Georgian Poetry 1913-15 Part 9

This is no leech's work: she's a dead woman.

I'd best be finding if the wisdom-women Have come from Brita's child-bed to their drinking By the cook's fire, for soon she'll be past handling.

Goneril:

This is not death: death could not be like this.

She is quite warm--though nothing moves in her.

I did not know death could come all at once: If life is so ill-seated no one is safe.

Cannot we leave her like herself awhile?

Wait awhile, Merryn ... No, no, no; not yet!

Merryn:

Child, she is gone and will not come again However we cover our faces and pretend She will be there if we uncover them.

I must be hasty, or she'll be as stiff As a straw mattress is.

[She hurries out by the door near the bed.]

Goneril (throwing the whole length of her body along Hygd's body, and embracing it):

Come back, come back; the things I have not done Beat in upon my brain from every side: I know not where to put myself to bear them: If I could have you now I could act well.

My inward life, deeds that you have not known, I burn to tell you in a sudden dread That now your ghost discovers them in me.

Hearken, mother; between us there's a bond Of flesh and essence closer than love can cause: It cannot be unknit so soon as this, And you must know my touch, And you shall yield a sign.

Feel, feel this urging throb: I call to you ...

[GORMFLAITH, still crowned, enters by the garden doorway.]

Gormflaith:

Come back! Help me and s.h.i.+eld me!

[She disappears through the curtains. GONERIL has sprung to her feet at the first sound of GORMFLAITH'S voice.

LEAR enters through the garden doorway, leading GORMFLAITH by the hand.]

Lear: What is to do?

Goneril (advancing to meet them with a deep obeisance):

O, Sir, the Queen is dead: long live the Queen, You have been ready with the coronation.

Lear:

What do you mean? Young madam, will you mock?

Goneril:

But is not she your choice?

The old Queen thought so, for I found her here, Lipping the prints of her supplanter's feet, Prostrate in homage, on her face, silent.

I tremble within to have seen her fallen down.

I must be pardoned if I scorn your ways: You cannot know this feeling that I know, You are not of her kin or house; but I Share blood with her, and, though she grew too worn To be your Queen, she was my mother, Sir.

Gormflaith:

The Queen has seen me.

Lear:

She is safe in bed.

Goneril:

Do not speak low: your voice sounds guilty so; And there is no more need--she will not wake.

Lear:

She cannot sleep for ever. When she wakes I will announce my purpose in the need Of Britain for a prince to follow me, And tell her that she is to be deposed ...

What have you done? She is not breathing now.

She breathed here lately. Is she truly dead?

Goneril:

Your graceful consort steals from us too soon: Will you not tell her that she should remain-- If she can trust the faith you keep with a queen?

[She steps to GORMFLAITH, who is sidling toward the garden door-way, and, taking her hand, leads her to the foot of the bed.]

Lady, why will you go? The King intends That you shall soon be royal, and thereby Admitted to our breed: then stay with us In this domestic privacy to mourn The grief here fallen on our family.

Kneel now; I yield the eldest daughter's place.

Why do you fumble in your bosom so?

Put your cold hands together; close your eyes, In inward isolation to a.s.semble Your memories of the dead, your prayers for her.