Gordon Bottomley

“ Merryn.
Sire, midnight should have ended Gormflaith's watch,
But Gormflaith had another kind of will
And ended at a godlier hour by slumber,
A letter in her hand, the night-lamp out.
She loitered in the hall when she should sleep.
My duty has two hours ere she returns.
Lear.
The Queen should have young women about her bed,
Fresh cool-breathed women to lie down at her side
And plenish her with vigour; for sick or wasted women
Can draw a virtue from such abounding presence,
When night makes life unwary and looses the strings of being,
Even by the breath, and most of all by sleep. ”

“ Lie down upon the earth as Gunnar lies,
Or I can never match him in your looks
And whiten you and make your heart as cold.
Hallgerd.
Mother, what will you do? Unloose me now—
Your eyes would not look so at me alone.
Rannveig.
Be still, my daughter....
Hallgerd. And then?
Rannveig. Ah, do not fear—
I see a peril nigh and all its blitheness.
Order your limbs—stretch out your length of beauty,
Let down your hands and close those deepening eyes,
Or you can never stiffen as you should.
A murdered man should have a murdered wife
When all his fate is treasured in her mouth. ”

“ Jofrid's voice joins the other voices.
Men reject us, yet their house is unstable....
The slayers' hands are warm—the sound of their riding
Reached us down the ages, ever approaching.
Hallgerd, at the same time, her voice high over theirs.
Pack, ye rag-heaps—or I'll unravel you.
The Three, continuously.
House that spurns us, woe shall come upon you:
Death shall hollow you. Now we curse the woman—
May all the woes smite her till she can feel them.
Shall we not roost in her bower yet? Woe! Woe!
The distaff breaks, and Hallgerd drives them out with her hands. ”

“ Hialti.
THE lass is late about; where is she now?
Thorgerd.
[54] 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. ”

“ Speak lower, low; for your good fame, speak low—
[11] If she should waken thus....
Lear. There is no wise man
Believes that medicine is in a jewel.
It is enough that you have failed with one.
Seek you a common stone. I'll not do it.
Let her eat heartily: she is spent with fasting.
Let her stand up and walk: she is so still
Her blood can never nourish her. Come away.
Physician.
I must not leave her ere the woman comes—
Or will some other woman....
Lear. No, no, no, no;
The Queen is not herself; she speaks without sense;
Only Merryn and Gormflaith understand. ”

“ Danaë lets the contents of the bowl slide into the brazier; a shaft of flame flares high, she averts her face.
Laodice.
Ho, are we dropping roses all the time?
Men; bring me men and torches and sharp spears—
A boat to cut the Centaur's rudder-ropes—
I will go down and take him back.... Hui....
She sweeps out followed by Barsine.
Danaë.
O, Sophron, out by the land! Nay, he knows more—
And she, and she; watch-towers divide this earth,
Horses go here; and he may save a ship.
She draws aside the curtain to look beyond.
May women's skirts impede you, ravening queen. ”

“ 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.) ”

“ Gunnar.
Every man who has trod a war-ship's deck,
And borne a weapon of pride, has a proud heart
And asks not twice for any little thing.
Hallgerd, I'll ask no more from you, no more.
Rannveig, tearing off her wimple.
She will not mar her honour of widowhood.
O, widows' manes are priceless.... Off, mean wimple—
I am a finished widow, why do you hide me?
[123] Son, son who knew my bosom before hers,
Look down and curse for an unreverend thing
An old bald woman who is no use at last. ”

“ Nan.
Here in the barn, where we may crouch un-thought-of
By moon-estranged eyes in gradual darkness.
And lest we startle at o'er-expected footfalls
Or with night-carried voices rouse the farm,
Maudlin and Lib will warn us by dove-cooings—
Sometimes I hear a cooing up warm nights
From dove pairs far too wise to be asleep,
But mistress bides awake for no such music.
Bet.
Dove-cooing Lib will be a thing to brood on—
I'll miss nought here, although you count me least.
Nan.
All works with us ”

“ In Smyrna sits a queen to-night
Who does not shine by another's light;
She has laid her husband on time's dust-heap,
But for that she holds not her title cheap;
New radiance comes on woman by her,
New force in woman is seen to stir.
She has taken the land and the sea from men;
She has shewn men the power of their source again....
[174]
The curtain rises.
A lofty chamber of mingled Hellenic and Asiatic architecture is seen. ”

“ Queen Hygd, an emaciated woman, is asleep in the bed; her plenteous black hair, veined with silver, spreads over the pillow. Her waiting-woman, Merryn, middle-aged and hard-featured, sits watching her in a chair on the farther side of the bed. The light of early morning fills the room.
Merryn.
MANY, many must die who long to live,
Yet this one cannot die who longs to die:
[6] Even her sleep, come now at last, thwarts death,
Although sleep lures us all half way to death.... ”

“ Hialti enters the sleeping-chamber; after watching the door close upon him, Thorgerd, her hands clenched and her arms rigid, swiftly steps half way toward the outhouse; then, suddenly relaxing into a pause and smiling with tight lips as she shakes her head slightly and sharply, she turns to the table again, doffs her coif and draws her hair down, blows out the remaining rushlight, and follows Hialti into the sleeping-chamber.
Henceforth the cottage is only lit by the ever-dying fire. A long, empty silence ensues, broken only by the tumult of the storm and the tinkle of the sinking embers. ”

“ Sweeping the heaths with our skirts, greying the dew-bloom,
Until we feel a pool on the wide dew stretches
Stilled by the moon or ruffling like breast-feathers,
And, with grey sleeves cheating the sleepy herons,
Squat among them, pillow us there and sleep.
But in the harder wastes we stand upright,
Like splintered rain-worn boulders set to the wind
In old confederacy, and rest and sleep.
Hallgerd's women are huddled together and clasping each other.
[103]
Oddny.
What can these women be who sleep like horses,
Standing up in the darkness.... What will they do....
Gunnar. ”

“ Rive out his gear, drive off his forfeit beasts.
Second Man.
It shall not be.
Many Men. Never.
Gizur. We'll never do it:
Let no man lift a blade or finger a clout—
Is not this Gunnar, Gunnar, whom we have slain?
Home, home, before the dawn shows all our deed.
The riders go down quickly over the wall-top, and disappear.
Hallgerd.
Now I shall close his nostrils and his eyes,
And thereby take his blood-feud into my hands.
Rannveig.
If you do stir I'll choke you with your hair.
I will not let your murderous mind be near him
When he no more can choose and does not know.
Hallgerd. ”

“ Biartey.
Lady, we are hungered; we were lost
All night among the mountains of the East;
Clouds of the cliffs come down my eyes again....
[109] I pray you let some thrall bring us to food.
Hallgerd.
Ye get nought here. The supper is long over;
The women shall not let ye know the food-house,
Or ye'll be thieving in the night. Ye are idle,
Ye suck a man's house bare and seek another.
'Tis bed-time; get to sleep—that stills much hunger.
Biartey.
Now it is easy to be seeing what spoils you.
You were not grasping or ought but over warm
When Sigmund, Gunnar's kinsman, guested here. ”

“ 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.... ”

“ The crowd parts, suddenly silent, showing Gunnar fallen.
Rannveig covers her face with her hands.
Hallgerd, laughing as she leans forward and holds her breasts in her hands.
O, clear sweet laughter of my heart, flow out!
It is so mighty and beautiful and blithe
To watch a man dying—to hover and watch.
Rannveig.
Cease: are you not immortal in shame already?
Hallgerd.
Heroes, what deeds ye compass, what great deeds—
One man has held ye from an open door:
Heroes, heroes, are ye undefeated? ”

“ 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 [221] 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. ”

“ I feel there is no malady can touch me—
Save the red cancer, growing where it will.
Taking her beads from her girdle, she kneels at the foot of the bed.
O sweet Saint Cleer, and sweet Saint Elid too,
Shield me from rooting cancers and from madness:
Shield me from sudden death, worse than two death-beds;
Let me not lie like this unwanted queen,
Yet let my time come not ere I am ready—
Grant space enow to relish the watchers' tears
And give my clothes away and calm my features
And streek my limbs according to my will,
Not the hard will of fumbling corpse-washers.
She prays silently. ”

“ 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. ”

“ So that if death's the end, the true completion,
I could believe myself fulfilled and ripe,
A sufferer of the topmost joy and grief,
And past the need of any eternity ...
O, I desire old age, because old age
Has more capacity, more ways of joy....
Her sobs hide her words. Ursel leads her to the hay and seats her among it again and herself by her, putting her arms about her and drawing her head down upon her bosom.
Ursel.
[164] Old age must sit and wait as we must wait ...
We can grow old so quickly in our souls.... ”

“ Sophron a chamber.
Danaë. Madam, I will go.
Laodice.
You speak too loudly. Madam, you will remain:
I need you to cast gums upon the censer
To make me drowsy—I must sleep some moments.
Danaë.
Storax alone, or juniper?
Laodice. O, storax.
Danaë 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. ”

“ Merryn has left her Queen in unwatched loneliness,
And yet your daughter Princess Goneril has said
(With lips that scarce held back the spittle for my face)
That if the Queen is left again I shall be whipt.
Lear.
Children speak of the punishments they know.
Her back is now not half so white as yours,
And you shall write your will upon it yet.
Gormflaith.
[25] Ah, no, my King, my faithful... Ah, no... no...
The Princess Goneril is right; she judges me:
A sinful woman cannot steadily gaze reply
To the cool, baffling looks of virgin untried force. ”

“ 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. ”

“ We remember one considerable and beautifully produced book of miscellaneous verse, "The Gate of Smaragdus," and there have been other plays issued semi-privately, until the publication of "King Lear's Wife" gave him a wider public, and reminded younger readers of his very definite and dignified talent.... If as a tour de force, the latter is the greatest, we still prefer, for sheer poetic beauty, for propriety of phrase and for directness of action, the earlier "Riding to Lithend." Hallgerd is an exceptionally fine creation, and she is given to speak passages of rare force and beauty. ”

“ Gormflaith.
I dare not leave the Queen.... Yes, yes, I come.
Lear.
No, you are better here: the guard would see you.
Gormflaith.
Not when we reach the pathway near the apple-yard.
They rise.
Lear.
Girl, you are changed: you yield more beauty so.
They go out hand in hand by the doorway at the back. As they pass the crumpled letter Gormflaith drops her handkerchief on it, then picks up handkerchief and letter together and thrusts them into her bosom as she passes out.
Hygd, fingering back the bed-curtain again. ”