +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span></i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Fool, now I know you love her behind your heart.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +I have no mind to waste a half-spent thrall<br /> +To prove I love you; and to buy another<br /> +Would need more money than eight red-polled stirks.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span><br /> +Choose between her and me; if you take her,<br /> +I take the land.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">I love you overmuch</span><br /> +To set you equally against a thrall.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span><br /> +What, do I touch you when I touch your fields?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +To-morrow I must drive the sold ewes home<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>And lead more bedding from the bracken-fell<br /> +If the storm clears—it is well stacked and dry;<br /> +So we must be a-stirring by lantern-light,<br /> +Since now you will not have the lass go with me<br /> +To milk, but go yourself although three cows<br /> +Will not let down their milk to you at all,<br /> +You drag their teats so: waking-time comes soon—<br /> +Best get to bed.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And leave you to go to your straw's wench?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti</span>, <i>taking a rushlight in his hand.</i><br /> +Here are enough of your unfaithful words;<br /> +I'll alter this to-morrow.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ay, to-morrow.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Hialti</span> enters the sleeping-chamber; after +watching the door close upon him, +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span>, 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 <span class="smcap">Hialti</span> +into the sleeping-chamber.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Then the outhouse door opens slowly and +from it <span class="smcap">Blanid</span> 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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Blanid</span>, <i>in a hushed voice.</i><br /> +If day were only darkness melting down<br /> +From darkness into darkness like this rain,<br /> +Lost ere 'tis known, then I might always sleep<br /> +And sleep and dream I was a queen once more—<br /> +She does not know I was a jewelled queen,<br /> +For so I spoil her of new heights of joy<br /> +In which she might for haughtiness fondle me.<br /> +O, I would sleep in that old Crier's arms,<br /> +Enduring silence harder than all else,<br /> +A mote shut into one cold, kneaded eyelid<br /> +Of the dead mere; and dream into the wind,<br /> +And cling to stars lest I should slip through space;<br /> +And dream I am the body of him I love,<br /> +Who yields me only kindness, never love—<br /> +O me, that misery of hopeless kindness.<br /> +But I'll not die and leave him to her lips;<br /> +Though I can never have him she shall not;<br /> +For I can use this body worn to a soul<br /> +To barter with that Crier of hidden things<br /> +That, if he tangles him in his chill hair,<br /> +Then I will follow and follow and follow and follow,<br /> +Past where the imaged stars ebb past their light<br /> +And turn to water under the dark world.<br /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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></div> + +<div class='poem'> +I stand in the sick night, whose hid shape is my own shape,<br /> +As dazed life in the flickering hearts of old men;<br /> +I think like a lean heron with bald head and frayed nape<br /> +Motionlessly moulting in a flat pool of a grey fen,<br /> +Whose sleep-blinked horny eyes know it can ne'er moult again.<br /> +<br /> +My age-long cry droops in the hoar unseen stars that shake<br /> +Until their discordant rays make darkness inside the sky;<br /> +My bare cry shivers along the slimy rushes of the drowned lake—<br /> +Weariful waters, do you hear a soul's hair tingling your veiled feet nigh?<br /> +I stand outside my keen body, yearning into you as I cry.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti</span>, <i>within.</i><br /> +Is that the lass sobbing a song in sleep?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span>, <i>within.</i><br /> +The wind, the wind, and so as much as she.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid</span>, <i>still out of doors, singing.</i><br /> +Old father of many waters, can you feel my soul touching yours?<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>I know that to greet your calling leaves me no more any yea or nay;<br /> +Yet I too am of kin with lost woods and sedgy shores,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So come secret as your black wind and take the dark core of my heart away,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere you beget me on death to be still-born to an unlit day.</span><br /> +Ohey! Ohey! Ohohey!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Voice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ohohey! Ohey!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti</span>, <i>within.</i><br /> +Is there a woman's voice inside the wind?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span>, <i>within.</i><br /> +... the unclean Crier croaking ... cover your ears ...<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Blanid</span> 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.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Again and again a terrible blast of wind +strains at the unyielding door.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Voice</span>, <i>close at hand.</i><br /> +Open, open; I cannot open; open.<br /> +I cannot come to you unless you open.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid</span>, <i>muttering behind her hands.</i><br /> +I will not go ... I can do nothing else ...<br /> +It shall not enter ... O, it is in my heart ...<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She totters fearfully to the door, after many +hesitant backward glances, and opens<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">This Old Strange Man</span>, <i>speaking always in a low, even, mournful voice.</i><br /> +A spirit calling in an old, old tongue<br /> +Forgotten in lost graves in lonesome places;<br /> +A spirit huddled in an old, old heart<br /> +Like a blind crone crouched o'er a long-dead fire;<br /> +A spirit shrinking in the old, old hills,<br /> +Dreading to step down water or hollow night:<br /> +Some seek me dreaming one last hope of joy;<br /> +Some have been made too wise by too much joy<br /> +And seek me longing for deeper misery,<br /> +Knowing that joy is weary in unending,<br /> +Changeless and one and easy in low perfection,<br /> +While misery has as many shapes as evil<br /> +That all must learn, and is made new for ever<br /> +By fear of pain desired for love of passion;<br /> +But feel, O you who call me through the night,<br /> +I bring you neither joy nor misery<br /> +But only rest so slow and sad and sodden<br /> +You will not know of it—you shall only rest<br /> +And lose your soul in my soul evermore.<br /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Sounds of heavy breathing are heard from +the sleeping-chamber during his speaking. +He is continually reaching to +<span class="smcap">Blanid</span> with his muffled, unseen +hands, but she holds them from her as +continually.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Blanid</span>, <i>always in an eager, suppressed voice.</i><br /> +I have known joy—I know not what it was,<br /> +Mead-fumes that filled me cooling to one drop;<br /> +I have known misery—a self-numbed sting<br /> +That showed me but another joy to lose;<br /> +These were too small, I will have only rest,<br /> +And lose my soul in your soul evermore.<br /> +But if I die into your drooping limbs<br /> +I must be mingled there with him I love;<br /> +You may not reach him by your hoary crying,<br /> +But raise some human wail for help and light<br /> +And he will come and I must follow him<br /> +Past where the imaged moon shakes like a soul<br /> +Pausing in death between two unknown worlds.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Old Man.</span><br /> +A sign, a plighting, and I do your will.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid</span>, <i>winding her arms about his arms from one side, so that he cannot touch her, and burying her face in his hood.</i><br /> +Kisses. 'Hast drained my soul's blood in each kiss.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Old Man.</span><br /> +I go, I go; make me not come again,<br /> +For I am in you, you must melt to me<br /> +Past where the imaged dark shuts bending lovers'<br /> +Close, unseen-imaged faces within life....<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Keeping his face turned toward <span class="smcap">Blanid</span>, +he recedes to the door, where he ceases +to be seen in the wind that scurries +past.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Voice</span>, <i>immediately and far away.</i><br /> +Help; help; the marsh-lights 'wilder us! A light!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Blanid</span> 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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +Nay, but I touch toward my joy at last,<br /> +And Christ and all His Saints go out like candles<br /> +When mass is said and the priest's cup is wiped....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Voice.</span><br /> +The water laps our waists! Help, help! A light!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid</span>, <i>running to the sleeping-chamber door.</i><br /> +Master, I hear a calling....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>After an interval she strikes the door, crying loudly.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Master! Master!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti,</span> <i>within.</i><br /> +Has the flood washed into the shippon?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span> Nay;<br /> +There is a pitiful shrieking in the dark.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti,</span> <i>within.</i><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>It is the Crier; break sleep no more for that.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span>, <i>within.</i><br /> +The ox-goad shall reward you when dawn comes ...<br /> +Wake us once more and you shall waken often,<br /> +Ay, very often, until you dread to sleep ...<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +I heard that trailing cry like maddened fir-boughs;<br /> +Now I hear words—is there a woman's wail?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span>, <i>within.</i><br /> +A woman? Let her drown.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti</span>, <i>within.</i> I come. I come.<br /> +Reach down the lantern and light it, light it, light it.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Standing on a stool, <span class="smcap">Blanid</span> 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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span>, <i>within.</i><br /> +You shall not go; it is a lie of hers;<br /> +You shall not go ...<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A brief struggle in the sleeping-chamber is heard.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hialti</span>, <i>within.</i> So; stand you from the door.<br /> +Get donned; make up the fire; have water boiling;<br /> +And send the wench to lie in your warm form<br /> +Ready to cherish what stiffening thing I bring.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid</span>, <i>to herself, lighting the lantern and smiling mischievously.</i><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>Yea, I shall cherish a stiffening thing for her.<br /> +Lantern, you are as dim as a little soul,<br /> +Yet the least soul can light a man to Heaven,<br /> +And you might lead him home; but I am like God,<br /> +Who makes souls from His aches—I will not ache,<br /> +You shall not have a soul, I suck it back.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She extinguishes the light. <span class="smcap">Hialti</span> hurries +in half-dressed.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +Canst find a rope?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid</span>, <i>pointing.</i> Behind the settle there.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;"><i>To herself.</i></span><br /> +'Tis a good rope and has two rotten strands;<br /> +'Twas meant to make good tinder on the morrow.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Voice.</span><br /> +Help; help! A light! Come for the woman's sake!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti</span>, <i>holding out his hand for the lantern.</i><br /> +Hearken and haste; give me the lantern—now!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +Master, it will not light....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span> <span style="margin-left: 7em;">Will the storm pause?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Voice.</span><br /> +Ohohey! Ohohey!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti.</span><br /> +Will that dark Crier linger? I must go.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Blanid</span>, <i>relighting the lantern and starting up.</i><br /> +Master, Master, the light!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Pausing and sending the lantern crashing +on the hearth with both hands.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 13.5em;">He shall not have it!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +I feel as if my long, long hands could reach<br /> +Down to the water's heart to pluck him from it.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Voice.</span><br /> +Will no one ever come?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hialti,</span> <i>out of doors.</i> I come; I am nigh.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +Ay, he is nigh; but soon he will be far.<br /> +I dare not thus fall through the world for him.<br /> +O, I shall hear him ... do not let me hear him ...<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hialti,</span> <i>far off, shouting ever more madly.</i><br /> +Thorgerd, Thorgerd ... your hands ... the world slips past me ...<br /> +Save ... under ... under ... under ...<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Aa-h ...</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The shouting ceases suddenly at its height.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Blanid,</span> <i>muffled and choking.</i><br /> +Her name ... her name ... why did he not think my name? ...<br /> +But she has lost him, and I kissed his hand ...<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd,</span> <i>rushing from the sleeping-chamber in her night-gear.</i><br /> +Where is the wench?... Make haste—another light:<br /> +I heard him dying. O, this prater's breath<br /> +Will blow his life out ... Kindle a light and come ...<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Voice.</span><br /> +Ohey! Ohohey! Ohey!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +Nay! Nay! Nay! I dare not, I dare not ...<br /> +That Crier will drown me too ...<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span> <span style="margin-left: 7em;">That is nought to me;</span><br /> +Get to your feet ... What, shall I seek a way<br /> +To supple you?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">O, do not hurt me again ...</span><br /> +He dies ... it is my deed ... I dare not come ...<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd.</span><br /> +You are too mean to stir his life one thought;<br /> +It was the Crafty Crier—I heard that wail ...<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The fire is now wholly out, so that the +cottage is absolutely dark and nothing +is visible.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Voice</span>, <i>near at hand.</i><br /> +Ohohey! Ohey!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span>, <i>fiercely.</i><br /> +Where are you?... O, the Crier is heaving o'er ...<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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. <span class="smcap">The +Old Strange Man</span> has entered.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Blanid</span>, <i>being heard to start to her feet.</i><br /> +There is another breathing in the house ...<br /> +He is here ... this darkness is not black enough,<br /> +The darkness at light's core alone could hide me ...<br /> +Grope for my hand—hold fast and take me home ...<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She is heard to sink to the floor again.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Old Strange Man.</span><br /> +Sister of that old race dead in the hills,<br /> +Why will you make me come to you once more?<br /> +You know you must go down a long withdrawing<br /> +To reach the unlit places of your heart,<br /> +Which are the night within my unknown eyes<br /> +Beyond all stars; so let me touch you once.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Blanid</span> is heard to drag her prostrate body +through the rushes toward <span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span>.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>Mistress, I am your thrall; you will keep your own ...<br /> +I clasp your feet, I kiss your clutching feet,<br /> +I lick your feet all over with my tongue,<br /> +I will tell you somewhat that will yield a vengeance<br /> +For you to work; so do not let me go....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Old Man.</span><br /> +I see you, you white terror with shaking flanks,<br /> +Straining to feel me with your hard-shut eyes,<br /> +But now I need you not; not yet; not yet.<br /> +Your man is drowned and this is it who bargained<br /> +Its death for his; will you not give it to me?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span>, <i>laughing.</i><br /> +I am glad he is dead; now I may only love him,<br /> +And know no more that last distress of stooping<br /> +So far from me as this at my feet must be.<br /> +No vengeancing could pay for thoughts of her:<br /> +I will not know that such can be in life,<br /> +So I will neither yield nor succour her.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She speaks no more, nor moves.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Old Man.</span><br /> +Give it to me; it is mine, give it to me;<br /> +I cannot take it while it touches you.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A silence.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Blanid.</span><br /> +I have slain him and I fear to go to him ...<br /> +Put out my eyes, and rope me with the dogs—<br /> +Nay, strangle me to-morrow; but save me now.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Old Man</span>, <i>his voice growing fainter and fainter.</i><br /> +Ah, come, you daughter of an ancient earth,<br /> +Come down among the folk your heart can know,<br /> +You darling of the past, you long-dead queen.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>Your aged soul is strange among these men,<br /> +As strange as it would be in Paradise;<br /> +But once I knew you ere you were begot,<br /> +And in the unchanging silence of my heart<br /> +There waits a star for you to finish it.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A silence.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +You little trembler of a dew-drop dawn,<br /> +You are as old as water that makes new dew;<br /> +And when the dew falls it runs down to peace.<br /> +The end of sorrow is in sorrow's heart<br /> +With those who loved and knew the unknown end<br /> +Of mothering you a thousand years ago.<br /> +Come, then, from her who shapes new pangs for you,<br /> +And rest and rest and rest for evermore.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A silence.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +One day you will awake and call to me;<br /> +And I shall listen for the doubting cry<br /> +Until the stars have worn the sky too thin,<br /> +And I am drowned within the light beyond....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>His voice is lost in the gradual wail of a +gust of wind; then it is heard outside +and afar.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Ohey!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blanid,</span> <i>speaking at longer and longer intervals.</i><br /> +O, you have saved me from such evil things<br /> +As writhed like tangled tree-roots outside space<br /> +Ere God made Himself from them; and for this<br /> +My Virgin shall reach down from God's two knees<br /> +Whereon She sits, and kiss you for Her own.<br /> +My body was yours; now you have saved my soul<br /> +My soul is utterly yours to serve in living,<br /> +To clothe your soul and be your very heart<br /> +In love and soft, unconscious giving of life.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>Mother, I have done evil—punish me;<br /> +Because we loved him, love me and punish me:<br /> +I have sinned, I have parted lovers—be cruel to me<br /> +And cleanse me that I may keep near you two...<br /> +Think in how many ways you can torture me;<br /> +Let me rake up the fire and heat an iron<br /> +For you to have your will upon my body—<br /> +One thigh is yet unseared ... Will you not speak? ...<br /> +I love him, I tell you ... I love him, I love him, I love him ...<br /> +I kissed his hand; do you hear? I kissed his hand—<br /> +Our Hialti's hand ... I'll make you hurt me yet,<br /> +Cold anger is shuddering down your tense thighs;<br /> +Feel, this is your foot upon my upturned face,<br /> +I lift it across my eyes, wide-open eyes—<br /> +Bear down and crush them full of eternal night ...<br /> +Speak to me now ... O, will you never speak?<br /> +You thrust me down into that Crier's bosom;<br /> +For in your heart you make me be unborn<br /> +Within a lonely place you never heard of,<br /> +Yet if I loose your feet he will return<br /> +And I must follow and follow and follow and follow<br /> +Past where my imaged thoughts repeat the world,<br /> +Till shattered waters break the imaged dream ...<br /> +You saved me once; will you undo that greatness?...<br /> +We are the tears that God wipes from His eyes:<br /> +Lone thoughts will thrust me forth—save me from them ...<br /> +Ah, but my lonely love can succour me:<br /> +Think, if I drown, 'tis to my Hialti's arms,<br /> +To cast you from his heart for ever more;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>He will not even know you are forgotten ...<br /> +Sister ... Thorgerd....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span> draws in a long breath so +sharply that it sounds to stab her repeatedly.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Ay, you will hate me as you used to do—<br /> +Will you not hate me as you used to do?<br /> +I was so happy when you still could hate me....<br /> +I fear it, but you make me go.... Speak once....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>After a long silence <span class="smcap">Blanid</span> is heard to +rise and go slowly to the door.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Blanid</span><br /> +Ohey! Ohey!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Voice</span>, <i>outside.</i> Ohohey!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>With a laugh of abandonment <span class="smcap">Blanid</span> is +heard to run into the night; there is +a brief silence; then one far-off, long +shriek is heard from her.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The Voice</span>.<br /> +Ohey! Ohohey!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>In the cottage <span class="smcap">Thorgerd</span> is heard to fall +heavily to the floor.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The curtain descends on silence and darkness.</i></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE RIDING TO LITHEND</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><i>TO EDWARD THOMAS</i></h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +<i>HERE in the North we speak of you,<br /> +And dream (and wish the dream were true)<br /> +That when the evening has grown late<br /> +You will appear outside our gate—<br /> +As though some Gipsy-Scholar yet<br /> +Sought this far place that men forget;<br /> +Or some tall hero still unknown,<br /> +Out of the Mabinogion,<br /> +Were seen at nightfall looking in,<br /> +Passing mysteriously to win<br /> +His earlier earth, his ancient mind,<br /> +Where man was true and life more kind<br /> +Lived with the mountains and the trees<br /> +And other steadfast presences,<br /> +Where large and simple passions gave<br /> +The insight and the peace we crave,<br /> +And he no more had nigh forgot<br /> +The old high battles he had fought.</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>Ah, pause to-night outside our gate<br /> +And enter ere it is too late<br /> +To see the garden's deep on deep<br /> +And talk a little ere we sleep.</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>When you were here a year ago<br /> +I told you of a glorious woe,<br /> +The ancient woe of Gunnar dead<br /> +And its proud train of men long sped,<br /> +Fit brothers to your noble thoughts;<br /> +Then, as their shouts and Gunnar's shouts<br /> +Went down once more undyingly<br /> +And the fierce saga was put by,<br /> +I told you of my old desire<br /> +To light again that bygone fire,<br /> +To body Hallgerd's ruinous<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>Great hair and wrangling mouth for us,<br /> +And hear her voice deny again<br /> +That hair to Gunnar in his pain.</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>Because your heart could understand<br /> +The hopes of their primeval land,<br /> +The hearts of dim heroic forms<br /> +Made clear by tenderness and storms,<br /> +You caught my glow and urged me on;<br /> +So now the tale is once more done<br /> +I turn to you, I bring my play,<br /> +Longing, O friend, to hear you say<br /> +I have not dwarfed those olden things<br /> +Nor tarnisht by my furbishings.</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>I bring my play, I turn to you<br /> +And wish it might to-night be true<br /> +That you would seek this old small house<br /> +Twixt laurel boughs and apple boughs;<br /> +Then I would give it, bravely manned,<br /> +To you, and with my play my hand.</i><br /> +</div> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">30 <span class="smcap">June</span> 1908.</span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><br /><br />I. M.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">2nd Lieut. Philip Edward Thomas</span><br /> + +<br /> +244th Siege Battery, Royal Garrison Artillery;<br /> +killed at a forward observation post in the<br /> +battle of Arras, on Easter Monday,<br /> +April 9th, 1917.<br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'>PERSONS:</div> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Cast"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Gunnar Hamundsson.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Hallgerd Longcoat</span>, his wife.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Rannveig</span>, his mother.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Oddny</span>, <span class="smcap">Astrid</span>, and <span class="smcap">Steinvor</span>, Hallgerd's house-women.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Ormild</span>, a woman thrall.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Biartey</span>, <span class="smcap">Jofrid</span>, and <span class="smcap">Gudfinn</span>, beggar-women.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Gizur The White, Mord Valgardsson, Thorgrim The Easterling, Thorbrand Thorleiksson</span> and <span class="smcap">Asbrand</span> his brother, <span class="smcap">Aunund</span>, <span class="smcap">Thorgeir</span> and <span class="smcap">Hroald</span>, riders.</div></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Many other Riders and voices of Riders</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<div class='center'> +In Iceland, <span class="smcap">a.d.</span> 990.<br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE RIDING TO LITHEND</h2> + + +<div class='hang1'><i>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.</i> + +<p><i>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.</i></p> + +<p><i>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 daïs; behind these and in the gable +wall is a high narrow door with a rounded top.</i></p> + +<p><i>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.</i></p> + +<p><i>Within this nave is the space for the hearths; +but the only hearth visible is the one near the +women's daïs. In the roof above it there is a +louvre: the fire glows and no smoke rises. The +hall is lit everywhere by the firelight.</i></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>The rafters over the women's daïs 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.</i></p> + +<p><i>Near the fire a large shaggy hound is sleeping; +and <span class="smcap">Ormild</span>, in the undyed woollen dress +of a thrall, is combing wool.</i></p> + +<p><i><span class="smcap">Oddny</span> stands spinning at the far side; near +her <span class="smcap">Astrid</span> and <span class="smcap">Steinvor</span> sit stitching a robe +which hangs between them.</i></p></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Astrid.</span><br /> +NIGHT is a Winter long: and evening falls.<br /> +Night, night and Winter and the heavy snow<br /> +Burden our eyes, intrude upon our dreams,<br /> +And make of loneliness an earthly place.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ormild</span>.<br /> +This bragging land of freedom that enthralls me<br /> +Is still the fastness of a secret king<br /> +Who treads the dark like snow, of old king Sleep.<br /> +He works with night, he has stolen death's tool frost<br /> +That makes the breaking wave forget to fall.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Astrid.</span><br /> +Best mind thy comb-pot and forget our king<br /> +Before the Longcoat helps at thy awaking....<br /> +I like not this forsaken quiet house.<br /> +The house-men out at harvest in the Isles<br /> +Never return. Perhaps they went but now,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>Yet I am sore with fearing and expecting<br /> +Because they do not come. They will not come.<br /> +I like not this forsaken quiet house,<br /> +This late last harvest, and night creeping in.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span><br /> +I like not dwelling in an outlaw's house.<br /> +Snow shall be heavier upon some eyes<br /> +Than you can tell of—ay, and unseen earth<br /> +Shall keep that snow from filling those poor eyes.<br /> +This void house is more void by brooding things<br /> +That do not happen than by absent men.<br /> +Sometimes when I awaken in the night<br /> +My throbbing ears are mocking me with rumours<br /> +Of crackling beams, beams falling, and loud flames.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Astrid</span>, <i>pointing to the weapons by the high-seat.</i><br /> +The bill that Gunnar won in a far sea-fight<br /> +Sings inwardly when battle impends; as a harp<br /> +Replies to the wind thus answers it to fierceness,<br /> +So tense its nature is and the spell of its welding;<br /> +Then trust ye well that while the bill is silent<br /> +No danger thickens, for Gunnar dies not singly.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor.</span><br /> +But women are let forth free when men go burning?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span><br /> +Fire is a hurrying thing, and fire by night<br /> +Can see its way better than men see theirs.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Astrid.</span><br /> +The land will not be nobler or more holpen<br /> +If Gunnar burns and we go forth unsinged.<br /> +Why will he break the atonement that was set?<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>That wise old Njal who has the second sight<br /> +Foretold his death if he should slay twice over<br /> +In the same kin or break the atonement set:<br /> +Yet has he done these things and will not care.<br /> +Kolskegg, who kept his back in famous fights,<br /> +Sailed long ago and far away from us<br /> +Because that doom is on him for the slayings;<br /> +Yet Gunnar bides although that doom is on him<br /> +And he is outlawed by defiance of doom.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor.</span><br /> +Gunnar has seen his death: he is spoken for.<br /> +He would not sail because, when he rode down<br /> +Unto the ship, his horse stumbled and threw him,<br /> +His face toward the Lithe and his own fields.<br /> +Olaf the Peacock bade him be with him<br /> +In his new mighty house so carven and bright,<br /> +And leave this house to Rannveig and his sons:<br /> +He said that would be well, yet never goes.<br /> +Is he not thinking death would ride with him?<br /> +Did not Njal offer to send his sons,<br /> +Skarphedin ugly and brave and Hauskuld with him,<br /> +To hold this house with Gunnar, who refused them<br /> +Saying he would not lead young men to death?<br /> +I tell you Gunnar is done.... His fetch is out.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span><br /> +Nay, he's been topmost in so many fights<br /> +That he believes he shall fight on untouched.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor.</span><br /> +He rides to motes and Things before his foes.<br /> +He has sent his sons harvesting in the Isles.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>He takes deliberate heed of death—to meet it,<br /> +Like those whom Odin needs. He is fey, I tell you—<br /> +And if we are past the foolish ardour of girls<br /> +For heroisms and profitless loftiness<br /> +We shall get gone when bedtime clears the house.<br /> +'Tis much to have to be a hero's wife,<br /> +And I shall wonder if Hallgerd cares about it:<br /> +Yet she may kindle to it ere my heart quickens.<br /> +I tell you, women, we have no duty here:<br /> +Let us get gone to-night while there is time,<br /> +And find new harbouring ere the laggard dawn,<br /> +For death is making narrowing passages<br /> +About this hushed and terrifying house.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Rannveig</span>, an old wimpled woman, enters +as if from a door at the unseen end of +the hall.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Astrid</span>.<br /> +He is so great and manly, our master Gunnar,<br /> +There are not many ready to meet his weapons:<br /> +And so there may not be much need of weapons.<br /> +He is so noble and clear, so swift and tender,<br /> +So much of Iceland's fame in foreign places,<br /> +That too many love him, too many honour him<br /> +To let him die, lest the most gleaming glory<br /> +Of our grey country should be there put out.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig</span>.<br /> +My son has enemies, girl, enemies,<br /> +Who will not lose the joy of hurting him.<br /> +This little land is no more than a lair<br /> +That holds too many fiercenesses too straitly,<br /> +And no man will refuse the rapture of killing<br /> +When outlawry has made it cheap and righteous.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>So long as any one perceives he knows<br /> +A bare place for a weapon on my son<br /> +His hand shall twitch to fit a weapon in.<br /> +Indeed he shall lose nothing but his life<br /> +Because a woman is made so evil fair,<br /> +Wasteful and white and proud in harmful acts.<br /> +I lose two sons when Gunnar's eyes are still,<br /> +For then will Kolskegg never more turn home....<br /> +If Gunnar would but sail three years would pass;<br /> +Only three years of banishment said the doom—<br /> +So few, so few, for I can last ten years<br /> +With this unshrunken body and steady heart.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">(<i>To <span class="smcap">Ormild</span></i>)</span><br /> +Have I sat down in comfort by the fire<br /> +And waited to be told the thing I knew?<br /> +Have any men come home to the young women,<br /> +Thinking old women do not need to hear,<br /> +That you can play at being a bower-maid<br /> +In a long gown although no beasts are foddered?<br /> +Up, lass, and get thy coats about thy knees,<br /> +For we must cleanse the byre and heap the midden<br /> +Before the master knows—or he will go,<br /> +And there is peril for him in every darkness.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ormild</span>, <i>tucking up her skirts.</i><br /> +Then are we out of peril in the darkness?<br /> +We should do better to nail up the doors<br /> +Each night and all night long and sleep through it,<br /> +Giving the cattle meat and straw by day.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span><br /> +Ay, and the hungry cattle should sing us to sleep.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The others laugh. <span class="smcap">Ormild</span> goes out to the +left; <span class="smcap">Rannveig</span> is following her, but +pauses at the sound of a voice.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span>, <i>beyond the door of the women's daïs.</i><br /> +Dead men have told me I was better than fair,<br /> +And for my face welcomed the danger of me:<br /> +Then am I spent?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She enters angrily, looking backward +through the doorway.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Must I shut fast my doors</span><br /> +And hide myself? Must I wear up the rags<br /> +Of mortal perished beauty and be old?<br /> +Or is there power left upon my mouth<br /> +Like colour, and lilting of ruin in my eyes?<br /> +Am I still rare enough to be your mate?<br /> +Then why must I shame at feasts and bear myself<br /> +In shy ungainly ways, made flushed and conscious<br /> +By squat numb gestures of my shapeless head—<br /> +Ay, and its wagging shadow—clouted up,<br /> +Twice tangled with a bundle of hot hair,<br /> +Like a thick cot-wife's in the settling time?<br /> +There are few women in the Quarter now<br /> +Who do not wear a shapely fine-webbed coif<br /> +Stitched by dark Irish girls in Athcliath<br /> +With golden flies and pearls and glinting things:<br /> +Even my daughter lets her big locks show,<br /> +Show and half show, from a hood gentle and close<br /> +That spans her little head like her husband's hand.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar</span>, <i>entering by the same door.</i><br /> +I like you when you bear your head so high;<br /> +Lift but your heart as high, you could get crowned<br /> +And rule a kingdom of impossible things.<br /> +You would have moon and sun to shine together,<br /> +Snow-flakes to knit for apples on bare boughs,<br /> +Yea, love to thrive upon the terms of hate.<br /> +If I had fared abroad I should have found<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>In many countries many marvels for you<br /> +Though not more comeliness in peopled Romeborg<br /> +And not more haughtiness in Mickligarth<br /> +Nor craftiness in all the isles of the world,<br /> +And only golden coifs in Athcliath:<br /> +Yet you were ardent that I should not sail,<br /> +And when I could not sail you laughed out loud<br /> +And kissed me home....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span>, <i>who has been biting her nails.</i><br /> +And then ... and doubtless ... and strangely ...<br /> +And not more thriftiness in Bergthorsknoll<br /> +Where Njal saves old soft sackcloth for his wife.<br /> +O, I must sit with peasants and aged women,<br /> +And keep my head wrapped modestly and seemly;<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She turns to <span class="smcap">Rannveig</span>.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +I must be humble—as one who lives on others.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She snatches off her wimple, slipping her +gold circlet as she does so, and loosens +her hair.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Unless I may be hooded delicately<br /> +And use the adornment noble women use<br /> +I'll mock you with my flown young widowhood,<br /> +Letting my hair go loose past either cheek<br /> +In two bright clouds and drop beyond my bosom,<br /> +Turning the waving ends under my girdle<br /> +As young glad widows do, and as I did<br /> +Ere ever you saw me—ay, and when you found me<br /> +And met me as a king meets a queen<br /> +In the undying light of a summer night<br /> +With burning robes and glances—stirring the<br /> +heart with scarlet.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She tucks the long ends of her hair under +her girdle.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig</span>.<br /> +You have cast the head-ring of the nobly nurtured,<br /> +Being eager for a bold uncovered head.<br /> +You are conversant with a widow's fancies....<br /> +Ay, you are ready with your widowhood:<br /> +Two men have had you, chilled their bosoms with you,<br /> +And trusted that they held a precious thing—<br /> +Yet your mean passionate wastefulness poured out<br /> +Their lives for joy of seeing something done with.<br /> +Cannot you wait this time? 'Twill not be long.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span>.<br /> +I am a hazardous desirable thing,<br /> +A warm unsounded peril, a flashing mischief,<br /> +A divine malice, a disquieting voice:<br /> +Thus I was shapen, and it is my pride<br /> +To nourish all the fires that mingled me.<br /> +I am not long moved, I do not mar my face,<br /> +Though men have sunk in me as in a quicksand.<br /> +Well, death is terrible. Was I not worth it?<br /> +Does not the light change on me as I breathe?<br /> +Could I not take the hearts of generations,<br /> +Walking among their dreams? O, I have might,<br /> +Although it drives me too and is not my own deed....<br /> +And Gunnar is great, or he had died long since.<br /> +It is my joy that Gunnar stays with me:<br /> +Indeed the offence is theirs who hunted him,<br /> +His banishment is not just; his wrongs increase,<br /> +His honour and his following shall increase<br /> +If he is steadfast for his blamelessness.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig</span>.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>Law is not justice, but the sacrifice<br /> +Of singular virtues to the dull world's ease of mind;<br /> +It measures men by the most vicious men;<br /> +It is a bargaining with vanities,<br /> +Lest too much right should make men hate each other<br /> +And hasten the last battle of all the nations.<br /> +Gunnar should have kept the atonement set,<br /> +For then those men would turn to other quarrels.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +I know not why it is I must be fighting,<br /> +For ever fighting, when the slaying of men<br /> +Is a more weary and aimless thing to me<br /> +Than most men think it ... and most women too.<br /> +There is a woman here who grieves she loves me,<br /> +And she too must be fighting me for ever<br /> +With her dim ravenous unsated mind....<br /> +Ay, Hallgerd, there's that in her which desires<br /> +Men to fight on forever because she lives:<br /> +When she took form she did it like a hunger<br /> +To nibble earth's lip away until the sea<br /> +Poured down the darkness. Why then should I sail<br /> +Upon a voyage that can end but here?<br /> +She means that I shall fight until I die:<br /> +Why must she be put off by whittled years,<br /> +When none can die until his time has come?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>He turns to the hound by the fire.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Samm, drowsy friend, dost scent a prey in dreams?<br /> +Shake off thy shag of sleep and get to thy watch:<br /> +'Tis time to be our eyes till the next light.<br /> +Out, out to the yard, good Samm.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>He goes to the left, followed by the hound. +In the meantime <span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span> has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig</span>, <i>intercepting him.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13.5em;">Nay, let me take him.</span><br /> +It is not safe—there may be men who hide....<br /> +Hallgerd, look up; call Gunnar to you there:<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span> is motionless.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Lad, she beckons. I say you shall not come.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar</span>, <i>laughing.</i><br /> +Fierce woman, teach me to be brave in age,<br /> +And let us see if it is safe for you.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>He leads <span class="smcap">Rannveig</span> out, his hand on her +shoulder; the hound goes with them.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor.</span><br /> +Mistress, my heart is big with mutinies<br /> +For your proud sake: does not your heart mount up?<br /> +He is an outlaw now and could not hold you<br /> +If you should choose to leave him. Is it not law?<br /> +Is it not law that you could loose this marriage—<br /> +Nay, that he loosed it shamefully years ago<br /> +By a hard blow that bruised your innocent cheek,<br /> +Dishonouring you to lesser women and chiefs?<br /> +See, it burns up again at the stroke of thought.<br /> +Come, leave him, mistress; we will go with you.<br /> +There is no woman in the country now<br /> +Whose name can kindle men as yours can do—<br /> +Ay, many would pile for you the silks he grudges;<br /> +And if you did withdraw your potent presence<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>Fire would not spare this house so reverently.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +Am I a wandering flame that sears and passes?<br /> +We must bide here, good Steinvor, and be quiet.<br /> +Without a man a woman cannot rule,<br /> +Nor kill without a knife; and where's the man<br /> +That I shall put before this goodly Gunnar?<br /> +I will not be made less by a less man.<br /> +There is no man so great as my man Gunnar:<br /> +I have set men at him to show forth his might;<br /> +I have planned thefts and breakings of his word<br /> +When my pent heart grew sore with fermentation<br /> +Of malice too long undone, yet could not stir him.<br /> +O, I will make a battle of the Thing,<br /> +Where men vow holy peace, to magnify him.<br /> +Is it not rare to sit and wait o' nights,<br /> +Knowing that murderousness may even now<br /> +Be coming down outside like second darkness<br /> +Because my man is greater?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor</span>, <i>shuddering.</i> Is it not rare.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +That blow upon the face<br /> +So long ago is best not spoken of.<br /> +I drave a thrall to steal and burn at Otkell's<br /> +Who would not sell to us in famine time<br /> +But denied Gunnar as if he were suppliant:<br /> +Then at our feast when men rode from the Thing<br /> +I spread the stolen food and Gunnar knew.<br /> +He smote me upon the face ... indeed he smote me....<br /> +O, Gunnar smote me and had shame of me<br /> +And said he'd not partake with any thief;<br /> +Although I stole to injure his despiser....<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>But if he had abandoned me as well<br /> +'Tis I who should have been unmated now;<br /> +For many men would soon have judged me thief<br /> +And shut me from this land until I died—<br /> +And then I should have lost him.... Yet he smote me....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Astrid.</span><br /> +He kept you his—yes, and maybe saved you<br /> +From a debasement that could madden or kill,<br /> +For women thieves ere now have felt a knife<br /> +Severing ear or nose. And yet the feud<br /> +You sowed with Otkell's house shall murder Gunnar.<br /> +Otkell was slain: then Gunnar's enviers,<br /> +Who could not crush him under his own horse<br /> +At the big horse-fight, stirred up Otkell's son<br /> +To avenge his father; for should he be slain<br /> +Two in one stock would prove old Njal's fore-telling,<br /> +And Gunnar's place be emptied either way<br /> +For those high helpless men who cannot fill it.<br /> +O, mistress, you have hurt us all in this:<br /> +You have cut off your strength, you have maimed yourself,<br /> +You are losing power and worship and men's trust.<br /> +When Gunnar dies no other man dare take you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +You gather poison in your mouth for me.<br /> +A high-born woman may handle what she fancies<br /> +Without being ear-pruned like a pilfering beggar.<br /> +Look to your ears if you touch ought of mine:<br /> +Ay, you shall join the mumping sisterhood<br /> +And tramp and learn your difference from me.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><i>She turns from</i> <span class="smcap">Astrid</span>.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>Steinvor, I have remembered the great veil,<br /> +The woven cloud, the tissue of gold and garlands,<br /> +That Gunnar took from some outlandish ship<br /> +And deemed a thing from Greekland or from Hind:<br /> +Fetch it from the ambry in the bower.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Steinvor</span> goes out by the daïs door.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Astrid.</span><br /> +Mistress, indeed you are a cherished woman.<br /> +That veil is worth a lifetime's weight of coifs:<br /> +I have heard a queen offered her daughter for it,<br /> +But Gunnar said it should come home and wait—<br /> +And then gave it to you. The half of Iceland<br /> +Tells fabulous legends of a fabulous thing,<br /> +Yet never saw it: I know they never saw it,<br /> +For ere it reached the ambry I came on it<br /> +Tumbled in the loft with ragged kirtles.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +What, are you there again? Let Gunnar alone.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Steinvor</span> enters with the veil folded. +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span> takes it with one hand +and shakes it into a heap.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +This is the cloth. He brought it out at night,<br /> +In the first hour that we were left together,<br /> +And begged of me to wear it at high feasts<br /> +And more outshine all women of my time:<br /> +He shaped it to my head with my gold circlet,<br /> +Saying my hair smouldered like Rhine-fire through,<br /> +He let it fall about my neck and fall<br /> +About my shoulders, mingle with my skirts<br /> +And billow in the draught along the floor.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She rises and holds the veil behind her head.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +I know I dazzled as if I entered in<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>And walked upon a windy sunset and drank it,<br /> +Yet must I stammer at such strange uncouthness<br /> +And tear it from me, tangling my arms in it—<br /> +I could not so befool myself and seem<br /> +A laughable bundle in each woman's eyes,<br /> +Wearing such things as no one ever wore,<br /> +Useless ... no head-cloth ... too unlike my fellows.<br /> +Yet he turns miser for a tiny coif.<br /> +It would cut into many golden coifs<br /> +And dim some women in their Irish clouts—<br /> +But no; I'll shape and stitch it into shifts,<br /> +Smirch it like linen, patch it with rags, to watch<br /> +His silent anger when he sees my answer.<br /> +Give me thy shears, girl Oddny.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">You'll not part it?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +I'll shorten it.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span> <span style="margin-left: 2em;">I have no shears with me.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +No matter; I can start it with my teeth<br /> +And tear it down the folds. So. So. So. So.<br /> +Here's a fine shift for summer: and another.<br /> +I'll find my shears and chop out waists and neck-holes.<br /> +Ay, Gunnar, Gunnar!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She throws the tissue on the ground, and +goes out by the daïs door.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Oddny</span>, <i>lifting one of the pieces.</i><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 10em;">O me! A wonder has vanished.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor.</span><br /> +What is a wonder less? She has done finely,<br /> +Setting her worth above dead marvels and shows....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The deep menacing baying of the hound is +heard near at hand. A woman's cry +follows it.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +They come, they come! Let us flee by the bower!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Starting up, she stumbles in the tissue and +sinks upon it. The others rise.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +You are leaving me—will you not wait for me—<br /> +Take, take me with you....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Mingled cries of women are heard.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar</span>, <i>outside.</i> Samm, it is well: be still.<br /> +Women, be quiet; loose me; get from my feet,<br /> +Or I will set the hound to wipe me clear....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor</span>, <i>recovering herself.</i><br /> +Women are sent to spy.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The sound of a door being opened is heard. +<span class="smcap">Gunnar</span> enters from the left, followed +by three beggar-women, <span class="smcap">Biartey, +Jofrid</span>, and <span class="smcap">Gudfinn</span>. They hobble +and limp, and are swathed in shapeless +nameless rags which trail about +their feet; <span class="smcap">Biartey's</span> left sleeve is torn +completely away, leaving her arm bare +and mud-smeared; the others' skirts +are torn, and <span class="smcap">Jofrid's</span> gown at the +neck; <span class="smcap">Gudfinn</span> 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 <span class="smcap">Biartey's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></span> +mouth is distorted by two front teeth +that project like tusks.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Get in to the light.</span><br /> +Yea has he mouthed ye? ... What men send ye here?<br /> +Who are ye? Whence come ye? What do ye seek?<br /> +I think no mother ever suckled you:<br /> +You must have dragged your roots up in waste places<br /> +One foot at once, or heaved a shoulder up—<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey</span>, <i>interrupting him.</i><br /> +Out of the bosoms of cairns and standing stones.<br /> +I am Biartey: she is Jofrid: she is Gudfinn:<br /> +We are lone women known to no man now.<br /> +We are not sent: we come.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">Well, you come.</span><br /> +You appear by night, rising under my eyes<br /> +Like marshy breath or shadows on the wall;<br /> +Yet the hound scented you like any evil<br /> +That feels upon the night for a way out.<br /> +And do you, then, indeed wend alone?<br /> +Came you from the West or the sky-covering North,<br /> +Yet saw no thin steel moving in the dark?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey.</span><br /> +Not West, not North: we slept upon the East,<br /> +Arising in the East where no men dwell.<br /> +We have abided in the mountain places,<br /> +Chanted our woes among the black rocks crouching;<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Gudfinn</span> joins her in a sing-song utterance.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +From the East, from the East we drove and the wind waved us,<br /> +Over the heaths, over the barren ashes.<br /> +We are old, our eyes are old, and the light hurts us,<br /> +We have skins on our eyes that part alone to the star-light.<br /> +We stumble about the night, the rocks tremble<br /> +Beneath our trembling feet; black sky thickens,<br /> +Breaks into clots, and lets the moon upon us.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Jofrid</span> joins her voice to the voices of the +other two.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Far from the men who fear us, men who stone us,<br /> +Hiding, hiding, flying whene'er they slumber,<br /> +High on the crags we pause, over the moon-gulfs;<br /> +Black clouds fall and leave us up in the moon-depths<br /> +Where wind flaps our hair and cloaks like fin-webs,<br /> +Ay, and our sleeves that toss with our arms and the cadence<br /> +Of quavering crying among the threatening echoes.<br /> +Then we spread our cloaks and leap down the rock-stairs,<br /> +Sweeping the heaths with our skirts, greying the dew-bloom,<br /> +Until we feel a pool on the wide dew stretches<br /> +Stilled by the moon or ruffling like breast-feathers,<br /> +And, with grey sleeves cheating the sleepy herons,<br /> +Squat among them, pillow us there and sleep.<br /> +But in the harder wastes we stand upright,<br /> +Like splintered rain-worn boulders set to the wind<br /> +In old confederacy, and rest and sleep.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Hallgerd's</span> women are huddled together +and clasping each other.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span><br /> +What can these women be who sleep like horses,<br /> +Standing up in the darkness.... What will they do....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +Ye wail like ravens and have no human thoughts.<br /> +What do ye seek? What will ye here with us?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey</span>, <i>as all three cower suddenly.</i><br /> +Succour upon this terrible journeying.<br /> +We have a message for a man in the West,<br /> +Sent by an old man sitting in the East.<br /> +We are spent, our feet are moving wounds, our bodies<br /> +Dream of themselves and seem to trail behind us<br /> +Because we went unfed down in the mountains.<br /> +Feed us and shelter us beneath your roof,<br /> +And put us over the Markfleet, over the channels.<br /> +We are weak old women: we are beseeching you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +You may bide here this night, but on the morrow<br /> +You shall go over, for tramping shameless women<br /> +Carry too many tales from stead to stead—<br /> +And sometimes heavier gear than breath and lies.<br /> +These women will tell the mistress all I grant you;<br /> +Get to the fire until she shall return.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey.</span><br /> +Thou art a merciful man and we shall thank thee.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Gunnar</span> goes out again to the left.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The old women approach the young ones gradually.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Little ones, do not doubt us. Could we hurt you?<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>Because we are ugly must we be bewitched?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor.</span><br /> +Nay, but bewitch us.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey.</span> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Not in a litten house:</span><br /> +Not ere the hour when night turns on itself<br /> +And shakes the silence: not while ye wake together.<br /> +Sweet voice, tell us, was that verily Gunnar?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor.</span><br /> +Arrh—do not touch me, unclean flyer-by-night:<br /> +Have ye birds' feet to match such bat-webbed fingers?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey.</span><br /> +I am only a cowed curst woman who walks with death;<br /> +I will crouch here. Tell us, was it Gunnar?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span><br /> +Yea, Gunnar surely. Is he not big enough<br /> +To fit the songs about him?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey.</span> <span style="margin-left: 5em;">He is a man.</span><br /> +Why will his manhood urge him to be dead?<br /> +We walk about the whole old land at night,<br /> +We enter many dales and many halls:<br /> +And everywhere is talk of Gunnar's greatness,<br /> +His slayings and his fate outside the law.<br /> +The last ship has not gone: why will he tarry?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span><br /> +He chose a ship, but men who rode with him<br /> +Say that his horse threw him upon the shore,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>His face toward the Lithe and his own fields;<br /> +As he arose he trembled at what he gazed on<br /> +(Although those men saw nothing pass or meet them)<br /> +And said.... What said he, girls?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Astrid.</span> "Fair is the Lithe:<br /> +So fair I never thought it was so fair.<br /> +Its corn is white, its meadows green after mowing.<br /> +I will ride home again and never leave it."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span><br /> +'Tis an unlikely tale: he never said it.<br /> +No one could mind such things in such an hour.<br /> +Plainly he saw his fetch come down the sands,<br /> +And knew he need not seek another country<br /> +And take that with him to walk upon the deck<br /> +In night and storm.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gudfinn.</span> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">He he he! No man speaks thus.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jofrid.</span><br /> +No man, no man: he must be doomed somewhere.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey.</span><br /> +Doomed and fey, my sisters.... We are too old,<br /> +Yet I'd not marvel if we outlasted him.<br /> +Sisters, that is a fair fierce girl who spins....<br /> +My fair fierce girl, you could fight—but can you ride?<br /> +Would you not shout to be riding in a storm?<br /> +Ah ... h, girls learnt riding well when I was a girl,<br /> +And foam rides on the breakers as I was taught....<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>My fair fierce girl, tell me your noble name.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span><br /> +My name is Oddny.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey.</span> Oddny, when you are old<br /> +Would you not be proud to be no man's purse-string,<br /> +But wild and wandering and friends with the earth?<br /> +Wander with us and learn to be old yet living.<br /> +We'd win fine food with you to beg for us.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor.</span><br /> +Despised, cast out, unclean, and loose men's night-bird.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span><br /> +When I am old I shall be some man's friend,<br /> +And hold him when the darkness comes....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey.</span><br /> +And mumble by the fire and blink....<br /> +Good Oddny, let me spin for you awhile,<br /> +That Gunnar's house may profit by his guesting:<br /> +Come, trust me with your distaff....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">Are there spells</span><br /> +Wrought on a distaff?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Only by the Norns,</span><br /> +And they'll not sit with human folk to-night.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span><br /> +Then you may spin all night for what I care;<br /> +But let the yarn run clean from knots and snarls,<br /> +Or I shall have the blame when you are gone.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey</span>, <i>taking the distaff.</i><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>Trust well the aged knowledge of my hands;<br /> +Thin and thin do I spin, and the thread draws finer.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She sings as she spins.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">They go by three,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the moon shivers;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The tired waves flee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The hidden rivers</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Also flee.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">I take three strands;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">There is one for her,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">One for my hands,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And one to stir</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">For another's hands.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">I twine them thinner,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The dead wool doubts;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The outer is inner,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The core slips out....</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span> re-enters by the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'dais'">daïs</ins> door, +holding a pair of shears.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +What are these women, Oddny? Who let them in?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey</span>, <i>who spins through all that follows.</i><br /> +Lady, the man of fame who is your man<br /> +Gave us his peace to-night, and that of his house.<br /> +We are blown beggars tramping about the land,<br /> +Denied a home for our evil and vagrant hearts;<br /> +We sought this shelter when the first dew soaked us,<br /> +And should have perished by the giant hound<br /> +But Gunnar fought it with his eyes and saved us.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>That is a strange hound, with a man's mind in it.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span>, <i>seating herself in the high-seat.</i><br /> +It is an Irish hound, from that strange soil<br /> +Where men by day walk with unearthly eyes<br /> +And cross the veils of the air, and are not men<br /> +But fierce abstractions eating their own hearts<br /> +Impatiently and seeing too much to be joyful....<br /> +If Gunnar welcomed ye, ye may remain.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey.</span><br /> +She is a fair free lady, is she not?<br /> +But that was to be looked for in a high one<br /> +Who counts among her fathers the bright Sigurd,<br /> +The bane of Fafnir the Worm, the end of the god-kings;<br /> +Among her mothers Brynhild, the lass of Odin,<br /> +The maddener of swords, the night-clouds' rider.<br /> +She has kept sweet that father's lore of bird-speech,<br /> +She wears that mother's power to cheat a god.<br /> +Sisters, she does well to be proud....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jofrid and Gudfinn.</span> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Ay, Well....</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span>, <i>shaping the tissue with her shears.</i><br /> +I need no witch to tell I am of rare seed,<br /> +Nor measure my pride nor praise it. Do I not know?<br /> +Old women, ye are welcomed: sit with us,<br /> +And while we stitch tell us what gossip runs—<br /> +But if strife might be warmed by spreading it.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey.</span><br /> +Lady, we are hungered; we were lost<br /> +All night among the mountains of the East;<br /> +Clouds of the cliffs come down my eyes again....<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>I pray you let some thrall bring us to food.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +Ye get nought here. The supper is long over;<br /> +The women shall not let ye know the food-house,<br /> +Or ye'll be thieving in the night. Ye are idle,<br /> +Ye suck a man's house bare and seek another.<br /> +'Tis bed-time; get to sleep—that stills much hunger.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey.</span><br /> +Now it is easy to be seeing what spoils you.<br /> +You were not grasping or ought but over warm<br /> +When Sigmund, Gunnar's kinsman, guested here.<br /> +You followed him, you were too kind with him,<br /> +You lavished Gunnar's treasure and gear on him<br /> +To draw him on, and did not call that thieving.<br /> +Ay, Sigmund took your feuds on him and died<br /> +As Gunnar shall. Men have much harm by you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +Now have I gashed the golden cloth awry:<br /> +'Tis ended—a ruin of clouts—the worth of the gift—<br /> +Bridal dish-clouts—nay, a bundle of flame.<br /> +I'll burn it to a breath of its old queen's ashes:<br /> +Fire, O fire, drink up....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She throws the shreds of the veil on the +glowing embers: they waft to ashes +with a brief high flare. She goes to +<span class="smcap">Jofrid</span>.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">There's one of you</span><br /> +That holds her head in a bird's sideways fashion:<br /> +I know that reach o' the chin.... What's under thy hair?—<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She fixes <span class="smcap">Jofrid</span> with her knee, and lifts her hair.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +Pfui, 'tis not hair, but sopped and rotting moss—<br /> +A thief, a thief indeed.... And twice a thief....<br /> +She has no ears. Keep thy hooked fingers still<br /> +While thou art here, for if I miss a mouthful<br /> +Thou shalt miss all thy nose. Get up, get up;<br /> +I'll lodge ye with the mares....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jofrid</span>, <i>starting up.</i> Three men, three men,<br /> +Three men have wived you, and for all you gave them<br /> +Paid with three blows upon a cheek once kissed—<br /> +To every man a blow—and the last blow<br /> +All the land knows was won by thieving food....<br /> +Yea, Gunnar is ended by the theft and the thief.<br /> +Is it not told that when you first grew tall,<br /> +A false rare girl, Hrut your own kinsman said<br /> +"I know not whence thief's eyes entered our blood."<br /> +You have more ears, yet are you not my sister?<br /> +Our evil vagrant heart is deeper in you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span>, <i>snatching the distaff from Biartey.</i><br /> +Out and be gone, be gone. Lie with the mountains,<br /> +Smother among the thunder; stale dew mould you.<br /> +Outstrip the hound, or he shall so embrace you....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey.</span><br /> +Now is all done ... all done ... and all your deed!<br /> +She broke the thread, and it shall not join again.<br /> +Spindle, spindle, the coiling weft shall dwindle;<br /> +Leap on the fire and burn, for all is done....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She casts the spindle upon the fire, and +stretches her hands toward it.</i></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span>, <i>attacking them with the distaff.</i><br /> +Into the night.... Dissolve....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Biartey</span>, <i>as the three rush toward the door.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17em;">Sisters, away:</span><br /> +Leave the woman to her smouldering beauty,<br /> +Leave the fire that's kinder than the woman,<br /> +Leave the roof-tree ere it falls. It falls.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Gudfinn</span> joins her. Each time Hallgerd +flags they turn as they chant, and point at her.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +We shall cry no more in the high rock-places,<br /> +We are gone from the night, the winds and the clouds are empty:<br /> +Soon the man in the West shall receive our message.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Jofrid's</span> voice joins the other voices.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Men reject us, yet their house is unstable....<br /> +The slayers' hands are warm—the sound of their riding<br /> +Reached us down the ages, ever approaching.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span>, <i>at the same time, her voice high over theirs.</i><br /> +Pack, ye rag-heaps—or I'll unravel you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Three</span>, <i>continuously.</i><br /> +House that spurns us, woe shall come upon you:<br /> +Death shall hollow you. Now we curse the woman—<br /> +May all the woes smite her till she can feel them.<br /> +Shall we not roost in her bower yet? Woe! Woe!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The distaff breaks, and Hallgerd drives them out +with her hands. Their voices continue for a moment +outside, dying away.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +Call to the owl-friends.... Woe! Woe! Woe!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Astrid.</span><br /> +Whence came these mounds of dread to haunt the night?<br /> +It doubles this disquiet to have them near us.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span><br /> +They must be witches—and it was my distaff—<br /> +Will fire eat through me....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor.</span> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Or the Norns themselves.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +Or bad old women used to govern by fear.<br /> +To bed, to bed—we are all up too late.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor</span>, <i>as she turns with</i> <span class="smcap">Astrid</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Oddny</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>to the daïs.</i></span><br /> +If beds are made for sleep we might sit long.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><i>They go out by the daïs door.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar</span>, <i>as he enters hastily from the left.</i><br /> +Where are those women? There's some secret in them:<br /> +I have heard such others crying down to them.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +They turned foul-mouthed, they beckoned evil toward us—<br /> +I drove them forth a breath ago.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span> <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Forth? Whence?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +By the great door: they cried about the night.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Rannveig</span> follows <span class="smcap">Gunnar</span> in.</i></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +Nay but I entered there and passed them not.<br /> +Mother, where are the women?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">I saw none come.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +They have not come, they have gone.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">I crossed the yard,</span><br /> +Hearing a noise, but a big bird dropped past,<br /> +Beating my eyes; and then the yard was clear.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>The deep baying of the hound is heard again.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +They must be spies: yonder is news of them.<br /> +The wise hound knew them, and knew them again.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>The baying is succeeded by one wild howl.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;">Nay, nay!</span><br /> +Men treat thee sorely, Samm my fosterling:<br /> +Even by death thou warnest—but it is meant<br /> +That our two deaths will not be far apart.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +Think you that men are yonder?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Men are yonder.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +My son, my son, get on the rattling war-woof,<br /> +The old grey shift of Odin, the hide of steel.<br /> +Handle the snake with edges, the fang of the rings.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar</span>, <i>going to the weapons by the high-seat.</i><br /> +There are not enough moments to get under<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>That heavy fleece: an iron hat must serve....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +O brave! O brave!—he'll dare them with no shield.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar</span>, <i>lifting down the great bill from the wall.</i><br /> +Let me but reach this haft, I shall get hold<br /> +Of steel enough to fence me all about.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>He shakes the bill above his head: a deep resonant +humming follows. The daïs door is thrown open, and +<span class="smcap">Oddny</span>, <span class="smcap">Astrid</span>, and <span class="smcap">Steinvor</span> +stream through in their night-clothes.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor.</span> The bill!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oddny.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">The bill is singing!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Astrid.</span> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">The bill sings!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar</span>, <i>shaking the bill again.</i><br /> +Ay, brain-biter, waken ... Awake and whisper<br /> +Out of the throat of dread thy one brief burden.<br /> +Blind art thou, and thy kiss will do no choosing:<br /> +Worn art thou to a hair's grey edge, a nothing<br /> +That slips through all it finds, seeking more nothing.<br /> +There is a time, brain-biter, a time that comes<br /> +When there shall be much quietness for thee:<br /> +Men will be still about thee. I shall know.<br /> +It is not yet: the wind shall hiss at thee first.<br /> +Ahui! Leap up, brain-biter; sing again.<br /> +Sing! Sing thy verse of anger and feel my hands.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +Stand thou, my Gunnar, in the porch to meet them,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>And the great door shall keep thy back for thee.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +I had a brother there. Brother, where are you....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +Nay nay. Get thou, my Gunnar, to the loft,<br /> +Stand at the casement, watch them how they come.<br /> +Arrows maybe could drop on them from there.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +'Tis good: the woman's cunning for once is faithful.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar</span>, <i>turning again to the weapons.</i><br /> +'Tis good, for now I hear a foot that stumbles<br /> +Along the stable-roof against the hall.<br /> +My bow—where is my bow? Here with its arrows....<br /> +Go in again, you women on the daïs,<br /> +And listen at the casement of the bower<br /> +For men who cross the yard, and for their words.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Astrid.</span><br /> +O, Gunnar, we shall serve you.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Astrid</span>, <span class="smcap">Oddny</span>, and <span class="smcap">Steinvor</span> go out +by the daïs door.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Hallgerd, come;</span><br /> +We must shut fast the door, bar the great door,<br /> +Or they'll be in on us and murder him.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +Not I: I'd rather set the door wide open<br /> +And watch my Gunnar kindling at the peril,<br /> +Keeping them back—shaming men for ever<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>Who could not enter at a gaping door.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +Bar the great door, I say, or I will bar it—<br /> +Door of the house you rule.... Son, son, command it.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar</span>, <i>as he ascends to the loft.</i><br /> +O, spendthrift fire, do you waft up again?<br /> +Hallgerd, what riot of ruinous chance will sate you?...<br /> +Let the door stand, my mother: it is her way.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><i>He looks out of the casement.</i></span><br /> +Here's a red kirtle on the lower roof.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>He thrusts with the bill through the casement.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">A Man's Voice</span>, <i>far off.</i> Is Gunnar within?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Thorgrim the Easterling's Voice</span>, near the +casement.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Find that out for yourselves:</span><br /> +I am only sure his bill is yet within.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><i>A noise of falling is heard.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +The Easterling from Sandgil might be dying—<br /> +He has gone down the roof, yet no feet helped him.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A shouting of many men is heard: <span class="smcap">Gunnar</span> +starts back from the casement as several arrows fly in.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Now there are black flies biting before a storm.<br /> +I see men gathering beneath the cart-shed:<br /> +Gizur the White and Geir the priest are there,<br /> +And a lean whispering shape that should be Mord.<br /> +I have a sting for some one—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>He looses an arrow: a distant cry follows.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14.5em;">Valgard's voice....</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>A shaft of theirs is lying on the roof:<br /> +I'll send it back, for if it should take root<br /> +A hurt from their own spent and worthless weapon<br /> +Would put a scorn upon their tale for ever.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><i>He leans out for the arrow.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +Do not, my son: rouse them not up again<br /> +When they are slackening in their attack.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +Shoot, shoot it out, and I'll come up to mock them.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar</span>, <i>loosing the arrow.</i><br /> +Hoia! Swerve down upon them, little hawk.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><i>A shout follows.</i></span><br /> +Now they run all together round one man:<br /> +Now they murmur....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">A Voice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Close in, lift bows again:</span><br /> +He has no shafts, for this is one of ours.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><i>Arrows fly in at the casement.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +Wife, here is something in my arm at last:<br /> +The head is twisted—I must cut it clear.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Steinvor</span> throws open the daïs door and +rushes through with a high shriek.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Steinvor.</span><br /> +Woman, let us out—help us out—<br /> +The burning comes—they are calling out for fire.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She shrieks again. <span class="smcap">Oddny</span> and +<span class="smcap">Astrid</span>, who have come behind her, +muffle her head in a kirtle and lift her.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Astrid</span>, <i>turning as they bear her out.</i><br /> +Fire suffuses only her cloudy brain:<br /> +The flare she walks in is on the other side<br /> +Of her shot eyes. We heard a passionate voice,<br /> +A shrill unwomanish voice that must be Mord,<br /> +With "Let us burn him—burn him house and all."<br /> +And then a grave and trembling voice replied<br /> +"Although my life hung on it, it shall not be."<br /> +Again the cunning fanatic voice went on<br /> +"I say the house must burn above his head."<br /> +And the unlifted voice "Why wilt thou speak<br /> +Of what none wishes: it shall never be."<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Astrid</span> and <span class="smcap">Oddny</span> disappear +with <span class="smcap">Steinvor</span>.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +To fight with honest men is worth much friendship:<br /> +I'll strive with them again.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>He lifts his bow and loosens arrows at intervals +while <span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span> and <span class="smcap">Rannveig</span> +speak.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span>, in an undertone to <span class="smcap">Rannveig</span>, looking +out meanwhile to the left.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 12.5em;">Mother, come here—</span><br /> +Come here and hearken. Is there not a foot,<br /> +A stealthy step, a fumbling on the latch<br /> +Of the great door? They come, they come, old mother:<br /> +Are you not blithe and thirsty, knowing they come<br /> +And cannot be held back? Watch and be secret,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>To feel things pass that cannot be undone.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +It is the latch. Cry out, cry out for Gunnar,<br /> +And bring him from the loft.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">O, never:</span><br /> +For then they'd swarm upon him from the roof.<br /> +Leave him up there and he can bay both armies,<br /> +While the whole dance goes merrily before us<br /> +And we can warm our hearts at such a flare.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Rannveig</span>, turning both ways, while <span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span> +watches her gleefully.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Gunnar, my son, my son! What shall I do....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Ormild</span> enters from the left, white and with her +hand to her side, and walking as if she is sick.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +Bah—here's a bleached assault....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">O, lonesome thing,</span><br /> +To be forgot and left in such a night.<br /> +What is there now—are terrors surging still?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ormild.</span><br /> +I know not what has gone: when the men came<br /> +I hid in the far cowhouse. I think I swooned....<br /> +And then I followed the shadow. Who is dead?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +Go to the bower: the women will care for you.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Ormild</span> totters up the hall +from pillar to pillar.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Astrid</span>, <i>entering by the daïs door.</i><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>Now they have found the weather-ropes and lashed them<br /> +Over the carven ends of the beams outside:<br /> +They bear on them, they tighten them with levers,<br /> +And soon they'll tear the high roof off the hall.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +Get back and bolt the women into the bower.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Astrid</span> takes <span class="smcap">Ormild</span>, who has just +reached her, and goes out with her by the daïs door, +which closes after them.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Hallgerd, go in: I shall be here thereafter.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +I will not stir. Your mother had best go in.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +How shall I stir?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Voices</span>, <i>outside and gathering volume.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">Ai ... Ai ... Reach harder ... Ai ...</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +Stand clear, stand clear—it moves.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Voices.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">It moves ... Ai, ai ...</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar,</span> <i>handling his bow.</i><br /> +The wind has changed: 'tis coming on to snow.<br /> +The harvesters will hurry in to-morrow.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><span class="smcap">Thorbrand Thorleiksson</span> <i>appears above the +wall-top a little past</i> <span class="smcap">Gunnar</span>, <i>and, reaching +noiselessly with a sword, cuts</i> <span class="smcap">Gunnar's</span> +<i>bowstring.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar,</span> <i>dropping the bow and seizing his bill.</i><br /> +Ay, Thorbrand, is it thou? That 's a rare blade,<br /> +To shear through hemp and gut.... Let your wife have it<br /> +For snipping needle-yarn; or try it again.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorbrand,</span> <i>raising his sword.</i><br /> +I must be getting back ere the snow thickens:<br /> +So here's my message to the end—or farther.<br /> +Gunnar, this night it is time to start your journey<br /> +And get you out of Iceland....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar,</span> <i>thrusting at</i> <span class="smcap">Thorbrand</span> <i>with the bill.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14.5em;">I think it is:</span><br /> +So you shall go before me in the dark.<br /> +Wait for me when you find a quiet shelter.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><span class="smcap">Thorbrand</span> <i>sinks backward from the wall and is +heard to fall farther. Immediately</i> <span class="smcap">Asbrand +Thorleiksson</span> <i>starts up in his place.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Asbrand,</span> <i>striking repeatedly with a sword.</i><br /> +O, down, down, down!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar,</span> <i>parrying the blows with the bill.</i><br /> +Ay, Asbrand, thou as well?<br /> +Thy brother Thorbrand was up here but now:<br /> +He has gone back the other way, maybe—<br /> +Be hasty, or you'll not come up with him.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>He thrusts with the bill: <span class="smcap">Asbrand</span> +lifts a shield before the blow.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Here's the first shield that I have seen to-night.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The bill pierces the shield: <span class="smcap">Asbrand</span> +disappears and is heard to fall. <span class="smcap">Gunnar</span> +turns from the casement.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +Hallgerd, my harp that had but one long string,<br /> +But one low song, but one brief wingy flight,<br /> +Is voiceless, for my bowstring is cut off.<br /> +Sever two locks of hair for my sake now,<br /> +Spoil those bright coils of power, give me your hair,<br /> +And with my mother twist those locks together<br /> +Into a bowstring for me. Fierce small head,<br /> +Thy stinging tresses shall scourge men forth by me.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +Does ought lie on it?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span> <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nought but my life lies on it;</span><br /> +For they will never dare to close on me<br /> +If I can keep my bow bended and singing.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd,</span> <i>tossing back her hair.</i><br /> +Then now I call to your mind that bygone blow<br /> +You gave my face; and never a whit do I care<br /> +If you hold out a long time or a short.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +Every man who has trod a war-ship's deck,<br /> +And borne a weapon of pride, has a proud heart<br /> +And asks not twice for any little thing.<br /> +Hallgerd, I'll ask no more from you, no more.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig,</span> <i>tearing off her wimple.</i><br /> +She will not mar her honour of widowhood.<br /> +O, widows' manes are priceless.... Off, mean wimple—<br /> +I am a finished widow, why do you hide me?<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>Son, son who knew my bosom before hers,<br /> +Look down and curse for an unreverend thing<br /> +An old bald woman who is no use at last.<br /> +These bleachy threads, these tufts of death's first combing,<br /> +And loosening heart-strings twisted up together<br /> +Would not make half a bowstring. Son, forgive me....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +A grasping woman's gold upon her head<br /> +Is made for hoarding, like all other gold:<br /> +A spendthrift woman's gold upon her head<br /> +Is made for spending on herself. Let be—<br /> +She goes her heart's way, and I go to earth.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><span class="smcap">Aunund's</span> <i>head rises above the wall near</i> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar</span>.</div> + +<div class='poem'> +What, are you there?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Aunund.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Yes, Gunnar, we are here.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar</span>, <i>thrusting with the bill.</i><br /> +Then bide you there.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><span class="smcap">Aunund's</span> <i>head sinks:</i> <span class="smcap">Thorgeir's</span> +<i>rises in the same place.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">How many heads have you?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thorgeir.</span><br /> +But half as many as the feet we grow on.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +And I've not yet used up (<i>thrusting again</i>) all my hands.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>As he thrusts another man rises a little farther back, +and leaps past him into the loft. Others follow, and <span class="smcap">Gunnar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></span> +is soon surrounded by many armed men, so that +only the rising and falling of his bill is seen.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +The threshing-floor is full.... Up, up, brain-biter!<br /> +We work too late to-night—up, open the husks.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">O, smite and pulse</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">On their anvil heads:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The smithy is full,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">There are shoes to be made</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">For the hoofs of the steeds</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of the Valkyr girls....</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">First Man.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Hack through the shaft....</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Second Man.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Receive the blade</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">In the breast of a shield,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And wrench it round....</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gunnar.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">For the hoofs of the steeds</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of the Valkyr girls</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Who race up the night</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">To be first at our feast,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">First in the play</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">With immortal spears</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">In deadly holes....</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Third Man.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Try at his back....</span><br /> + + +<br /><span class="smcap">Many Voices</span>, <i>shouting in confusion.</i><br /> +Have him down.... Heels on the bill.... Ahui, ahui....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The bill does not rise.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hroald</span>, <i>with the breaking voice of a young man,<br /> +high over all.</i><br /> +Father.... It is my blow.... It is I who kill him....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The crowd parts, suddenly silent, showing +<span class="smcap">Gunnar</span> fallen.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Rannveig</span> covers her face with her hands.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span>, <i>laughing as she leans forward and holds her breasts in her hands.</i><br /> +O, clear sweet laughter of my heart, flow out!<br /> +It is so mighty and beautiful and blithe<br /> +To watch a man dying—to hover and watch.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +Cease: are you not immortal in shame already?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +Heroes, what deeds ye compass, what great deeds—<br /> +One man has held ye from an open door:<br /> +Heroes, heroes, are ye undefeated?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gizur</span>, <i>an old white-bearded man, to the other riders.</i><br /> +We have laid low to earth a mighty chief:<br /> +We have laboured harder than on greater deeds,<br /> +And maybe won remembrance by the deeds<br /> +Of Gunnar when no deed of ours should live;<br /> +For this defence of his shall outlast kingdoms<br /> +And gather him fame till there are no more men.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mord.</span><br /> +Come down and splinter those old birds his gods<br /> +That perch upon the carven high-seat pillars;<br /> +Wreck every place his shadow fell upon,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>Rive out his gear, drive off his forfeit beasts.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Second Man.</span><br /> +It shall not be.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Many Men.</span> Never.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gizur.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">We'll never do it:</span><br /> +Let no man lift a blade or finger a clout—<br /> +Is not this Gunnar, Gunnar, whom we have slain?<br /> +Home, home, before the dawn shows all our deed.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The riders go down quickly over the wall-top, +and disappear.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +Now I shall close his nostrils and his eyes,<br /> +And thereby take his blood-feud into my hands.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +If you do stir I'll choke you with your hair.<br /> +I will not let your murderous mind be near him<br /> +When he no more can choose and does not know.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +His wife I was, and yet he never judged me:<br /> +He did not set your motherhood between us.<br /> +Let me alone—I stand here for my sons.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +The wolf, the carrion bird, and the fair woman<br /> +Hurry upon a corpse, as if they think<br /> +That all is left for them the grey gods need not.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She twines her hands in <span class="smcap">Hallgerd's</span> hair +and draws her down to the floor.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +O, I will comb your hair with bones and thumbs,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>Array these locks in my right widow's way,<br /> +And deck you like the bed-mate of the dead.<br /> +Lie down upon the earth as Gunnar lies,<br /> +Or I can never match him in your looks<br /> +And whiten you and make your heart as cold.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span><br /> +Mother, what will you do? Unloose me now—<br /> +Your eyes would not look so at me alone.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +Be still, my daughter....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallgerd.</span> <span style="margin-left: 2em;">And then?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Ah, do not fear—</span><br /> +I see a peril nigh and all its blitheness.<br /> +Order your limbs—stretch out your length of beauty,<br /> +Let down your hands and close those deepening eyes,<br /> +Or you can never stiffen as you should.<br /> +A murdered man should have a murdered wife<br /> +When all his fate is treasured in her mouth.<br /> +This wifely hair-pin will be sharp enough.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><span class="smcap">Hallgerd</span>, <i>starting up as</i> <span class="smcap">Rannveig</span> +<i>half loosens her to take a hair-pin from her own head.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +She is mad, mad.... O, the bower is barred—<br /> +Hallgerd, come out, let mountains cover you....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><i>She rushes out to the left.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig</span>, <i>following her.</i><br /> +The night take you indeed....<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Gizur</span> enters from the left.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Gizur.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ay, drive her out;</span><br /> +For no man's house was ever better by her.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +Is an old woman's life desired as well?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gizur.</span><br /> +We ask that you will grant us earth hereby<br /> +Of Gunnar's earth, for two men dead to-night<br /> +To lie beneath a cairn that we shall raise.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +Only for two? Take it: ask more of me.<br /> +I wish the measure were for all of you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gizur.</span><br /> +Your words must be forgiven you, old mother,<br /> +For none has had a greater loss than yours.<br /> +Why would he set himself against us all....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><i>He goes out.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rannveig.</span><br /> +Gunnar, my son, we are alone again.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She goes up the hall, mounts to the loft +and stoops beside him.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +O, they have hurt you ... but that is forgot.<br /> +Boy, it is bedtime; though I am too changed,<br /> +And cannot lift you up and lay you in,<br /> +You shall go warm to bed—I'll put you there.<br /> +There is no comfort in my breast to-night:<br /> +But close your eyes beneath my fingers' touch,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>Slip your feet down, and let me smooth your hands;<br /> +Then sleep and sleep. Ay, all the world 's asleep;<br /> +But some will waken. <i>She rises.</i><br /> +You had a rare toy when you were awake—<br /> +I'll wipe it with my hair ... Nay, keep it so,<br /> +The colour on it now has gladdened you.<br /> +It shall lie near you.<br /> +<i>She raises the bill: the deep hum follows.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">No; it remembers him,</span><br /> +And other men shall fall by it through Gunnar:<br /> +The bill, the bill is singing.... The bill sings!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She kisses the weapon, then shakes it on high.</i></div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><br /><span class="smcap">Curtain.</span></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> +<h2>MIDSUMMER EVE</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'> +<i>TO CLINTON BALMER<br /> +AND THE DEAR MEMORY OF<br /> +JAMES HAMILTON HAY<br /> +FOR THE SUMMER OF 1900<br /> +AT CARTMEL</i><br /><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='poem'><div class='cap'> +<i>IN the lost Valley all is still<br /> +To-day: upon the stony hill<br /> +The heat of the late afternoon<br /> +Settles in coppery haze: and soon<br /> +A voice not known to me will call<br /> +Silent obedient cows to stall,<br /> +In the same immemorial cry<br /> +From century to century<br /> +Changing but by the uttering voice.<br /> +And in a while a little noise<br /> +(Hou! Hou!) far off near Newton Head<br /> +Will tell that at another stead<br /> +The browsing cattle pause and turn<br /> +Unwilling heads to seem to learn<br /> +That which they know, and move in train<br /> +Now milking-time has come again.<br /></i></div> +<br /> +<i>In Well Knowe garden now, I know,<br /> +Where the pale larkspur used to grow<br /> +In the far nook, a sound is heard<br /> +(If any is there to hear save bird<br /> +And field-mouse in the strawberries<br /> +Stirring like a local breeze—<br /> +Here, there—the low leaves soundlessly);<br /> +A glistening slender wasp-like fly<br /> +Is using will and wing to stand<br /> +Upon the air as though it spanned<br /> +A chasm with trembling outstretched arms,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>And in the silence of heat-stilled farms<br /> +And heat-veiled wood that seems to shake<br /> +Dim clotted leaves yet does not break<br /> +By sigh or rustle the hush so dear<br /> +Its tiny sting of sound sings clear.</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>Oft have I heard that elfin horn<br /> +Sound suddenly, as cobweb torn<br /> +Must sound in startled elfin ears<br /> +Pricked and on edge with elfin fears;<br /> +And as I upward watched those spare<br /> +Twin shreds of silver like slit air,<br /> +Beating and shining, straight and tense,<br /> +Simulating impotence<br /> +Of motion, enviously I thought<br /> +"Had my half useless flesh been caught,<br /> +Upborn, and for all limit bound<br /> +Between such gossamers of sound,<br /> +Not thus, not thus would I deny<br /> +My spirit's reach and endlessly<br /> +Use all conception and all force<br /> +To limit my short vital course.<br /> +Had I such wings of urgent light<br /> +Insistent not alone on height<br /> +But stretched for sweep and latitude<br /> +I would not evade flight, I would<br /> +Employ my heat and power and sense<br /> +In realising difference,<br /> +And see my world's variety,<br /> +Restricted but by energy."</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>But Well Knowe garden only shines<br /> +In memory now, and its dear signs<br /> +Only persist and gleam again<br /> +In a shut chamber of my brain:<br /> +While in a distant place I brood<br /> +Upon lost things, and in a mood<br /> +Of longing and remembrance feel<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>The wisdom of that immobile<br /> +And senseless mote, and think "Were I<br /> +Carnate in a slim glistening fly,<br /> +I would flash back upon that fair<br /> +Laurel-walled rood, then drop in air<br /> +Till no translucent nerve should stir<br /> +From strained precision, nor wing should whir<br /> +But to maintain one changeless height,<br /> +Nor move nor waver from that sight;<br /> +And think the years have not gone by<br /> +When James and Clinton harboured nigh<br /> +And, working in another art<br /> +Than mine, yet peopled for my heart<br /> +The Valley with the very core<br /> +Of vital beauty for evermore—<br /> +So that when the air is still<br /> +I hear below the meadow-rill<br /> +Clinton singing softlier still<br /> +Entranced by his own moving brush<br /> +Among the stream-side bracken and rush—<br /> +Or James repeats with his long hand<br /> +The distant line of hills that stand<br /> +Between the Valley and the lake<br /> +And yet seem lovelier for his sake."</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>How many generations past<br /> +Should I be dead had I been cast<br /> +In that small rapid shape of light?<br /> +Though wings may stand, years move in flight;<br /> +And, while I dream, I know, I know<br /> +That it is useless I should go<br /> +To Well Knowe garden again to see<br /> +Things that cannot return to me—<br /> +James dead and Clinton gone away,<br /> +And one whose name I cannot say<br /> +Who built in Cyclopean sound<br /> +Other magic heights around<br /> +That little place, then turned apart,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>Untrue to friendship and to art,<br /> +A man of nothing—vanished things,<br /> +Dead friends, dead hopes, that must remain<br /> +In a shut chamber of my brain;<br /> +While only Clinton far away<br /> +Will in these verses and this play<br /> +See that country of our youth<br /> +And our dead friend and our old troth<br /> +Of friendship fixed in amber light,<br /> +A timeless hour that holds no night.</i><br /> +</div> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">Summer 1921—Spring 1922.</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'>PERSONS:</div> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Nan</span></td><td align='left'>}</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Bet</span></td><td align='left'>}</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Ursel</span></td><td align='left'>}</td><td align='left'>Kitchen and Dairy Girls.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Maudlin</span></td><td align='left'> }</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Lib</span></td><td align='left'>}</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left' colspan='3'><span class="smcap">Roger</span>, a Carter.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left' colspan='3'><span class="smcap">Mease</span>, a Cowherd.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> +<h2>MIDSUMMER EVE</h2> + +<div class='hang1'><i>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.</i> + +<p><i>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.</i></p> + +<p><i>The whole prospect is of a solitary, fruitfully +overgrown valley shut in from everywhere.</i></p> + +<p><i>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:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +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.</i></p> + +<p><i>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.</i></p></div> + +<div class='poem'><div class='cap'> +"HOU, Hou," went the neatherd moaning<br /> +Down along by the pasture's side;<br /> +He turned the cows at the midden-yard loaning,<br /> +The loitering cows in the brown owl-tide:<br /> +Pale rose the last one, munching, droning,<br /> +With wet grass stains on her udder and hide.<br /></div> +<br /> +My lantern's rings to the low balks floated<br /> +As Whitey's tail shook the mistal-sneck;<br /> +When I laid my cheek to her belly spotted<br /> +I felt her honey-strong breath i' my neck,<br /> +For she turns her head does the curd-dark throated<br /> +To watch my mouth start her teats with a peck.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Nan</span>, <span class="smcap">Bet</span> and <span class="smcap">Ursel</span> ascend the road to +the left and enter the barn as <span class="smcap">Nan</span> +ceases singing.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>They are white-hooded, clumsily shod, +gownless; in the right hand <span class="smcap">Nan</span> +carries a willow frail, the others stoneware +greybeards; each holds several +hay-rakes on her left shoulder.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Ursel.</span><br /> +September, O, September's in the song—<br /> +I will not have September in my heart,<br /> +The ending of so much deliciousness,<br /> +The year's sad luscious over-ripening.<br /> +Yet here's the haysel done with: how it hurt<br /> +To rake behind the last dim cart; and now<br /> +My soul creeps in me like the low pale night-mist<br /> +To know that in a moment past this moment<br /> +We shall not hear it slowly any more<br /> +Down in the lane where, wisping the close trees,<br /> +It follows us like a mournful sound of change.<br /> +Although the Summer is but newly kindled,<br /> +Tiptoe I over-reach the joy of it<br /> +(Ah, little perfect weeks of fruitfulness)<br /> +Because I tremble lest it be slipping past me<br /> +Before my eagerness will let me feel it.<br /> +Must joy for me be ever in things gone?...<br /> +<br /> +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Nan</span>, <i>as they set down their burdens to lean +the rakes against the wall, where four flails are +hung, on the left of the door.</i></div> +Nay, there is comfort in the rainy nights,<br /> +The long moist twilights of the cider time<br /> +When girls hold fitful talk sat in the press-spot<br /> +Among the hid sweet apple heaps that gleam<br /> +In firelight to a humming out of doors<br /> +Of soddening water oozing down the soil;<br /> +And there is comfort too at Candlemas<br /> +From looking through the casement in the dark,<br /> +The last thing ere you chafe your toes in bed,<br /> +On the crisp quiet of the woods and fields,<br /> +Wondering if 'tis snow or all the moonlight,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>Peering so anxiously along the wall<br /> +That shades still ewes and whiter first-dropped lambs....<br /> +Ay, but I'm tired, lasses, tired now<br /> +Because the haysel's over and 'twas fair<br /> +And the land's savour wears me with delight.<br /> +I'm for indoors and resting—and, beside,<br /> +I'm fainest of my supper o' baking days.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span><br /> +Let all times slip to haste the barley week,<br /> +For then our nearest dancing-time will ripen ...<br /> +But I'm for bed to get me doffed and stripped<br /> +To pick much grass seed from my smock and coats.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ursel.</span><br /> +Listen, Bet; no cool sheets are yours to-night.<br /> +The milk-eyed goodies with grey loose-skinned throats,<br /> +Who maunder of rarer girlhoods none can prove,<br /> +Tell that at midnight on Midsummer-Eves<br /> +They waked in some lone shade far from all sleepers<br /> +To feel which should be wedded within the year;<br /> +For the year's unknown husbands' images<br /> +Come then like swoons from some where ... ay, from some where....<br /> +Thoughts shaping for their women's heedless souls,<br /> +And if a maid will watch she sees her own<br /> +And knows her own, seeing her own alone,<br /> +Peering unseen as breath is in June nights.<br /> +Surely such dainties rilled no cow-slow eyes;<br /> +But Nan and I mean watching and have bid<br /> +Maudlin at Grassgarth, Lib at Appletoft<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>Under our breath, and hither they steal this eve.<br /> +We knew we must not tell you ere the hour,<br /> +Or ... or ... too many hinds might creep to be<br /> +Their own drowsed leering loutish prophecies.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span><br /> +Am I so old or wistful to be ringed<br /> +That I must feign to be content with one?<br /> +Where is this moon-swayed peeping, then, to be,<br /> +This blest eavesdropping on a mood of fate?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +Here in the barn, where we may crouch un-thought-of<br /> +By moon-estranged eyes in gradual darkness.<br /> +And lest we startle at o'er-expected footfalls<br /> +Or with night-carried voices rouse the farm,<br /> +Maudlin and Lib will warn us by dove-cooings—<br /> +Sometimes I hear a cooing up warm nights<br /> +From dove pairs far too wise to be asleep,<br /> +But mistress bides awake for no such music.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span><br /> +Dove-cooing Lib will be a thing to brood on—<br /> +I'll miss nought here, although you count me least.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +All works with us; for at the forenoon drinking<br /> +I heard dame Stir-Wench mutter "These kesh-pithed lasses<br /> +Shall sleep no longer three-a-bed beneath<br /> +The dark damp closeness of the garret thatch,<br /> +That nigh their heads leans low upon the floor,<br /> +Until this heat is past; or they will grow<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>Yet more slob-cheeked and sodden and dough-limbed<br /> +I never saw maids look more like green sickness."<br /> +And then she bade Giles carry our gear and bedding<br /> +Into the empty meal-webbed granary.<br /> +Nought could have fallen better; now we have<br /> +No moaning ladder's and open doors' groped passing,<br /> +No stocking feet need pad the dairy flags;<br /> +Only a silverly weathered latchless board<br /> +Keeps out the bats that flap toward pale shapes,<br /> +And waits to let us into the large night<br /> +Throughout the holiest of the mothering year.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span><br /> +She said green sickness but she meant green apples.<br /> +The codlin tree that o'er each moonset stretches<br /> +A creeping spider-shadow on the gable<br /> +Fills out its fruit weeks earlier this year,<br /> +And the one bough with apples onion-roped<br /> +Is one the mended ladder will not reach;<br /> +It is weight-arched against our garret window,<br /> +So that the curled leaves finger on the panes<br /> +When midnight winds are sturdy enough to lift it;<br /> +Mam Pantry knows and fears bare orchard-shelves<br /> +And herds us to an outhouse. Girls, those apples<br /> +Will all be basketed before their time,<br /> +Ere threshing heaps the granary once more<br /> +And sharp nights make her yield our loft again<br /> +Because she finds us cuddled on its threshold.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ursel.</span><br /> +Mam Patch-Waist counts more eggs than four—she knows<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>Spring wenches' whifts let loose to sniff the night;<br /> +So straightway to the granary Mease she sped<br /> +To oil the lock and drive a staple in.<br /> +Small is our chance of watching now....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">Quick-Pattens</span><br /> +Even ere she rounded must have been a likely,<br /> +A very likely maid for her to know<br /> +Our scapemell moods howe'er we prim our mouths.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span><br /> +Mease for two kisses left the staple loose.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ursel</span>, <i>laughing with</i> <span class="smcap">Nan</span>.<br /> +Ay, Bet's the market woman, to be sure.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span><br /> +Mouths, even as eyes, were made to earn our wills.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +But how came Bet near Mease up in the corn-spot?<br /> +And if she knows the need o' the staple loose<br /> +Why will she care to watch with us to-night?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span><br /> +To learn which one it is, Nanikin sly.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +Had it been Mease he'd not have chaffered kisses....<br /> +You know more now than you will learn to-night,<br /> +You will wed more than all we see to-night—<br /> +We shall win nought beyond a secret spice<br /> +Of unclipt gossip in a tasty hour....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A loitering dull sound is heard of cart-wheels +and horse-hooves out in the lane.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Ursel.</span><br /> +Hush, Nan—here come the lads....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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; <span class="smcap">Roger</span> +and <span class="smcap">Mease</span>, in long smocks and flapping +hats, knee-breeches and ribbed +stockings, accompany it, <span class="smcap">Roger</span> leading +the horse, <span class="smcap">Mease</span> holding to the +shelvings behind with one hand and +with the other slanting several hay-forks +and a scythe against his shoulder.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Ursel</span>, <i>continuing.</i> What, Roger, Mease....<br /> +Why bring you not the cart and top the mow,<br /> +To feel in each limb's ebb hay harvest's spent?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Roger</span>, <i>halting.</i><br /> +As we trailed up from Pear-tree Dale past Sheep-mires<br /> +Under a thick dew-breath we seemed to steal<br /> +As 'tween chill bed-clothes in December nights;<br /> +Into the load it soaked two fingers' length,<br /> +So now we needs must throw it off and spread it<br /> +To wait to-morrow's sun out in the yard<br /> +Ere it is ripe to top the sweating stack.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mease.</span><br /> +Moreover, we are wetter than the crop;<br /> +Wherefore be homing, russet-apple-faces,<br /> +To take our smocks and dry them off while we<br /> +Drink the mulled cider you are going to make.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Roger</span> and <span class="smcap">Mease</span> go forward with +the horse and cart up the road to the right.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Ursel.</span><br /> +Come, maids, we'd best get in ere mistress seeks us—<br /> +Beside, the longer we do loiter here<br /> +The longer shall we hold the house from sleep;<br /> +There's bowl and bucket rinsing to be done,<br /> +And supper to set out if we would eat it.<br /> +Be neither meek nor eager in your toil,<br /> +Or Mother Dish-Clout in our gust will read<br /> +Some deed afoot; we'll wrangle sluggishly<br /> +Until she drives us off to bed unwashed.<br /> +Then, though we hear the lock shoot and her steps<br /> +Sink down the out-stair as she dips the key<br /> +Down the long pocket of her petticoat,<br /> +Do nought but cast your shoes—there's but one wall<br /> +Between her chamber and the granary—<br /> +Lie dim along the bed, and never whisper;<br /> +But, when we hear her bed-stocks creak and know<br /> +Her ears are well tied up beneath her night-cap,<br /> +Out slip Bet's staple and ourselves as well.<br /> +Seek the pale hollyhocks across the garden<br /> +(They glimmer a little in all Summer darkness),<br /> +And touch behind the hive-house shadow-hung....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +And in the barn make happiness till dawn.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span><br /> +Dare we lie still, inside the dark, and wait<br /> +In such suppression for such unknown things?<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>As <span class="smcap">Bet</span> speaks they leave the barn to the +right; <span class="smcap">Nan</span> resumes her song faintly +and more faintly.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +Dusked seemed the eve as the cows trod in<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under the roof-drip each to her stalling;</span><br /> +Full udders crusht shagged thighs between<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were warm to my hands in the chill air's palling;</span><br /> +And through the wind's drifting of leaves yet green<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Hou, hou," neared the neatherd's calling....</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><i>The song ceases in the distance.</i></span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><span class="smcap">Roger</span> <i>turns into the barn with</i> <span class="smcap">Mease's</span> <i>bundle of hay-forks, and lays them in the empty cart as he sings.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +I get no sleep in lambing nights,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My woman gets no sleep;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We fold the ewes if we sniff a thaw,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And when they yean as we crouch i' their straw</span><br /> +She takes the lambs by our horn-fogged lights<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While I do handle the sheep.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>Footsteps are heard within the neat-house.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Roger</span>, <i>calling through the neat-house door.</i><br /> +Is the sick beast grown easier by now?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mease</span>, <i>entering from the neat-house.</i><br /> +Poor Dapple-Back, milk fever's bad on her.<br /> +'Twas her first calf and though 'twas smoothly dropped<br /> +She could not gather, but heaped a shapeless flank<br /> +Like a maid swooning; when the farrier came<br /> +"She'll die, she'll die," he said. "She'll not," said I:<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>But nothing served at first—her slackened fell<br /> +Dried hard and never any sweat would stir,<br /> +The udder turned a dull and shivering white;<br /> +Yet now her ears twitch up to greet my voice,<br /> +The hide-hair moistens and the udder shrinks.<br /> +There'll be no need to wake with her to-night—<br /> +I'll not unwrap her till an hour ere dawn.<br /> +Come through and look at her as we wend in....<br /> +When you got up the cider for the meadows<br /> +Was there a butt still left?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Roger</span>, <i>as they go into the mistal together.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">Surely there was;</span><br /> +But the girls say she'll make it wait till harvest.<br /> +I never hired to any stead before<br /> +Where last year's cider trickled into June....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Maudlin.</span><br /> +Nan ... Ursel ... Nan ... Lib ... Appletoft Lib, hast come?<br /> +There 's no one here—I wish they might forget<br /> +And sleep, and let me feel a little lonely.<br /> +I need much loneliness wherein to suckle<br /> +The sadness that alone can bring content:<br /> +I am too burdened by long laughing days,<br /> +And as I wavered through this solemn vapour<br /> +Of the worn earth, the comfort-smelling earth,<br /> +Where unexpected trees rose wearily<br /> +And sank again like ashen-bosomed sighs,<br /> +I felt a new, delighting mournfulness<br /> +That made me know where I am sensitive<br /> +To the deep things of life; even the late Maybloom,<br /> +That stays the tiring Spring in this strange valley,<br /> +Loses its too self-conscious hope to-night—<br /> +The pink would fain be white, and the spent white<br /> +Still fog and sink to the moon and make an end.<br /> +I must be much alone in sorrowful nights.<br /> +I should have ease if Summer would but go,<br /> +Its green-lit glory fail; I am so eager<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>For overgrown too-mellowness loth to pass,<br /> +For dripping trees o'er soft decaying grass,<br /> +Bare orchards and shorn meadows and stripped gardens,<br /> +Brown cloudy woods that drooping mists make taller<br /> +About washed fields and muffled hills, subduing<br /> +All to a low remote romance and charm....<br /> +Yet soon with other maids I may behold<br /> +A change that comes to snirp these buds in me....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She lays herself on her back among the tumbled hay; +soon she sings in a low voice.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Fetch the porridge pot hither to me,<br /> +The porridge pot and the dairy key,<br /> +And bring me a clout to wind my hair<br /> +Or the swarming bees will tangle there:<br /> +They drip from the hive in the orchard long,<br /> +And coil the green-cherried boughs among<br /> +As they follow the tanking tune I ring<br /> +Under the cherry leaves' shivering....<br /> +They settle, they knit—come Ailce with the skep—<br /> +Step along, Mistyhead—Smearycap, step—<br /> +Steady it while I draw the bough<br /> +Warily down and shake it.... Now....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>After a little silence she resumes.</i></span><br /> +The maids went down to dip in the pool<br /> +When the mirrored moon had cooled the water;<br /> +But they never told the farmer's daughter,<br /> +For they knew she would tell her mother, the fool,<br /> +That the girls were out<br /> +And awaking the water,<br /> +With never a clout<br /> +Though the night was cool.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She hums the latter melody a little while.</i></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> +<div class='sdirection'><i>Without premonition <span class="smcap">Ursel</span>, <span class="smcap">Nan</span> and +<span class="smcap">Bet</span> enter singly and noiselessly from +the right, each holding a hand of +the one before her. They are hoodless, +white-capped, and barelegged now.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Ursel</span>, <i>in a low voice.</i><br /> +I bade them hide until we came.... Lib ... Maudlin....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Maudlin</span>, <i>sitting up.</i><br /> +Lib is not here: there's no one nigh at all;<br /> +And in the lanes nought moves but squirrel whifts,<br /> +Save that long gazing into the green darkness<br /> +Seems to show boles half stirred by creeping light<br /> +Amid the darker dark of trees impending.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span><br /> +Was it not Lib who was dew-drenched last harvest,<br /> +Hid in a wheat stook till she fell asleep?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan</span>, <i>as they all seat themselves by</i> <span class="smcap">Maudlin</span>.<br /> +Could any watch you as you slipped away?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Maudlin.</span><br /> +Our lambs and three fat beasts must take the road<br /> +Ere dawn to reach the morrow's far-off fair;<br /> +So I said I would sleep along the settle<br /> +And set the hinds their drinking ere they trudge.<br /> +None smelt me, but I must start home by three....<br /> +What is the moaning through that little door?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ursel</span>, <i>in alarm.</i><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>I had forgot the beast; will Mease sleep with her?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +When I came in to milk soon after seven<br /> +He said the deathly loosening was pinched<br /> +And we should keep her without more sitting up....<br /> +Yet—the other cows pushed in and nosed her<br /> +As cows will do to helpless dying things....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Maudlin</span>.</span><br /> +A heifer has milk fever.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Maudlin</span>, <i>rising eagerly.</i> Let me look—<br /> +I have not touched milk fever once, nor seen it;<br /> +I want to know what sense it can be like,<br /> +I am made to know with what sick thought it takes them,<br /> +To watch it wane and learn to handle it.<br /> +Ah, let me feel her, Nan, dear Nannie....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">Nay.</span><br /> +The neat-house door is open on her stall<br /> +And hints the pool out in the yard beyond<br /> +Dreaming a dew-dull wash of unborn moonlight<br /> +In darkness sinkingly close as a bat's coat,<br /> +And the large stillness of her weary eyes<br /> +Might image that ... although we should not see her....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Maudlin.</span><br /> +I know, I know.... But we can shut our eyes—<br /> +Nay, fear would lift them—let us enter blindfold;<br /> +My fingers know just what they ought to do.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span><br /> +Nay, she might die ... I saw a cow die once:<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>She tried to turn her head across her shoulder<br /> +And looked at me as if 'twas all my doing,<br /> +Then laid it down again with a straight throat ...<br /> +I fear for that old wrong I never did....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A deep-voiced woman is heard making low +dove-sounds.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Comes Lib....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Bet</span>, <i>continuing.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Lib ... Lib ... is she asleep or dead?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lib</span>, <i>entering the barn.</i><br /> +Do I not seem the shadow of a husband?<br /> +Am I too late? I could not choose my coming:<br /> +'Tis churning day to-morrow, and nought would serve<br /> +The old one but that we must scald the churn<br /> +And wipe the cream-pots' lips and set them nigh<br /> +Before we slept—she was so cross because<br /> +One cow had broken, one cast before its time,<br /> +Some hens had laid away, farmer had blamed her<br /> +For standing over us to make us strip<br /> +The cows too hard; so she was queer with us.<br /> +That kept us late from bed, and when at last<br /> +Our fallen skirts were cooling on the floor<br /> +I had to lay me down beside Ruth<br /> +Until she slept; for Candle-Face tells tales—<br /> +'Twas she who lost us the low garden-chamber<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>Where hang the dry sweet herbs, and earned instead<br /> +One with a lattice up against the stars,<br /> +By peaching of my clambering through the casement<br /> +'Mid dropping plums that night I went somewhere;<br /> +But when I heard her wet mouth on the pillow<br /> +I left her, stuffed my coats within my arm<br /> +And out along the landing. As I neared<br /> +The old one's chamber-door a warped board chirped,<br /> +My limbs went loose and motionless with fear;<br /> +On I slid again and down the stairs,<br /> +And in the kitchen found I had no raiment.<br /> +I dared not grope for it nor make a light;<br /> +So two unmended stockings on the settle,<br /> +My shoes upon the hearth, were all I had:<br /> +But in the warm night it was comforting<br /> +To feel myself half indistinguishable<br /> +From the grey, stirless oats I stood among,<br /> +Or the evasive gleams and thinner places<br /> +Of mist-lit woodlands, or from slim birch boles;<br /> +And when a woman met me by the brook<br /> +I was so pale and slow she ran from me.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The others laugh as they lead her to crouch with them +in the hay.</i><br /></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Why is there moaning through that little door?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +A heifer has milk fever. <i>There is a silence.</i><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lib</span>, <i>in a low voice.</i> Women have that....<br /> +Why are we thankful for a deal of trouble?...<br /> +My sister Jen was pleased and proud with herself;<br /> +And when her second obedience came to her<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>She was well eased—but goody Slippy-Stockings,<br /> +Who went for wisdom-dame, bore the hot jug<br /> +Too brimmed when it was time to draw the milk....<br /> +They had to dry the milk, and it, being eager,<br /> +Went the wrong way and oozed into her head:<br /> +The little one died so soon. She lay there<br /> +Sooing the oldest milking-croon of all—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Baby calf-lips nuzzle not nigh you,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Tis my fingers firm that try you Knowingly;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Patch-Eye, Teaty, I'll not wry you,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Let your warm milk down to me...."</span><br /> +Then she would wear her wedding gown all night,<br /> +And in the orchard we could hear her sing<br /> +Mall, go, gather a Posy—Lasses turn Grey—<br /> +Wander, Wonder—and, Peg was clouting her Nightcaps;<br /> +She sank heavily to uneasy stillness,<br /> +Then mooed a baby-noise; till, the fourth dawn,<br /> +She hollowed her arms gently across her body,<br /> +"Cold, cold," she said, and then "Cover us up"....<br /> +And she grew colder....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Maudlin.</span> Much strangeness comes in it:<br /> +I've wondered what there is in me to gather<br /> +So secretly, why life can leak such whiteness,<br /> +And if we feel it change, and how in it<br /> +We sow hid things that never were in us—<br /> +Can it be that our thoughts go into it,<br /> +And all we feel and see must alter it<br /> +From white to white that seems but white to us?<br /> +I knew a woman and her daughter once<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>Who went together.... The young one's died; she cried,<br /> +O she did cry, until the mother said<br /> +"Here, lass, have mine; I know, and you shall know."<br /> +Girls, she did that quite calmly: ere he would take,<br /> +Mab had to cover his eyes with a warm cloth,<br /> +And even o' nights to wear her mother's clothes.<br /> +'Tis grave to suckle across the brood like that—<br /> +It threads the mind....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Mothering, mothering, mothering—</span><br /> +Cannot we find our lives except that way?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Lib.</span><br /> +That dog sounds from some low-set roadside farm;<br /> +What does it hear? <i>There is a short silence.</i><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Maudlin.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Women, what does it see?</span><br /> +They say dogs howl when someone's fetch goes by.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lib.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>Mayhap it is the husband-shapes a-coming.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +We shall see nought but what is in our thoughts.<br /> +Yet I'd be very fain to see my man....<br /> +When Gib at Hornbeam-Shallows lost his wife<br /> +He had to hire a wench for the first time<br /> +And at next Martimas hiring came to me<br /> +And offered me four pounds for the half year,<br /> +Saying he'd give me his wife's milking coats<br /> +To make it up, ay, and her two best shawls,<br /> +One darned across the neck-place, one loom-new;<br /> +I told him I would liefer have her shoes—<br /> +That frightened him so well he stammered off.<br /> +But Sib had heard; she drew him with her eyes,<br /> +And said she'd go for three pounds and the shawls<br /> +If he would let her use a gown sometimes.<br /> +Then at each hiring she stayed on for less,<br /> +Till in the third year's end he wedded her;<br /> +And so she's gotten shawls and shoes as well.<br /> +I missed a savoury chance, for he is old<br /> +And childless; both stock and land are his:<br /> +Ay, if I had gone quietly to him<br /> +Ere now I might have had him for myself.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span><br /> +I should not wait three years for any man....<br /> +When Sib would hire a lass Gib said his other<br /> +Had done without for seven and thirty years,<br /> +And he had ringed her but to save her wage:<br /> +At first he sent the hind to milk for her,<br /> +But stopped him soon, saying that men's hands<br /> +Made cow-teats horny; then at Whitsun hiring<br /> +He let him go, grutching it was waste<br /> +With such a goodly woman in the yard;<br /> +So now she has to herd and fork and winnow,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>To drive the cart and take a side of thatch....<br /> +Gib says young wives are better worth their fodder<br /> +Than worn ones. Truly she has a gown sometimes,<br /> +For she goes ever in an old woman's wear—<br /> +He says the other's gear will last her days.<br /> +Nan must surely see more than that to-night.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lib.</span><br /> +Ah, but Sib knows him: he does so fondle her;<br /> +He lets her hair down every eve to spread it<br /> +And feel the pleasure of the comb's sleek goings,<br /> +Bidding her "Stand over" as when a cow<br /> +Rubs up against the boust at milking-time;<br /> +While, when they gleaned their harvest fields by moonlight<br /> +To stint the widows, he would bend down as she<br /> +Bobbed up a mouth all blackberry-stains to kiss ...<br /> +Before she is fit for kitchen toil again<br /> +He will so wonder how she has grown the mistress....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Bet</span> <i>laughs.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ursel</span>, <i>shivering.</i><br /> +Hush, do not laugh; it creeps up in the roof,<br /> +And drips on us again like the thick water<br /> +Through the black pulpy thatch-leak in November....<br /> +That laugh sounded as lonely as one flail....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><i>There is a silence.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Maudlin.</span><br /> +The heifer ceased to moan a moment past—<br /> +It seems as if it holds its breath to listen....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><i>There is a long silence.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>I need to speak, but what I have forgotten....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ursel.</span><br /> +Lass, do not make us speak, or we may miss it....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Maudlin.</span><br /> +O, do not speak to us, or we may miss it....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lib.</span><br /> +We could not hear you for this listening....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +I look so deeply that I cannot see...<br /> +I cannot listen for it for listening....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span><br /> +Do I feel something? Do we feel something growing?...<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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> <span class="smcap">Nan</span> poises +unwillingly foremost; when the light +catches their faces they seem about to laugh.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +Nay, I'll not meet it—perhaps it is not mine ...<br /> +I will not know aforetime to despoil<br /> +The gradual joy of waking to a man—<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>I will not lose one feeling of dear change,<br /> +Or slur it by being conscious of the next....<br /> +Yet even then love should be marvellous<br /> +As the surprise of secret lights expected ...<br /> +O, if I meet some one I do not want....<br /> +Come, maids, join hands and let us go together—<br /> +Still, we might make too sure....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>When <span class="smcap">Nan</span> is across the threshold the +others huddle back. The steps come +nearer. In the road beyond <span class="smcap">Nan</span> a +woman appears quietly from the left; +so far as it is possible to see, her +features and array are the counterpart +of <span class="smcap">Nan's</span>.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Nan</span>, <i>continuing.</i> Hey, here 's a woman ...<br /> +Lib, did you tell the slatterns at Cherry-Close mill?<br /> +Nay, 'tis some rag-bag sleeper under hedges....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet</span>, <i>in an undertone of wonder.</i><br /> +Why are their coats alike?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan</span>, <i>turning her head and calling.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;">Ursel, Ursel,</span><br /> +She's from the farm—our granary has been searched;<br /> +For see, she wears my old plum petticoat—<br /> +Come, let us strip her and pen her in a sty ...<br /> +But ... I have on my old plum petticoat ...<br /> +And how can she come from the farm when she goes to the farm?...<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lib</span>, <i>hastily and below her breath.</i><br /> +Fetches and wraiths ... fetches and wraiths ... fetches and wraiths ... <i>Peering about her.</i><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>Is there no way from here?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Maudlin</span>, <i>under her breath.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;">My mother's grandmam</span><br /> +Saw her own fetch a week before she died....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet</span>, <i>in a low tone.</i><br /> +Come through the neat-house ere we too see ours—<br /> +Ursel, come ... come....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ursel</span>, <i>in a hushed voice.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">If all your days are used</span><br /> +Your fetch can meet you at the neat-house door—<br /> +Ah, stay, for Nan will need us when ... that goes....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Bet</span>, <span class="smcap">Lib</span>, and <span class="smcap">Maudlin</span> hurry and crowd +into the mistal unheedingly. Meanwhile +the woman has passed from left +to right along the road, turning always +to <span class="smcap">Nan</span> and holding out her arms to her.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Nan</span>, <i>leaning out toward her with her hands pressed over her heart.</i><br /> +Her unapparent features make me feel<br /> +How others must feel my face.... The droop of her skirt<br /> +Is creeping on my hips.... I have watched my feet<br /> +Draw sideways so.... Her shadow is long like mine<br /> +About the bosom ... I wish I could touch her hair—<br /> +I know so well the tingle and smell of my hair ...<br /> +Is this a fetch?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She reaches forward as if she would follow,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +until she is in the middle of the road; +the woman passes from, sight to the +right. <span class="smcap">Nan's</span> body loosens; she turns +confusedly to the barn and sees <span class="smcap">Ursel's</span> +face pale in the shade.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Nan</span>, <i>continuing.</i> O, Ursly, where have I gone?<br /> +I have lost myself, for I was here but now....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><i>She remembers and shakes.</i></span><br /> +Dear soul, what did you see?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ursel</span>, <i>taking her in her arms.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">I saw what you saw.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +Was it my fetch?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ursel.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">I think it was a fetch.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan</span>, <i>numbly.</i><br /> +I must be going to die.... I cannot feel so ...<br /> +There's nought I want to do when I am dead ...<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She is silent a moment, then seems +startled into sobbing.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +O, Ursel, Ursel, I cannot let me die....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ursel.</span><br /> +Folk say a fetch is seen at its departing<br /> +From a cold house whence it shall lead a soul;<br /> +But this comes like a child-birth closing in,<br /> +And so perchance it does but signify<br /> +The consciousness of death that breaks in all.<br /> +We stand outside the process of the earth<br /> +And watch it as immortals; and consider<br /> +Death, which we think a deeply moving thing<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>(Observing eagerly its fine emotions,<br /> +The impressive strangeness of its mean romance,<br /> +Its strong-tanged character and accidents,<br /> +And all the keen new chances it affords<br /> +For sympathy and for imagination),<br /> +But think not to connect it with ourselves—<br /> +So sure we are all's possible to us.<br /> +Then a near comprehension that is love<br /> +Of trees or sheep, songs or some man or woman,<br /> +Shakes us one day and nothing is the same,<br /> +Because we grow aware that we must leave<br /> +The very joy that lights ourselves for us<br /> +And shows where we may greaten for its sake.<br /> +'Tis life's beginning; we perceive the earth<br /> +And go down into it and nestle to it<br /> +Defeatedly before its larger thought:<br /> +Numbly we measure ourselves by all we see,<br /> +We feel uneasily yet willingly<br /> +Each thing that happens may happen to us too,<br /> +And we are cheated by each grief unsuffered—<br /> +Yea, ever we interrogate decay<br /> +To know our own duration; we must touch<br /> +Each lovesome thing lest it or we should fade,<br /> +Until the searching quiver of contact reaches<br /> +And makes us conscious where we can be lovesome;<br /> +We find ourselves in others and thus learn<br /> +How others are in us, and so we creep<br /> +To large experiences we could not think—<br /> +Effectual perfection of ripe life;<br /> +The earth and all the darling ways of it<br /> +Are ours by love, for all that we must leave<br /> +Comes into us and makes us live it swiftly<br /> +Lest we should miss some thing. So that one love<br /> +Insists that every love in earth shall feed it,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>To keep it from the unsafety of ignorance<br /> +And let our brief days yield their sweetness up.<br /> +Such is the consciousness of death—ah, such<br /> +Must be made yours; mayhap this is the way.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +The consciousness of death.... Though that be all,<br /> +It is too much: even if this fetch abides<br /> +Unnumbered years ere I see it depart,<br /> +Yet all is made unsure and I may sink<br /> +Before I have felt half I need to feel.<br /> +I must make every passion in myself,<br /> +Have each emotion of my wilful sowing—<br /> +The pain of sap, the pain of bud and bloom,<br /> +Of hard green fruit sun-bruised to thick gold juice,<br /> +The pain of the sharp kernel in the pulp<br /> +(Transmuter of sweet to inmost bitterness),<br /> +The pain of orderly corruption too—<br /> +Of the withdrawing sap, of the sick falling<br /> +Into long grass beneath the rain-soaked boughs,<br /> +Of gentle decomposing for small roots;<br /> +So that if death's the end, the true completion,<br /> +I could believe myself fulfilled and ripe,<br /> +A sufferer of the topmost joy and grief,<br /> +And past the need of any eternity ...<br /> +O, I desire old age, because old age<br /> +Has more capacity, more ways of joy....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Her sobs hide her words. <span class="smcap">Ursel</span> 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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Ursel.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>Old age must sit and wait as we must wait ...<br /> +We can grow old so quickly in our souls....<br /> +One utters a love-call and no answer comes,<br /> +One suffers motherhood within one's heart<br /> +Of cold unconscious children who can render<br /> +A tolerance of affection more remote<br /> +Than strait denial; and such maternity<br /> +Waits not for any bearing through the body—<br /> +When love has come maternity must follow,<br /> +And if the body may not be made fruitful<br /> +The spirit chooses its own fruitfulness:<br /> +All that we miss is happening in others,<br /> +Others are feeling all we yearn to feel,<br /> +And if we will not let ourselves forget<br /> +How love has wrung us we pass through it with them....<br /> +Ah, wonder, joy, of contact that enlarges<br /> +Our bodies' possibilities and times,<br /> +And gathers life for us to nourish....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A stifled cry from <span class="smcap">Bet</span> is heard from the +neat-house.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span> Aa—h....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan</span>, <i>sinking back faintly in</i> <span class="smcap">Ursel's</span> <i>arms.</i><br /> +Does ... it return and ... call?...<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ursel.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hush, 'tis Bet's voice....</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>After a brief interval filled with slight +sounds,</i> <span class="smcap">Bet</span> <i>appears in the neat-house +doorway; she peeps before her until +she sees the two women in the hay.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Bet</span>, <i>in a low eager tone.</i><br /> +Ursel, Ursel....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><span class="smcap">Ursel</span> <i>rises and goes toward her.</i></span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 5em;">The cow has died ... in the dark....</span><br /> +When I returned but now by the yard door<br /> +I missed the boust and groped into her stall—<br /> +And did not know until I heaved and spread<br /> +Up a flat softness that went sick beneath me<br /> +With long stiff shakings, while her unearned wind<br /> +Broke far within, then slid against my cheek ...<br /> +I could have borne it if she had been cold;<br /> +But she was nearly cold, so that I felt<br /> +A thread-thin warmth I could not stay nor make ...<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan</span>, <i>approaching</i> <span class="smcap">Bet</span> <i>swiftly from behind and<br /> +grasping her shoulder.</i><br /> +Is the cow dead?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet</span>, <i>shrinking from her touch.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Nannie, the cow is dead.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +I milked her last of all, and now my fetch<br /> +Has milked her too; will ... it ... take all from me<br /> +I own through love?<br /> +(<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Bet</span>.) Why did you shrink from me?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet.</span><br /> +I did not shrink from you; what need is there?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><span class="smcap">Nan</span> <i>holds out her arms to her; again she +draws away from</i> <span class="smcap">Nan.</span></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Nannie, I cannot help it ... I cannot help it....<br /> +There 's more than this world in you, and I know not<br /> +What you might do to me past your own will:<br /> +You have seen your fetch and are not one of us,<br /> +For we know not your being's dim half-conditions ...<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>And maybe if you touch ought that has life<br /> +You make it that your fetch can take it too—<br /> +So died the heifer.... Or maybe your least touch<br /> +Draws life from others to win you a few hours;<br /> +Or you are of the dead, and call folk to them<br /> +Through sympathy of the senses' understanding....<br /> +Poor Nannie ... O, poor Nannie ... O, poor Nannie....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She sobs loudly, stooping to wipe her eyes +with her petticoat-hem.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Ursel</span>, <i>while seeking to still her.</i><br /> +Let us turn home to bed: we shall not sleep;<br /> +But once we're stripped we can relax our bodies,<br /> +Lying past thought for misery till insight<br /> +Returns again and brings us the proportion<br /> +Of all ... and us....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">I shall bide here till dawn</span><br /> +To see if ... I return and go out ... out....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">(<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Bet</span>.)</span><br /> +Have you left Lib and Maudlin hiding somewhere;<br /> +Or do they home by now?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet</span>, <i>overcoming her tears gradually.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">We fled from here</span><br /> +When ... when ... and reached the neat-yard ere we knew;<br /> +We climbed the knoll and passed behind the barn;<br /> +Then through the corn land, dew-wet to our hearts,<br /> +We beat the thick rye down that choked our feet<br /> +Amid its shaggy sighing stilly weight,<br /> +Until the cottages at Damson-Closes<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>Hung o'er us like a dark broody-winged hen<br /> +We shunned the watcher's light where the old woman<br /> +Waits for her death, and dripped into the lane<br /> +Soft as cast shadows.... Ever all feared to speak:<br /> +Yet I went with the others through lost fields,<br /> +Straining to see the thing we prayed to miss,<br /> +Because I knew I dared not near the homestead;<br /> +Until I felt that neither should I dare<br /> +A more remote returning by myself—<br /> +When, loitering unnoticed by those trances,<br /> +I sought even you rather than be alone.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan</span>, <i>rigidly, her head having been long averted to the barn's doorway.</i><br /> +I hear my feet.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ursel</span>, <i>in alarm.</i> Nan, do not go....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span> I must.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bet</span>, <i>wildly.</i><br /> +Again.... Wherever shall I go alone?...<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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</i> <span class="smcap">Nan</span> <i>approaches the threshold +the woman reappears to the right +and passes down the lane to the left, +always holding out her arms to</i> <span class="smcap">Nan</span>, +<i>whose arms hang tensely at her sides +while her fingers twitch at her petticoat +as she holds back and back from +meeting the embrace.</i> <span class="smcap">Ursel</span> <i>tries to +go to</i> <span class="smcap">Nan</span>, <i>but she cannot trail her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +feet after her nor draw down her hands +that cover her face.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Nan.</span><br /> +How have I parted?... Where am I in deed?...<br /> +What of me is unseen?... Go....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The woman having disappeared to the left, still opening +her arms to</i> <span class="smcap">Nan</span>, N<span class="smcap">an</span> <i>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</i> +<span class="smcap">Ursel's</span> <i>feet. At the fall</i> <span class="smcap">Ursel's</span> +<i>hands drop; she reaches to</i> <span class="smcap">Nan</span>, <i>kneels by +her, feels her heart and hands, holds her own hand +before</i> <span class="smcap">Nan's</span> <i>mouth and nostrils; then with +one swift movement she loosens her own raiment nearly to her +waist, and, lying against</i> <span class="smcap">Nan</span>, <i>clasps her in +her arms and gathers her into her bosom.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Ursel.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Nan.... O, Nan....</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The two lie quite still; the stirred dust settles on them +slowly and greyly in the moonlight.</i></div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><br /><span class="smcap">Curtain.</span></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> +<h2>LAODICE AND DANAË</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<i>"And, O, perchance it is the fairest lot<br /> +At once to be a queen and be forgot;<br /> +For queens are oft remembered by the weighed<br /> +Wild dusky peacock-flashing sins they played,<br /> +But queens clean-hearted leave us and grow less,<br /> +Lost in the common light of righteousness."</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">From KING RENÉ'S HONEYMOON: A MASQUE, Scene vii.</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>TO B. J. FLETCHER</i></h2> + + +<div class='poem'><div class='cap'> +<i>O RARE Ben Fletcher, oft I bless<br /> +Your rotund Jacobean name;<br /> +If the great crew could still express<br /> +Their hearts in their dim place of Fame,<br /> +As once at Globe or Mermaid-ales,<br /> +With love your liking they would greet<br /> +For country things and queens' mad tales<br /> +And lines with sounding feet.</i><br /></div> +<br /> +<i>But in this troublous newer time<br /> +Such fellows have not filled your days,<br /> +So it is left for me to chime<br /> +These quieter verses of your praise:<br /> +For a fair theme I need not strive<br /> +While manhood knows as boyhood knew<br /> +The joys of art, the joys of life,<br /> +I have received from you.</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>What days could ever be so long<br /> +As those our pristine Summers poised<br /> +O'er a charmed valley isled among<br /> +Their bright slow-breaking tides unnoised?<br /> +Then </i>Dials<i> were new and came to stir<br /> +A passionate thirst within the eyes;<br /> +Each dawn was a discoverer<br /> +Of poets unearthly wise.</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>First-comer of my friends, the years<br /> +Behold much friendship fade and set;<br /> +The shrunken world imparts its fears,<br /> +Most men their early power forget.<br /> +But art stays true for us, and we<br /> +In it are steadfast: for a sign<br /> +Its wonder joins us changelessly<br /> +Your name stands here with mine.</i><br /> +</div> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">March 8th, 1909.</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>ARGUMENT</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 Danaë, the queen's favourite, saved +himself by flight.</p></div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><br />PERSONS:</div> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Cast"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, a Queen of the Seleucid House in Asia.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Danaë</span>, <span class="smcap">Mysta</span>, <span class="smcap">Rhodogune</span>, <span class="smcap">Barsine</span>, and other Waiting-Women.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Three Women-Musicians.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sophron</span>, Seleucid Governor of Ephesus.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<div class='center'><br /> +<i>In Smyrna.</i> B.C. 246.<br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> +<h2>LAODICE AND DANAË</h2> + + +<div class='center'><i>Behind the curtain a woman sings to the accompaniment +of a harp and a bell.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'><div class='cap'> +I WILL sing of the women who have borne rule,<br /> +The severe, the swift, the beautiful;<br /> +I will praise their loftiness of mind<br /> +That made them too wise to be true or kind;<br /> +I will sing of their calm injustice loved<br /> +For the pride it fed and the power it proved.<br /></div> +<br /> +Once in Egypt a girl was queen<br /> +Ashamed that her womanhood should be seen;<br /> +She wore a beard, she called herself king,<br /> +She was uneasy with governing;<br /> +She believed a king was greater than she,<br /> +So she found a king and his mastery.<br /> +<br /> +In Smyrna sits a queen to-night<br /> +Who does not shine by another's light;<br /> +She has laid her husband on time's dust-heap,<br /> +But for that she holds not her title cheap;<br /> +New radiance comes on woman by her,<br /> +New force in woman is seen to stir.<br /> +<br /> +She has taken the land and the sea from men;<br /> +She has shewn men the power of their source again....<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The curtain rises.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Queen Laodice</span> 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 <span class="smcap">Danaë</span> +leans against a pillar.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +BE silent now; I let you sing too much.<br /> +I am awaiting now too many things<br /> +To bear this fret of waiting till you end<br /> +And I can think again. Be quietly gone.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><i>The women go out.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +You bade them sing to make one moment brief.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>What are you watching like a larger cat,<br /> +Sweetheart, little heart, noiseless and alert?<br /> +You shall not watch me like a prim wise cat.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +I watch a girl sway slightly, near the tide,<br /> +As if rehearsing dance-steps in her heart;<br /> +She hangs lit snakes of sea-weed down her bosom;<br /> +She takes a letter from her bunchy hair....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She laughs and leans over, holding the pillar.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Find me a ship, ships; dark ones, strange ones.<br /> +I must have ships, so find them, little heart;<br /> +And, more than all, a ship of Antioch.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +How tiny a girl looks under these deep rocks....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13.5em;"><span class="smcap">Laodice</span> <i>yawns.</i></span><br /> +Madam, I have searched well; yet until now<br /> +No deep-sea ship has passed the promontory;<br /> +Now a great ship with tawny sails comes on,<br /> +An ocean-threatening centaur for its prow.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +That is from Ephesus, not Antioch....<br /> +I purge one thought thereby and make repayment.<br /> +I am taken with an inward shivering:<br /> +Perhaps I am cold with night—come down and warm me.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Danaë</span> descends and reclines by <span class="smcap">Laodice</span>.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Haughty and passive and obedient,<br /> +May not my queen's bosom receive your head?<br /> +When I worked empery in Ephesus<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>That Sophron, governor—did he not love you?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +He said he did.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> And you?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">I said he did.</span><br /> +Thereon he made too sure of me too soon:<br /> +It is unwise to let men be too sure,<br /> +And for that reason I hung up my silks<br /> +On a swart Nabatæan, having smeared her<br /> +With my rare private unguent, and concealed her<br /> +In his choice corner—where she bit his lip,<br /> +Then let her laughing teeth take light of moon.<br /> +There was no more of Sophron afterward....<br /> +Although I looked at him almost penitently....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +No more? Was there no more, my little one?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Ah, yes.... When he would never look at me<br /> +I felt I could not live outside his arms.<br /> +I went to him at night in a slave's skirt,<br /> +And by humiliating actions soothed<br /> +His wincing mind, until he stooped to me.<br /> +I had him soon. And then I tired of him.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +And then, indeed, there was no more at all?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +I have not seen him since. We left that city.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>You have my faith. You know I am all yours.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +That is quite well. He has no years for you;<br /> +He is found treasonous, and must be undone.<br /> +O, he goes out.... Dear, I am very cold.<br /> +Is it because my heart is cold? Men say it.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Your heart is warm to me.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">What do men say?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +They say you fled to Sardis and to Smyrna<br /> +Because you poisoned him at Ephesus<br /> +And heard his feet when a room echoed.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">Him?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Antiochus the God, your king and spouse.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Why do they so consider me the cause?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +You hold the physician Smerdis in more favour.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +And did I poison him, my Danaë?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Dear lady, surely.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Surely.... It is sure.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>Was I not made the Sister, natural wife?<br /> +Did he not change me for a daughter of Egypt<br /> +Robed with a satrapy, crowned by an isle?<br /> +She laved her body daily in Nile water,<br /> +Which can make fruitful even stones and virgins;<br /> +It soon brought forth the mud's accustomed spawn,<br /> +A valuable heir of all the lands.<br /> +How could she keep him? Needing me he turned:<br /> +Was it not best for him to die still needing me<br /> +And leave the amount of kingdoms to my boy,<br /> +The climbing vine of gold up Shushan's front,<br /> +The cedar palaces of Ecbatana,<br /> +Though Berenice sits in Antioch<br /> +Safe with her suckling, in her suckling's name?<br /> +Winds, bring to me a ship from Antioch.<br /> +Since that dread night when Mysta stept not down<br /> +With all you speechless ones to disarray me,<br /> +Have you not dreamed that I did poison her?<br /> +Her love is more than yours, for she had crept<br /> +To Antioch to sell herself in bondage<br /> +Where Berenice buys, that she may nurse<br /> +The child for Berenice—and for me,<br /> +While uncle Egypt plucks my crown for it.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Which fingers mixed the poison? See, I kiss them,<br /> +Trust them ever to do their will with me.<br /> +There is no poison in a poppy-seed;<br /> +The seedling draws its venom from the earth—<br /> +'Tis the earth's natural need for such event.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Ay, but the disposition is in the seed;<br /> +I poison by a motion of the heart.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Rhodogune</span>, a Parthian waiting-woman, enters.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Rhodogune.</span><br /> +Madam, the governor of Ephesus<br /> +Comes newly from the harbour to your will.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Sophron!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> Lie still. <i>A silence.</i><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rhodogune.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Madam, must I go down?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Bid this Ephesian governor to me.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><span class="smcap">Rhodogune</span> <i>goes out.</i> <span class="smcap">Laodice</span> <i>lays +a hand on</i> <span class="smcap">Danaë's</span> <i>heart.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>It is now twilight.</i> <span class="smcap">Sophron</span> <i>enters.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Sophron.</span><br /> +Queen, am I swift enough to your commanding?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +I am ever rich in your discerning service.<br /> +Why came you by the sea?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She sees that</i> <span class="smcap">Sophron's</span> <i>gaze is fixed +on</i> <span class="smcap">Danaë</span>, <i>who does not look at him.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Girl, stand behind me.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><span class="smcap">Danaë</span> <i>obeys.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Why came you by the sea?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sophron.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lady ... the sea?...</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>Does not the way by land still fit mine urgence?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sophron.</span><br /> +Your safety's urgence made it seem most good<br /> +To search the straits for masts of Ptolemy.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Ha.... Yes.... And did you speak with any such?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Danaë</span> looks at <span class="smcap">Sophron</span> and +shakes her head.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Sophron.</span><br /> +The seas were void of alien keels to-night.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Are there Egyptians seen in Ephesus?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sophron.</span><br /> +None since the aged men who mummied the king.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Tell me the common talk of Egypt's plan;<br /> +And what device to handle Ptolemy<br /> +Is in your friendly mind.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sophron.</span><br /> +There's but a common fear of Egypt's secret.<br /> +We cannot meet him yet unless the cities,<br /> +Yes, all these cities of men, take hands with us.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Must I keep house in Smyrna still, my man?<br /> +Play queen in a corner harmlessly?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sophron.</span> <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Madam,</span><br /> +The coast is safer here than at Ephesus,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>Retreat on Sardis safer and more ready.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +I more withdrawn apart from my main kingdom,<br /> +Baffled from drainage of the unended East.<br /> +I have required you here because a word,<br /> +Perhaps a word malicious, has crept here:<br /> +It has been said that some Ephesian men<br /> +Have bartered for my town with Ptolemy—<br /> +Do you know any of these? Do they live?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sophron.</span><br /> +There are none known: such could not sell past me.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +They use my palace: examine those about you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sophron.</span><br /> +There is no need: I know them to be clean.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Danaë</span> again shakes her head, +but more eagerly.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, <i>turning her head and looking up at<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë</span> suddenly.</i><br /> +Why do you tremble, girl? There's nought to fear.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>As she begins to speak</i> <span class="smcap">Danaë's</span> <i>hair is +shaken loose; a rose falls from it and breaks on</i> +<span class="smcap">Laodice's</span> <i>shoulder.</i> <span class="smcap">Laodice</span> +<i>laughs and plays with the petals, continuing without +pause.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Do you drop me a sleepy kiss, maiden, my rare one?<br /> +But, O, you have so tumbled your hair to cull it—<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>Come hither, kneel, and I will bind it up.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë</span>, <i>obeying.</i><br /> +Lady, I coiled it carelessly.... Indeed<br /> +Such ministration is my precious pardon.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Silk, silky silk so delicious to finger....<br /> +Rose I held; ruby-glows; then dark hair in my hands....<br /> +Nay, I am hot; I burn; stay there and fan me....<br /> +Dear, do not cease at all.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Sophron</span>.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Well, my captain?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sophron.</span><br /> +You shall have men's minds searched in Ephesus.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +I like your mind. Also, I have considered<br /> +You must shut up your port, let out no ship;<br /> +Then Ptolemy shall be more sure each night<br /> +That he has wiped the seas ... till you slip out.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sophron</span>, <i>in stupefaction.</i><br /> +Slip ... out?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">Ay, Sophron, fall on him.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sophron</span>, <i>eagerly.</i> Yes, yes:<br /> +These things shall be, and you shall not complain.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Nay, go not now; be my great guest this night.<br /> +The tide will take you not until more day,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>And in the dawn, white hour of clearest thought,<br /> +I need more counsel from you for my deeds.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She claps her hands:</i> <span class="smcap">Barsine</span>, <i>a Persian, +enters.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Let this strong captain be well feasted now<br /> +In winy webs of my embroidering—<br /> +Or—no—a purple suits his temper best;<br /> +And send a slave to him for him to rule.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sophron.</span><br /> +Graciousness, yours: let me but stay my seamen.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Haretas the Pisidian shall go down<br /> +Into the place of ships, but not my guest:<br /> +Entrust your ring to this, and she will bear it.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Barsine</span> and <span class="smcap">Sophron</span> go out. <span class="smcap">Laodice</span> +nods to herself.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +I saw his ring: it was a new green scarab.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Danaë</span> ceases fanning without <span class="smcap">Laodice</span> +heeding.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Rhodogune</span>, <i>outside.</i><br /> +She-dog, come back and you shall have but whips.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A dirty woman runs in, bearing a bundle within her ragged +robe;</i> <span class="smcap">Rhodogune</span> <i>follows her.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, <i>slowly.</i><br /> +I have not need of rinds and lees to-night;<br /> +Come, take these out and burn them.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Woman.</span> <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ay, come.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, <i>starting up.</i><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>Mysta, Mysta, my joy! What have you there?<br /> +The thing a mother called Antiochus?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>To <span class="smcap">Rhodogune</span>.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Do you not know your fellow and my hand?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Rhodogune</span> retires.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Mysta.</span><br /> +I was the handmaid of a displaced queen;<br /> +I am dry nurse to the undoubted queen,<br /> +Come back merely to boast and make display<br /> +How lusty a baby grows in careful hands,<br /> +How noble I to carry a living king.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, <i>leaping to her.</i><br /> +Unwind, dishevel, give it up to me.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><i>Clapping her hands.</i></span><br /> +Let there be lights above: I must see closely.<br /> +If I embrace you I shall touch it too.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>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</i> Mysta <i>has continued.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Mysta.</span><br /> +Nay, we are but harbour-drift from Antioch:<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>Come, take us out and burn us.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Aha, Mysta.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mysta.</span><br /> +Touch not my hair; 'tis foul from many ships.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +I have ached by watching ships that were not yours.<br /> +Were you in Sophron's vessel? Did he know?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mysta.</span><br /> +She did not trust me soon to tend her child,<br /> +Returning oft like the uneasy cat:<br /> +When I had slipt these rags on it and me<br /> +I herded with night-women by the shore.<br /> +Ere there, I passed a rift in palaces,<br /> +Moment of empty street and Berenice<br /> +Marching with hunger in her bright fixed eyes,<br /> +Champing her golden chain—one hand on it<br /> +Tugged her mouth downward—one hand smote a spear<br /> +Upon the stones as she stepped on and on<br /> +Toward the house of Cæneus your known friend.<br /> +They spied the harbour; I must leave by land;<br /> +Then was some tale of fishers, trading sloops:<br /> +Sophron knows not the thief like a fierce mother<br /> +Whose hard feet last left ship at Ephesus—<br /> +Where Ptolemy is looked for eagerly.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>As she speaks <span class="smcap">Laodice</span> has drawn a scarf +from her shoulders, twisted it and strained it in her hands; +it tears and she throws it down.</i></div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Mysta</span> holds out the child to her.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>'Twas warm and quiet so long. Let it live.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, <i>taking the child and scanning it.</i><br /> +Let me read here:<br /> +This is the mould, wrongly retouched and spent—<br /> +It is his child and yet I have not known it....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Clasping it closely to her.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +I am the changeless mother of this race,<br /> +And this a younger seed. By the opened womb<br /> +I have decided being: and I decide.<br /> +Much Asia has been spanned to leave it here,<br /> +More Asia will be narrowed by her searchers;<br /> +Mysta might die next time. It must die.<br /> +I reached my hand and took it to make sure<br /> +My order and number of children still were true.<br /> +I have looked on it—its purport is completed.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mysta.</span><br /> +It could be hid for ever: let it live.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Mysta shall need my ritual bath and wardrobe;<br /> +Serve me by delicate sleep. Mysta must go.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She kisses</i> <span class="smcap">Mysta</span> <i>and leads her to the +portal.</i> <span class="smcap">Mysta</span> <i>goes out passively.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Danaë, pile me cushions and hollow them—<br /> +There in the shadowed seat beyond the breeze.<br /> +No; larger cushions with no rough gold in stitchings.<br /> +One softer for his head—now hold it there<br /> +Till I can kneel and lay him in the dimmest,<br /> +For he may sleep a little yet. Ay, so....<br /> +I had well-nigh forgotten to appoint<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>Sophron a chamber.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Madam, I will go.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +You speak too loudly. Madam, you will remain:<br /> +I need you to cast gums upon the censer<br /> +To make me drowsy—I must sleep some moments.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Storax alone, or juniper?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 5em;">O, storax.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Danaë</span> 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.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Did the Silk-People shape that bowl?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">Maybe....</span><br /> +I could burn up the world like this to-night,<br /> +To make an end of conflicts and of burdens.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>As</i> <span class="smcap">Laodice</span> <i>claps her hands</i> +<span class="smcap">Barsine</span> <i>hurries in breathlessly.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Barsine.</span><br /> +Queen, Queen....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, <i>watching</i> <span class="smcap">Danaë</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Make ready fragrantly and freshly</span><br /> +Chamber for Sophron next to that of Smerdis.<br /> +Then send Smerdis with knives and drugs to me.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Danaë</span> opens her mouth as if to speak—the flames +fall as she holds the bowl poised motionlessly.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Barsine.</span><br /> +Sophron—none can find him; he has gone.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Danaë</span> lets the contents of the bowl slide into +the brazier; a shaft of flame flares high, she averts her +face.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Ho, are we dropping roses all the time?<br /> +Men; bring me men and torches and sharp spears—<br /> +A boat to cut the Centaur's rudder-ropes—<br /> +I will go down and take him back.... Hui....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She sweeps out followed by</i> <span class="smcap">Barsine</span>.</div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +O, Sophron, out by the land! Nay, he knows more—<br /> +And she, and she; watch-towers divide this earth,<br /> +Horses go here; and he may save a ship.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>She draws aside the curtain to look beyond.</i></span><br /> +May women's skirts impede you, ravening queen.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>She ascends swiftly to the colonnade: a starry night shows her form dimly.</i></span><br /> +Fishers' small lights, be drenched—you show too much<br /> +At height of settling gulls above the water....<br /> +Ah ... h, nothing, nothing. Something will not happen,<br /> +And let this life go on again. Nothing.<br /> +Yet ... yet ... the air is beating on my temples<br /> +As though a rabble murmured beyond hearing.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Rhodogune</span> enters.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Rhodogune.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>Danaë, are you here?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">I am here.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rhodogune.</span><br /> +Where is the Queen?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span> Nearing the shore by now.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rhodogune.</span><br /> +I have a drunken woman with nine snakes<br /> +That follow her as freshets a drowned body,<br /> +Then lift wise sibilant heads in guardian swaying;<br /> +Her lair could well be traced by emptied streets.<br /> +She is too drunk to speak, but sings the better<br /> +A praise of poisonous snakes and the fools of wine,<br /> +While in the night they circle and streak for answer<br /> +Like wine-cups' lines of light, black rubies' gleams.<br /> +Shall I not bring her for the Queen to use,<br /> +Who loves delights like dangers come too near?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Put her away in a safe place till morning—<br /> +The Queen is smouldering again to-night,<br /> +And, if she sees your epileptic mummer,<br /> +Will make us tie her up with her own serpents....<br /> +Babble no more to me—I must be watching.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rhodogune.</span><br /> +You are not the Queen, although the Queen's plaything;<br /> +Deign not your high commandments unto us.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She goes out.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>Sophron, your bare grand neck's a tawny pillar<br /> +To lean a cheek against in burning noons;<br /> +Your careless eyes look deeplier than you know;<br /> +You must be kept in life.... Down there, down there<br /> +Is something darker, swifter than the sea....<br /> +An unseen smoky glare is mirrored now....<br /> +That was his boat: he is gone.... Sophron, Sophron!<br /> +The sea is suddenly empty—and all places.<br /> +I have given him to mine enemies. She'll not kill him.<br /> +Now I must waken and repent my dreams:<br /> +Ay, Sophron, get you gone—I am whole again;<br /> +I am the Queen's—and O, farewell, farewell.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She descends the stair slowly.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +I am the Queen's indeed. Is she yet mine?<br /> +Ditizele—<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">A Voice</span>, from within the cedar lattice.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Who is it calls me?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">Danaë.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Voice.</span> Yes?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +The queen has spoilt my rose—throw me a young one.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A rosebud falls from the lattice: <span class="smcap">Danaë</span> +sets it in her hair.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Thanks, dear.... She has put up my hair awry—<br /> +It will remind her she put up my hair.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She shakes down her hair and knots it +again, holding the rose-stalk in her +mouth until she can replace it.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>These Asiatic nights ruin the hair,<br /> +Their humid heat puts out its inner lights—<br /> +Mine waves with gleams no more than manes of Irân....<br /> +Now she has left the shore—now she will set<br /> +Her feet upon the stairs like setting-of teeth....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The child cries a little once: <span class="smcap">Danaë</span> +goes to it.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +O, baby, the old silence of palaces<br /> +Is settling on you steadily. Your crying<br /> +Is shut within—and shall be farther enclosed.<br /> +One light small cry shows all so much too quiet.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, who has entered noiselessly and come +close behind <span class="smcap">Danaë</span>.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Ay, do you consort with mine enemies?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë</span>, <i>wailing.</i><br /> +Ah ... Ah ... I sickened with the secret thing,<br /> +The too faint sound that crept about my neck.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, <i>slipping an arm about her.</i><br /> +Nay, Rose-Locks, calm thy heart; I did but tease<br /> +Thy mothering this lost child, kings' waif and surplus.<br /> +Rare nurses his: the next will be the last:<br /> +Some treachery will ever draw toward him.<br /> +Rest you again upon the Persian couch,<br /> +And I will sit with you and comfort you.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Leading her to the divan.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Do not forget the cherishing of a queen:<br /> +I could not catch your Sophron for you, child.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>I did not want him: he is better gone.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Yet such delight to lead him to your arms:<br /> +You said you looked at him almost penitently.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Madam, you mock me; I have passed from him.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Yes, yes; but rapture, for your mind severe,<br /> +Lies in the nearness of wise and powerful men—<br /> +As once for famous high Leontion,<br /> +That philosophic courtesan your mother.<br /> +Let be; but tell me of his quietest scheme.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +I know him not: I never knew his mind.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Several women appear dimly at the latticed +windows and the gallery.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Ah, well ... I am tired, and it is your dear turn<br /> +To open your arms. Hold me and I will nestle,<br /> +Will murmur for you to hear along your neck.<br /> +What shall we do to-morrow, Danaë?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Fair mistress, I can dance for you to-morrow.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Yes, but my dainty cannot dance all day—<br /> +She must have long, long quiet for her thoughts.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Then shall I wing the bright and silken birds<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>About the border of your Persian mantle?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +How should I do without you so many hours?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Your Parthian has a witch of snakes for you—<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +I can charm snakes and even pith their fangs.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +This is a rare one and, if she is drunken,<br /> +Does uncouth things delicious to the senses.<br /> +Steep in her wine the herb that makes insane—<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +The herb....?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The viscous plant that grows i' your chamber:</span><br /> +Strange longer serpents shall be swiftly snared<br /> +And mixt untamed with hers, for you to read<br /> +Her gaping and ridiculous tragedy<br /> +As the cold perils sober her to pallor.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +It is not novel: with a secret call<br /> +I have turned snakes upon such things before.<br /> +I am learned and I need some graver pang—<br /> +Something as unsuspected as to tell you<br /> +That I had poisoned you three hours ago,<br /> +And see you disbelieve—begin to believe.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>But you did not.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 2em;">There is the disbelief.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A pause.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +If I had done so I should here avouch<br /> +I could not do it—then await a sign.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Ah, I am yours.... You have not doomed me yet.<br /> +Queen with the wells of night for human eyes,<br /> +Let us descend upon the sea to-morrow,<br /> +Rule your own kingdom by your cedarn barge:<br /> +We will recline together, hushed as here—<br /> +Save for the waters' converse just beneath,<br /> +Permeant as my pulse veiled by your cheek.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +I am uneasy now and should disturb you—<br /> +And thence your restlessness would chafe me more.<br /> +I must make sure that you will lie quite still:<br /> +May I so still you? Then you shall to sea.<br /> +We'll sail about the limit of the lands<br /> +Until you reach the river of Babylon.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +So much in one rapt day?<br /> +The days of life can never compass that.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Not in a day, but in a day and night:<br /> +Conceive the night, my Danaë, the night—<br /> +It is the natural state of being and space,<br /> +Briefly interrupted by casual suns.<br /> +Much unknown empires are attained in night—<br /> +Perhaps not Babylon, yet far enough.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>One night can be a very proper length.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +You mean that I am poisoned after all.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Indeed, my Danaë, it is not so.<br /> +In this barbaric land, this bright harsh dye-pot,<br /> +Peopled by camels and cynocephali<br /> +And hairy men of soiled uncertain hue,<br /> +O, do you not remember nights of Athens<br /> +Built well about with marbles and clear skies,<br /> +Wherein your mother and such noble women<br /> +Conversed with poets and heroes in lit groves,<br /> +And life subtled? Have you not longed for them?<br /> +I am sending you to such a farther country,<br /> +Away from this shrunk mummy of live earth.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Madam, I know you not—when must I leave you?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, <i>clapping her hands.</i><br /> +It is the hour, and you shall launch to-night.<br /> +Women, women, come hither every woman.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The faces disappear from the upper +windows: eleven women appear on +the colonnade, some from each side, +and descend the stair rapidly.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Get to your knees about us—both knees.<br /> +Stand up, my Danaë, be overbearing.<br /> +Women, when any woman has a kingdom<br /> +And is a regnant being, does it not suit<br /> +That in the disposition of her state<br /> +Women should figure her and power afar?<br /> +This kingdom I control has thrones of cities,<br /> +So many that I, when I would sit therein,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>Must cast my shadow there: and chief of these<br /> +Is Babylon the nest of bygone things.<br /> +'Tis to that Babylon I now appoint<br /> +My bosom's clasp, my Danaë, for satrap;<br /> +She shall oppress among dead queens and gods,<br /> +Keep house where sheer dominion walks, command<br /> +Enamelled palaces with copper roofs,<br /> +Pillars with gardens for their pediments—<br /> +Staircase for Anakim in Babylon:<br /> +And when ye are as dear to me as she<br /> +Ye shall advance upon such larger ways.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +O, what is this you do? I am lost in it.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">A Woman.</span><br /> +But how? The duplicate queen holds Babylon.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +It shall be mine again ere Danaë's advent....<br /> +Danaë, sister of pearls, do I displease you?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Tell out your purpose, though I wreck by it.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Could higher estate persuade such disbelief?<br /> +Barsine, now disburden of its store<br /> +The old brass coffer in my inner house—<br /> +The gems, the flower-striped silks, the mousse-lines<br /> +Worn by such royal girls of Babylon;<br /> +So rare a satrap as we do devise<br /> +Must be as Babylonish as her earth.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Barsine</span> goes out.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +Put out your hand, young princess, dip your hand<br /> +Among these herded common indiscretions,<br /> +And gratefully they'll mouth it. Nay, I'll lead you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Second Woman.</span><br /> +Madam, remember me when you are mighty.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Third Woman.</span><br /> +And, O, forget not me.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Arise, you humbled ones, jealous too long;<br /> +Take off her Greekish marks of my poor service,<br /> +Make ready her precious body to be tangled<br /> +In clotted skeins of her affiliate province.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The women strip <span class="smcap">Danaë</span> of all but her +under-robe.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +O friend, I do reproach you, for your gay heart<br /> +Has surely turned from me too easily<br /> +When something in you fades and alters so....<br /> +I have done this—my cherished, still keep mine....<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Barsine</span> enters, her arms heaped with +robes: <span class="smcap">Laodice</span> fingers them.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +These are your pretties. Greeks know not how to use<br /> +Layers of denial—you Persian, can you say?<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Barsine</span>, attiring <span class="smcap">Danaë</span> in the new garments.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +These silken trousers tied above the knees,<br /> +Yet falling to the feet, are first.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">Ay, so.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barsine.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>And now this inner gown shrinks close.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 8em;">Ay, so.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barsine.</span><br /> +Then this brocady robe with fan-flung train<br /> +And widening muffling sleeves.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, <i>holding up a sleeve.</i> Can it be so?<br /> +Pure Greeks conceive not slavery of sleeves.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barsine.</span><br /> +The pointed citron shoes.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Not even sandals?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barsine.</span><br /> +There needs a shawl like gardens for a girdle,<br /> +But none was hoarded.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Put your own on her.</span><br /> +Give me the jewels: I wish to play with the jewels.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barsine.</span><br /> +In the horn sphere: press on the metal hands.<br /> +The strings of golden tears and yellow stones<br /> +Hang hidy in the hair. I will unbind<br /> +Your lady's locks and shew you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Keep off: I must unloose them,</span><br /> +It is my custom.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë</span>, <i>in a low voice.</i> O, what are you doing?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barsine.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>Round to the temples, so: this drops upon the brow....<br /> +That breast of gold—pierced roses, diamond dew—<br /> +Curves on the head, no heavier than your hand....<br /> +Coils chime upon the ankles—the East walks slowly.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +We come to the necklace.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barsine.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Yes, but it is lacking.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, <i>to the</i> <span class="smcap">Second Woman</span>.<br /> +You white-faced marvel, body of straight lines,<br /> +Give me your necklace dropt inside your chiton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Second Woman.</span><br /> +O, do you see it? I cannot let it go—<br /> +It was my sister's, and she is dead since.... Ah ... h ...<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, <i>snatching the necklace roughly.</i><br /> +'Tis well for you it did not strangle you<br /> +When caught: but ye are all so envious yet.<br /> +There, Danaë, my hands shall finish you.<br /> +A painted wonder this I have created—<br /> +I am no better than the rest before it,<br /> +And I will do my homage, knees and lips.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë</span>, <i>faintly.</i><br /> +What is the end, ah me!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">But in true Asia</span><br /> +Great ladies must live veiled; they are too choice<br /> +For foreign casual sight.<br /> +<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span><span class="smcap">Barsine</span>, <i>veiling</i> <span class="smcap">Danaë</span>. This is the veil.<br /> +<br /> +<i><span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, peeping behind the veil.</i><br /> +Bound so beneath the eyes? Show slipper-tips?<br /> +Indeed you are ended, Danaë, and shall part.<br /> +Farewell! Farewell! Fare delicately! Fare swiftly!<br /> +Will you go down by Ephesus, my rose;<br /> +Or all the sea?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">First Woman.</span> Not Babylon by sea!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +If not to Babylon, yet far enough.<br /> +Tie up these arms and bind these feet together;<br /> +Bear to the columns and cast her forth to sea,<br /> +Where she shall be my satrap of the darkness.<br /> +She has been dying many moments now,<br /> +She shall have burial as one who ceases<br /> +In a strange ship, unfriended on the deeps.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>The women laugh.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">First Woman.</span><br /> +Joy—but wherewith, O Light?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 6em;">Your sandal-thongs:</span><br /> +You are good enough to obey me on bare feet.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Several of the women hastily untie their +sandals.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Fourth Woman</span>, <i>kneeling to bind <span class="smcap">Danaë's</span> feet.</i><br /> +Forget not me to heel, my mighty lady.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Various Women</span>, <i>clustering about</i> <span class="smcap">Danaë</span> <i>and seizing her.</i><br /> +Come on, come on to Babylon, dread Madam....<br /> +Up and down to Babylon, cold Highness....<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>I'll be her coiffing slave and tend her head....<br /> +I'll be her nurse and hold her in my breast....<br /> +More humbly I will take her feet in mine....<br /> +What honour to be trusted with such life—<br /> +priceless load.... Ah, do not let it fall....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë</span>, <i>to</i> <span class="smcap">Laodice</span>.<br /> +Yet I have served you well.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yea, very well.</span><br /> +Whereto did Sophron flee?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span> <span style="margin-left: 4em;">I do not know.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Tell me why Sophron fled, and what he knew.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A pause.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Tell even where your thoughts are following him.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A pause.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Even at what point of my research in him<br /> +Your heart lifted, and I will keep you back.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>A pause.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Then are you both completed and concluded.<br /> +Knot elbows too, and lift her to the columns.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Yet I have loved you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +You are not mine: this earth shall not contain you.<br /> +I could unmake the stars to ensure darkness,<br /> +To cheat me of the places that have known you.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>Must I go out?<br /> +<br /> +Then pay me for my spent devotion first.<br /> +Let not these spittly weeds close in and choke me;<br /> +Undrape these silk and Asiatic jeers;<br /> +Let me go loose, and I will go indeed<br /> +As far as your desire—serving you yet.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, severing <span class="smcap">Danaë's</span> bonds with her dagger, +then rending away her veil and upper garments.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Your rigid mortal bonds, ...<br /> +Your isolating veil, ...<br /> +Your scarf of earthly flowers, ...<br /> +Your robe that once was royal, ...<br /> +Your chill, worn-out simarre,<br /> +Slide as the world slides....<br /> +Put off your useless shoes<br /> +To enter a holy place....<br /> +Get to your high estate.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë</span>, <i>standing in her under-garment.</i><br /> +Gather your jewels.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">You trifle to gain moments.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Give me one kiss.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">You have not time. These wait.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>Indicating the surrounding women.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Danaë.</span><br /> +Your house shall be the firmer by your sentence.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i>She takes the sleeping child in her arms, +and mounts the stair quickly.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Several Women.</span><br /> +The child; she has the child.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span> <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yes. And then?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Danaë</span>, <i>pausing by a column.</i><br /> +The common run of men make small account<br /> +Of high religion; and they are very right.<br /> +I saved my lover, and I now receive<br /> +This recognition from the Powers who still<br /> +Dispose of us: Laodice killed hers,<br /> +And she is held deserving of all that honour.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, <i>pointing at the</i> <span class="smcap">Fourth Woman</span>.<br /> +Thrust her down, you.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Danaë</span> disappears while the <span class="smcap">Fourth +Woman</span> stealthily mounts the stair. +<span class="smcap">Laodice</span> has thrown herself on the +divan, with her back to the colonnade.</i></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">To-morrow will be soon.</span><br /> +To-morrow I will sit with men in council,<br /> +And muster men to leaguer Ephesus.<br /> +These fretting hens, these women, burden me—<br /> +I know their eyes too well; let them keep hid.<br /> +To-morrow I will walk upon the harbour,<br /> +And board my ships and see them manned and ready—<br /> +No, no, I will not step toward the sea....<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Several Women</span>, <i>as</i> <span class="smcap">Laodice</span> <i>speaks.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Ai! Ai! Is she down? Not yet....</span><br /> +I cannot see.... No one can see.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Second Woman</span>, <i>sobbing in the corner near the stair.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17em;">My necklace</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>Save my dear gems!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fourth Woman</span>, <i>from the colonnade.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;">She is not here. She falls.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice.</span><br /> +Is that hoarse dashing how the surge receives her?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fourth Woman.</span><br /> +It is the old recession of the waves;<br /> +The rocks are bare. No movement could be seen;<br /> +No pallor could emerge. There is no sound.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Laodice</span>, <i>in a dull voice.</i><br /> +She was as false as all the rest of you;<br /> +But she was brave. Remember that she died;<br /> +Be cowards still, and so be false and safe.<br /> +She had a lulling hand.... Put me to sleep.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sdirection'><i><span class="smcap">Rhodogune</span> goes toward her.</i></div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><br /><span class="smcap">Curtain.</span></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> +<h2>APPENDICES</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> + +<h2>APPENDIX A</h2> + +<p>"KING LEAR'S WIFE" was performed for the first +time on 25 September 1915 at the Birmingham Repertory +Theatre, with the following cast:</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Cast"> +<tr><td align='left'>Lear</td><td align='left'>Mr. E. Ion Swinley.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Hygd</td><td align='left'>Miss Cathleen Orford.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Goneril</td><td align='left'>Miss Margaret Chatwin.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Cordeil</td><td align='left'>Miss Betty Pinchard.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Merryn</td><td align='left'>Miss Dorothy Taylor.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Gormflaith</td><td align='left'>Miss Mary Merrall.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Physician</td><td align='left'>Mr. Ivor Barnard.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'>{Miss Betty Pinchard.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Two Elderly Women</td><td align='left'>{Miss Maud Gill.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>Costumes and decoration designed by Mr. Barry +V. Jackson.</p> + +<p>Production by Mr. John Drinkwater.</p> + +<p>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.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/music.png" width="550" height="594" alt="music" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="center"><small>[<i>Transcriber's Note: You can play this music (MIDI file) by clicking</i> <a href="music/214.mid">here</a>.]</small></div> +<div class='poem'> +The louse made off unhappy and wet—<br /> +A-humm, A-humm, A-hee—<br /> +He's looking for us, the little pet;<br /> +So haste, for her chin's to tie up yet,<br /> +And let us be gone with what we can get—<br /> +Her ring for thee, her gown for Bet,<br /> +Her pocket turned out for me ... me....<br /> +</div> + +<p>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.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> + + +<p>First performed in London on 19 May 1916 at His +Majesty's Theatre, under the direction of Miss Viola Tree.</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Cast"> +<tr><td align='left'>Lear</td><td align='left'>Mr. Murray Carrington.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Hygd</td><td align='left'>Lady Tree.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Goneril</td><td align='left'>Miss Viola Tree.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Cordeil</td><td align='left'>Miss Odette Goimbault.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Gormflaith</td><td align='left'>Miss Julia James.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Merryn</td><td align='left'>Miss Beatrice Wilson.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Physician</td><td align='left'>Mr. H. A. Saintsbury.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'>{Miss Ada King</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Two Elderly Women</td><td align='left'>{Miss Bertha Fordyce.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>Play produced by Mr. John Drinkwater, and mounted +by Mr. Purcell Jones: music by Mr. Ivor Novello.</p> + +<div class='center'><br />SONGS<br /> + +For the London performance of "King Lear's Wife."<br /> +<br /> +I (<a href="#Page_43">p. 43</a>)</div> + +<div class='poem2'> +Mother, it is my wedding morn,<br /> +Come, bring the linen fine,<br /> +And wash my face with milk so warm<br /> +Drawn from the young white kine.<br /> +The blackbird in the apple-tree<br /> +Was waking ere the day;<br /> +But I was ready sooner than he,<br /> +For I watched the night away.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br />II (<a href="#Page_44">p. 44</a>)</div> + +<div class='poem2'> +The Queen has gone to bed<br /> +In the middle of the day;<br /> +But what about her bedfellow?<br /> +No one dares to say.<br /> +<br /> +She cannot sleep at night:<br /> +She does not care to try;<br /> +The darkness makes her restless,<br /> +And nobody knows why.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'><br />III (<a href="#Page_48">p. 48</a>)</div> + +<div class='poem2'> +O, merry, merry will my heart be<br /> +When I can sit me down and rest:<br /> +If you would live to make old bones<br /> +Keep your knees off the kitchen-stones,<br /> +And go like a lady, warmly drest.<br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> +<h2>APPENDIX B</h2> + +<p>"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:</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Cast"> +<tr><td align='left'>Hialti</td><td align='left'>Mr. McKay Morris.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Thorgerd</td><td align='left'>Miss Judith Lowry.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Blanid</td><td align='left'>Miss Florence Buckton.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>An Old, Strange Man</td><td align='left'>Mr. Edgar Stehli.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>Play produced by Mr. Stuart Walker and mounted +by Mr. W. J. Zimmerer.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>SOME PRESS OPINIONS OF</i></h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">KING LEAR'S WIFE and other plays.</span> +1920. 4to. With binding design by Charles +Ricketts. Pp. 209. 15<i>s.</i> net. (<i>Out of print.</i>)</p> + +<p>A special edition of 50 copies signed by the +author, in white and gold binding. 31<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> +net. (<i>Out of print.</i>)</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + + +<p>Mr. Lascelles Abercrombie (Lecturer in Poetry at the +University of Liverpool) in <i>The Liverpool Daily +Post and Mercury</i>.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p> + +<p>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 Danaë," 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +in which exciting action is at the same time profound significance, +here they are.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p></div> + + +<p>Mr. John Drinkwater in "The Nature of Drama" +("Prose Papers": London, Elkin Mathews, 1917, +p. 220).</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p></div> + + +<p>Solomon Eagle in <i>The Outlook</i>.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +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....</p> + +<p>"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 Danaë" 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."...</p> + +<p>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.</p></div> + + +<p>Mr. John Freeman in <i>The Bookman</i>.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +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.</p></div> + + +<p>Mr. William Rose Benèt in The Literary Review of +the <i>New York Evening Post</i>.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"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 Danaë" 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.</p></div> + + +<p><i>The Morning Post.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +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.</p></div> + + +<p><i>The Times Literary Supplement.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p></div> + + +<p><i>John O' London's Weekly.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p></div> + + +<p><i>The New Statesman.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +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.</p></div> + + +<p>I. B. in <i>The Manchester Guardian</i>.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p></div> + + +<p><i>The Spectator.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> + + +<p><i>The London Mercury.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p></div> + + +<p><i>The Nation.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p></div> + + +<p><i>The Athenæum.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Mr. Gordon Bottomley is one of the few writers of poetical +plays whom it is necessary to take very seriously: his blemishes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +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.</p></div> + + +<p><i>The Saturday Westminster Gazette.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p></div> + + +<p><i>The Observer.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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 <i>tour de force</i>, 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.</p></div> + +<p>Mr. R. Ellis Roberts in <i>The Daily News</i>.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +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.</p></div> + +<p><i>The Actor.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p></div> + +<p><i>The Journal of Commerce</i>, Chicago, U.S.A.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> +<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p> +<p>Varied hyphenation was retained. This includes things such as bed-clothes, bedclothes and +bed-time, bedtime.</p> +<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of King Lear's Wife; The Crier by Night; +The Riding to Lithend; Midsummer-Eve; Laodice and Danaë, by Gordon Bottomley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KING LEAR'S WIFE *** + +***** This file should be named 37446-h.htm or 37446-h.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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