Part 3

_GONERIL, taking the crown and putting it on the dead Queen's head._

Mother and Queen, to you this holiest circlet Returns, by you renews its purpose and pride; Though it is sullied with a menial warmth, Your august coldness shall rehallow it, And when the young lewd blood that lent it heat Is also cooler we can well forget.

_She steps to GORMFLAITH._

Rise. Come, for here there is no more to do, And let us seek your chamber, if you will, There to confer in greater privacy; For we have now interment to prepare.

_She leads GORMFLAITH to the door near the bed._

You must walk first, you are still the Queen elect.

_When GORMFLAITH has passed before her GONERIL unsheathes her hunting knife._

GORMFLAITH, _turning in the doorway._ What will you do?

GONERIL, _thrusting her forward with the haft of the knife._ On. On. On. Go in.

_She follows GORMFLAITH out._

_After a moments interval two elderly women, one a little younger than the other, enter by the same door: they wear black hoods and shapeless black gowns with large sleeves that flap like the wings of ungainly birds: between them they carry a heavy cauldron of hot water._

THE YOUNGER WOMAN. We were listening. We were listening.

THE ELDER WOMAN. We were both listening.

THE YOUNGER WOMAN. Did she struggle?

THE ELDER WOMAN. She could not struggle long.

_They set down the cauldron at the foot of the bed._

THE ELDER WOMAN, _curtseying to the Queen's body._ Saving your presence, Madam, we are come To make you sweeter than you'll be hereafter, And then be done with you.

THE YOUNGER WOMAN, _curtseying in turn._ Three days together, my Lady, y'have had me ducked For easing a foolish maid at the wrong time; But now your breath is stopped and you are colder, And you shall be as wet as a drowned cat Ere I have done with you.

THE ELDER WOMAN, _fumbling in the folds of the robe that hangs on the wall._ Her pocket is empty; Merryn has been here first. Hearken, and then begin: You have not touched a royal corpse before, But I have stretched a king and an old queen, A king's aunt and a king's brother too, Without much boasting of a still-born princess; So that I know, as a priest knows his prayers, All that is written in the chamberlain's book About the handling of exalted corpses, Stripping them and trussing them for the grave: And there it says that the chief corpse-washer Shall take for her own use by sacred right The coverlid, the upper sheet, the mattress Of any bed in which a queen has died, And the last robe of state the body wore; While humbler helpers may divide among them The under sheet, the pillow, and the bed-gown Stript from the cooling queen. Be thankful, then, and praise me every day That I have brought no other women with me To spoil you of your share.

THE YOUNGER WOMAN. Ah, you have always been a friend to me: Many's the time I have said I did not know How I could even have lived but for your kindness.

_The ELDER WOMAN draws down the bedclothes from the Queen's body, loosens them from the bed, and throws them on the floor._

THE ELDER WOMAN. Pull her feet straight: is your mind wandering?

_She commences to fold the bedclothes, singing as she moves about._

A louse crept out of my lady's shift-- Ahumm, Ahumm, Ahee-- Crying "Oi! Oi! We are turned adrift; The lady's bosom is cold and stiffed, And her arm-pit's cold for me."

_While the ELDER WOMAN sings, the YOUNGER WOMAN straightens the Queen's feet and ties them together, draws the pillow from under her head, gathers her hair in one hand and knots it roughly; then she loosens her nightgown, revealing a jewel hung on a cord round the Queen's neck._

THE ELDER WOMAN, _running to the vacant side of the bed._ What have you there? Give it to me.

THE YOUNGER WOMAN. It is mine: I found it.

THE ELDER WOMAN, _seizing the jewel._ Leave it.

THE YOUNGER WOMAN. Let go.

THE ELDER WOMAN. Leave it, I say. Will you not? Will you not? An eye for a jewel, then!

_She attacks the face of the YOUNGER WOMAN with her disengaged hand._

THE YOUNGER WOMAN, _starting back._ Oh!

_The ELDER WOMAN breaks the cord and thrusts the jewel into her pocket._

THE YOUNGER WOMAN. Aie! Aie! Aie! Old thief! You are always thieving! You stole a necklace on your wedding-day: You could not bear a child, you stole your daughter: You stole a shroud the morn your husband died: Last week you stole the Princess Regan's comb....

_She stumbles into the chair by the bed, and, throwing her loose sleeves over her head, rocks herself and moans._

THE ELDER WOMAN, _resuming her clothes-folding and her song._ "The lady's linen's no longer neat;"-- Ahumm, Ahumm, Ahee-- "Her savour is neither warm nor sweet; It's close for two in a winding-sheet, And lice are too good for worms to eat; So here's no place for me."

_GONERIL enters by the door near the bed: her knife and the hand that holds it are bloody. She pauses a moment irresolutely._

THE ELDER WOMAN. Still work for old Hrogneda, little Princess?

_GONERIL goes straight to the cauldron, passing the women as if they were not there: she kneels and washes her knife and her hand in it. The women retire to the back of the chamber._

GONERIL, _speaking to herself._ The way is easy: and it is to be used. How could this need have been conceived slowly? In a keen mind it should have leapt and burnt: What I have done would have been better done When my sad mother lived and could feel joy. This striking without thought is better than hunting; She showed more terror than an animal, She was more shiftless.... A little blood is lightly washed away, A common stain that need not be remembered; And a hot spasm of rightness quickly born Can guide me to kill justly and shall guide.

_LEAR enters by the door near the bed._

LEAR. Goneril, Gormflaith, Gormflaith.... Have you seen Gormflaith?

GONERIL. I led her to her chamber lately, Sir.

LEAR. Ay, she is in her chamber. She is there.

GONERIL. Have you been there already? Could you not wait?

LEAR. Daughter, she is bleeding: she is slain.

GONERIL, _rising from the cauldron with dripping hands._ Yes, she is slain: I did it with a knife: And in this water is dissolved her blood,

_(Raising her arms and sprinkling the Queen's body)_

That now I scatter on the Queen of death For signal to her spirit that I can slake Her long corrosion of misery with such balm-- Blood for weeping, terror for woe, death for death, A broken body for a broken heart. What will you say against me and my deed?

LEAR. That now you cannot save yourself from me. While your blind virgin power still stood apart In an unused, unviolated life, You judged me in my weakness, and because I felt you unflawed I could not answer you; But you have mingled in mortality And violently begun the common life By fault against your fellows; and the state, The state of Britain that inheres in me Not touched by my humanity or sin, Passions or privy acts, shall be as hard And savage to you as to a murderess.

GONERIL, _taking a letter from her girdle._ I found a warrant in her favoured bosom, King: She wore this on her heart when you were crowning her.

LEAR, _opening the letter._ But this is not my hand:

_(Looking about him on the floor)_

Where is the other letter?

GONERIL. Is there another letter? What should it say?

LEAR. There is no other letter if you have none.

_(Reading)_

"Open your window when the moon is dead, And I will come again. The men say everywhere that you are faithless.... And your eyes shifty eyes. Ah, but I love you, Gormflaith...." This is not hers: she'd not receive such words.

GONERIL. Her name stands twice therein: her perfume fills it: My knife went through it ere I found it on her.

LEAR. The filth is suitably dead. You are my true daughter.

GONERIL. I do not understand how men can govern, Use craft and exercise the duty of cunning, Anticipate treason, treachery meet with treachery, And yet believe a woman because she looks Straight in their eyes with mournful, trustful gaze, And lisps like innocence, all gentleness. Your Gormflaith could not answer a woman's eyes. I did not need to read her in a letter; I am not woman yet, but I can feel What untruths are instinctive in my kind, And how some men desire deceit from us. Come; let these washers do what they must do: Or shall your Queen be wrapped and coffined awry?

_She goes out by the garden doorway._

LEAR. I thought she had been broken long ago: She must be wedded and broken, I cannot do it.

_He follows GONERIL out._

_The two women return to the bedside._

THE ELDER WOMAN. Poor, masterful King, he is no easier, Although his tearful wife is gone at last: A wilful girl shall prick and thwart him now. Old gossip, we must hasten; the Queen is setting. Lend me a pair of pennies to weight her eyes.

THE YOUNGER WOMAN. Find your own pennies: then you can steal them safely.

THE ELDER WOMAN. Praise you the gods of Britain, as I do praise them, That I have been sweet-natured from my birth, And that I lack your unforgiving mind. Friend of the worms, help me to lift her clear And draw away the under sheet for you; Then go and spread the shroud by the hall fire-- I never could put damp linen on a corpse.

_She sings._

The louse made off unhappy and wet;-- Ahumm, Ahumm, Ahee-- He's looking for us, the little pet; So haste, for her chin's to tie up yet, And let us be gone with what we can get-- Her ring for thee, her gown for Bet, Her pocket turned out for me.

CURTAIN.

THE CRIER BY NIGHT

_TO MY DEAR SCRIBE_

PERSONS:

HIALTI, a Northman. THORGERD, His Wife. BLANID, an Irish Bondmaid. AN OLD STRANGE MAN.

THE CRIER BY NIGHT

_The scene is the interior of a cottage near a misty mere and among unseen mountains on a wild night of late Autumn. In the back wall area door to the left and a long low window in the middle; the latter is shuttered on the outside, and on door and window the wind-driven rain rattles. In the middle of the left-hand wall a door leads into an outhouse; near it is a loom: toward the front of the right-hand wall another door leads to a sleeping-chamber; a settle extends along this wall and in front of it a long table is set. Two rushlights burn on the table. A round hearth is in the middle of the house; its smoke rises into a luffer which hangs from the thatched roof between two beams. The floor is thickly strewn with rushes. There are several wooden stools about the hearth, on one of which HIALTI is sitting mending harness. THORGERD is standing near the loom, spinning with a distaff._

HIALTI. THE lass is late about; where is she now?

THORGERD. Let the lass be. What is the lass to you? She is my lass to handle as I will-- My father gave her to me for my own, And so I use her as I use my gear.... "She will not last" say you? Well, what of that? I know gear must wear out, being well used; Shoes must be trodden under-foot all day, Though in the mire they go and to the mire; The hearth-fire wastes the irons used to tend it: I am the huswife--leave the house to me And buy me new gear when the old is rotten.

HIALTI. You drive her over hard. In the cold dark, Hours ere the thin late dawn, she was afoot, And she has been afoot each moment since: The butter will not come now without fire, But I was wakened in the frosty night By the slow moaning of her weary churn, And when I rose she stood here without shoes-- She said you took them from her; so I sought, And gave her them again, and lit the fire. She dare not sleep with half your tasks undone, But you slept and your sleep was all her rest; Yet in her land 'tis you would be the thrall. You shut the hens in from the storm all day, But she must trudge with peat-mull in a swill Up from the water-side and down all day....

THORGERD Spare her and have my firing spoilt? Not I. Had it been sodden, how could you light her fires?

HIALTI. You drive her over hard.

THORGERD. What is it to you? Fodder and yoke your neats, see to your swine, Put them to breed, and leave my stock to me. If this is over hard, what will it be-- Last week she still could smile sometimes, so yet She smiles too often for my happiness. What money did the calves fetch at the fair?

HIALTI. Where is she now?

THORGERD. What money did the calves Fetch at the fair last week?

HIALTI. Where is she now?

THORGERD. I spilt the water; she must needs draw more.

HIALTI. The roof-drip at the door would fill her pails.

THORGERD. What money did the calves fetch at the fair?

HIALTI. You need not ask; you had it all to hoard.

THORGERD. You kept some back; who bought them?

HIALTI. He who paid.

_The outside door opens and, as the rain drives in, BLANID enters carrying two pails of water by a yoke. Her short-sleeved, frayed, hempen smock is dripping-wet; an old cart-strap is buckled about her middle; her ankles are bare, but her feet are covered by shapeless brogues; her matted hair is cut short, and she has an iron collar about her neck. She sets down her pails, and with difficulty shuts and bolts the door against the wind. Then she carries her pails into the outhouse; as she moves about within she is heard to sing to a tired, monotonous tune._

BLANID. The bird in my heart's a-calling through a far-fled, tear-grey sea To the soft slow hills that cherish dim waters weary for me, Where the folk of rath and dun trail homeward silently In the mist of the early night-fall that drips from their hair like rain.

The bird in my heart's a-flutter, for the bitter wind of the sea Shivers with thyme and woodbine as my body with memory; I feel their perfumes ooze in my ears like melody-- The scent of the mead at the harping I shall not hear again.

The bird in my heart's a-sinking to a hushed vale hid in the sea, Where the moonlit dew o'er dead fighters is stirred by the feet of the Shee, Who are lovely and old as the earth but younger than I can be Who have known the forgetting of dying to a life one lonely pain ...

_She returns from the outhouse._

THORGERD. Come here; give me your shoes; quickly, I say. Why must you go shod softly? Give me your shoes.

_She takes them and puts them on the fire._

Is there some joy so deep within you still That I have missed it though 'tis bright for singing? It shall not be so long; sing while you can.

BLANID. No joy ever sank deep enough for singing; Trouble and all the sorrowful ways of men Must stir the sad unrest that ends in song. Joy seeks but peace and silence and still thought; But those who cannot weep must sing for ease, And in the sound forget the thought that smote it.

THORGERD. I am made glad, hearing your misery; Yet all the shapeless, creeping, shivering sounds You wail about the house will make me share it. Your songs of faëry and nameless kings And things that never happened long ago And an unknown, impossible, shadowy land Are useless as the starlight after moonset That will not light men homeward from the fair-- Nay, useless as its melting down thin water: If you must sing, sing truth to gut-strong tunes Of Gunnar or of Freya or Andvari, Vineland the Good and the old Western sea.

BLANID. Things need not happen that they may be true; Although impossible, they may be true-- The things that matter happen in the heart. All earthly truth is true but for a time, Whilst ages may be altered by one dream-- The things that matter happen in the heart ...

THORGERD. Useless as starlight or the aimless wind.

BLANID. The wind is all the souls of those sad dead Who will not stay in Heaven for love of earth; Hither and thither they surge to find the gate They see and know not on its new, strange side, For they have learned too much to be let back. Ah, some have learned too much before they die.

_As she crosses the house at the back HIALTI turns and, catching her hands in his, draws her toward him._

HIALTI. Is it too hard, the thought of that lost vale?

BLANID. It is too hard, because I must so love it That were I free I should go there no more, Lest I should hate it. I must always suffer, I only suffer this way rather than that-- 'Tis the eternal suffering of love Must search me somehow with love's pitilessness To make me know all souls; what matter how? O, I am but a troubled dream of God's, And even His will can alter not His dreams; Yea, He is dreaming me a little while-- I must be dreamed out to the hardest end, Returning then to be unknown in Him; I shall be Him again when He awakes. Ah, God, awake, and so forget me soon.

_THORGERD, swinging her aside by the collar on her neck._

Set on the water for the porridge; go.

_BLANID goes into the outhouse; THORGERD continues to HIALTI._

Why must you hold her hands and hold her eyes?

HIALTI. Under each dark grey lash a long tear slid, Like rain in a wild rose's shadowy curve Bowed in the wind about the morning twilight.

THORGERD. Have done; I know; you left the fair at noon To reach the copse just at the young moon's setting-- I could not find her till i' the night-hid copse A woman's voice sobbed "If he would but come..."

HIALTI. It is not true; you know it is not true. Let her alone; you know that I must love you, And if she loves me she will know it too And hurt herself far more than you can hurt her.

THORGERD. I hear you say it: and afterward?... Perhaps My little shears are sharp as any knife.

HIALTI. You would not kill her?

THORGERD. When have I grown kind-hearted?

_She lays her hand on his shoulder and, leaning her mouth to his ear, speaks in a low, distinct voice._

Slit nose and lip and where's her beauty then?

_He starts from his stool._

Nay, are my kinsfolk as far off as hers?

_He turns away as BLANID enters with an iron pot which she hangs from a hook over the fire, and a pitcher of milk which she sets on the table._

_THORGERD takes the pot from the fire._

Here's too much water; it will never boil, And if it did the mess would be too thin.

_She pours water from the pot upon the floor, then hangs the pot over the fire again._

Set out the bowls, and finger not their lips.

_BLANID goes again to the outhouse, and, returning, sets three bowls with spoons on the table, and a jar of meal by the hearth._

Though porridge needs meal you shall not think for me; Do nought until I bid you--once. The grain.

_BLANID goes yet again to the outhouse and returns with a bag of grain._

You know what grain is for; why do you stand? Your feet are mine. Down to the quern. Get down.

BLANID. There's meal in plenty for to-morrow.

THORGERD, _laying down her distaff to make porridge._ Ay, But is there meal in plenty for next month? You may be dead then; therefore you must toil, That I may need to do no aching tasks Until my man can buy another drudge From the next herd; for so we shall forget you.

BLANID, _kneeling by the quern between the window and the door, and commencing to grind grain._ You hate me far too subtly to forget me; There is not enough kindness in your heart To let you thus forego your joy of hate. Then, too, despite the accident of death, I cannot go from here against my will.

THORGERD. You shall not die ere I have done with you; And death shall only come by suffering Until you are too feeble even to suffer.

BLANID. The sound of death is ever in mine ears, Monotonous as the night's infinity Wherein I was once born where salt winds sweep The wailing of the waters of the West. I die, but you can ne'er have done with me.

THORGERD, _the porridge being made._ Come, drudge, lift off the pot and fill the bowls.

BLANID, _having filled two bowls._ The pot is empty.

THORGERD. But the bowls are full.

HIALTI. Now give the lass some supper; fill her bowl.

THORGERD, _pouring milk over the porridge._ There's but enough for two; I'll make no more. Here, take the pot and scrape it at the quern.

_HIALTI and THORGERD draw stools to the table; BLANID carries the pot to the outhouse and returns to the quern; supper proceeds in silence for a few moments, then HIALTI rises and offers his bowl to BLANID._

HIALTI. Share with me, lass; I need no more to-night.

_Before BLANID can taste the porridge THORGERD strikes the bowl from her hand._

HIALTI, _indignantly, as he reaches to THORGERD'S bowl._ She shall have yours; go you and make us more ...

_He is interrupted by a distant wailing which is heard through the storm._

THE VOICE. Ohey! Ohey! Ohohey!

BLANID. Master, I hear one calling in the night.

HIALTI, _in a subdued voice._ It is the wind across the chimney-slates.

THE VOICE. Ohey! Ohohey!

BLANID. Master, a man is calling in the night.

HIALTI. An owl, storm-beaten, drowns down the long mere.

THE VOICE, _sounding nearer on a gust of wind._ Ohohey! Ohohey!

BLANID. Master, one lost is helpless in the night.

THORGERD, _gently and with an eager smile._ Ay, lass, good lass; go, lass, and seek for him-- Maybe he sinks amid the marshy reeds; Bring him to warmth and supper and a bed. I'll shut the door; the light will only daze you.

HIALTI, _leaping to the door in front of BLANID, and setting his back to it._ No, no; back, girl, get back. (_To THORGERD._) You murderess, You know it is the Crier of the Ford, Who wakens when the clashing waters rise And the thick night is choked with level rain. He is not seen; he was not born; he gathers His bodiless being from the treacherous tarn. His aged crying gropes about the storm To snare the spent wayfarer to the ford, Or draw some pitiful helper to the ford, And drown them where the unknown water swirls And strangle them with long brown water-weed: He seeks their souls for his old soul to feed on, Because it has no body to nourish it.

THORGERD, _hastily yet sullenly._ How should I know?

_She grips BLANID'S shoulder and hurries her to the outhouse._

Get in with you to your straw.

_She thrusts her into the outhouse and shuts the door upon her; then she turns to HIALTI._

Fool, now I know you love her behind your heart.

HIALTI. I have no mind to waste a half-spent thrall To prove I love you; and to buy another Would need more money than eight red-polled stirks.

THORGERD. Choose between her and me; if you take her, I take the land.

HIALTI. I love you overmuch To set you equally against a thrall.

THORGERD. What, do I touch you when I touch your fields?