Georgian Poetry 1913-15 Part 2

[He follows the PHTSICIAN out by the door at the back.

Queen HYGD awakes at his last noisy words as he disappears.]

Hygd:

I have not slept; I did but close mine eyes A little while--a little while forgetting ...

Where are you, Merryn? ... Ah, it is not Merryn ...

Bring me the cup of whey, woman; I thirst ...

Will you speak to me if I say your name?

Will you not listen, Gormflaith? ... Can you hear?

I am very thirsty--let me drink ...

Ah, wicked woman, why did I speak to you?

I will not be your suppliant again ...

Where are you? O, where are you? ... Where are you?

[She tries to raise herself to look about the room, but sinks back helplessly. The curtains of the door at the back are parted, and GONERIL appears in hunting dress,--her kirtle caught up in her girdle, a light spear over her shoulder--stands there a moment, then enters noiselessly and, approaches the bed. She is a girl just turning to woman-hood, proud in her poise, swift and cold, an almost gleaming presence, a virgin huntress.]

Goneril:

Mother, were you calling?

Have I awakened you?

They said that you were sleeping.

Why are you left alone, mother, my dear one?

Hygd:

Who are you? No, no, no! Stand farther off!

You pulse and glow; you are too vital; your presence hurts ...

Freshness of hill-swards, wind and trodden ling, I should have known that Goneril stands here.

It is yet dawn, but you have been afoot Afar and long: where could you climb so soon?

Goneril:

Dearest, I am an evil daughter to you: I never thought of you--O, never once-- Until I heard a moor-bird cry like you.

I am wicked, rapt in joys of breath and life, And I must force myself to think of you.

I leave you to caretakers' cold gentleness; But O, I did not think that they dare leave you.

What woman should be here?

Hygd:

I have forgot ...

I know not ... She will be about some duty.

I do not matter: my time is done ... nigh done ...

Bought hands can well prepare me for a grave, And all the generations must serve youth.

My girls shall live untroubled while they may, And learn happiness once while yet blind men Have injured not their freedom; For women are not meant for happiness.

Where have you been, my falcon?

Goneril:

I dreamt that I was swimming, shoulder up, And drave the bed-clothes spreading to the floor: Coldness awoke me; through the waning darkness I heard far hounds give shivering aery tongue, Remote, withdrawing, suddenly faint and near; I leapt and saw a pack of stretching weasels Hunt a pale coney in a soundless rush, Their elfin and thin yelping pierced my heart As with an unseen beauty long awaited; Wolf-skin and cloak I buckled over this night-gear, And took my honoured spear from my bed-side Where none but I may touch its purity, And sped as lightly down the dewy bank As any mothy owl that hunts quick mice.

They went crying, crying, but I lost them Before I stept, with the first tips of light, On Raven Crag near by the Druid Stones; So I paused there and, stooping, pressed my hand Against the stony bed of the clear stream; Then entered I the circle and raised up My shining hand in cold stern adoration Even as the first great gleam went up the sky.

Hygd:

Ay, you do well to worship on that height: Life is free to the quick up in the wind, And the wind bares you for a G.o.d's descent-- For wind is a spirit immediate and aged.

And you do well to worship harsh men-G.o.ds, G.o.d Wind and Those who built his Stones with him: All G.o.ds are cruel, bitter, and to be bribed, But women-G.o.ds are mean and cunning as well.

That fierce old virgin, Cornish Merryn, prays To a young woman, yes and even a virgin-- The poorest kind of woman--and she says That is to be a Christian: avoid then Her worship most, for men hate such denials, And any woman scorns her unwed daughter.

Where sped you from that height? Did Regan join you there?

Goneril:

Does Regan worship anywhere at dawn?

The sweaty half-clad cook-maids render lard Out in the scullery, after pig-killing, And Regan sidles among their greasy skirts, Smeary and hot as they, for c.r.a.ps to suck.

I lost my thoughts before the giant Stones ...

And when anew the earth a.s.sembled round me I swung out on the heath and woke a hare And speared it at a cast and shouldered it, Startled another drinking at a tarn And speared it ere it leapt; so steady and clear Had the G.o.d in his fastness made my mind.

Then, as I took those dead things in my hands, I felt shame light my face from deep within, And loathing and contempt shake in my bowels, That such unclean coa.r.s.e blows from me had issued To crush delicate things to b.l.o.o.d.y mash And blemish their fur when I would only kill.

My gladness left me; I careered no more Upon the morning; I went down from there With empty hands: But under the first trees and without thought I stole on conies at play and stooped at one; I hunted it, I caught it up to me As I outsprang it, and with this thin knife Pierced it from eye to eye; and it was dead, Untorn, unsullied, and with flawless fur.

Then my untroubled mind came back to me.

Hygd:

Leap down the glades with a fawn's ignorance; Live you your fill of a harsh purity; Be wild and calm and lonely while you may.

These are your nature's joys, and it is human Only to recognise our natures' joys When we are losing them for ever.

Goneril:

But why Do you say this to me with a sore heart?

You are a queen, and speak from the top of life, And when you choose to wish for others' joys Those others must have woe.

Hygd:

The hour comes for you to turn to a man And give yourself with the high heart of youth More lavishly than a queen gives anything.

But when a woman gives herself She must give herself for ever and have faith; For woman is a thing of a season of years, She is an early fruit that will not keep, She can be drained and as a husk survive To hope for reverence for what has been; While man renews himself into old age, And gives himself according to his need, And women more unborn than his next child May take him yet with youth And lose him with their potence.

Goneril: