University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

Malmesbury. The Orchard—moonlight.
Edith by a pool.
Edith.
They must not dress me like a penitent . . .
It was for kindness. White, white up in heaven,
And glist'ring: how it sails about the sky;
And I am for the water. I will do 't—
They put it on me as a dreadful task
To pull him out. Oh, here are golden flowers;
I will step softly in . . . but at the roots
It's black and treacherous—foul iris-bed.
Back, back! I cannot bear the filth. O Edric,
I will have courage, yea, I will be damned,
Damned for your sake. When it grows dark again,
I'll fling down in the water. For a little . . .
Oh, I will come to you, I know my service—
But just to watch the silver in the clouds,
Where there is muffled music. Gloria!
It's full through all the heavens, and the child
Sings clearer than the rest. How beautiful
To watch him from so very far away.
I loiter. I came down to the deep pool
To get damnation; they shall never say
That I deserted him, who am his wife.
How he has drawn me to him from the hour
He humbled me. I think he grows more strong
Now he is with the devils, and will bring
A host of them to carry me away.
No, no! 'Tis I myself must enter it;
For 'tis obedience that shall break her in,
He said, I will not force her. Now 'tis dark,
And I shall stumble on the choking rushes,
If I should try to drown. Who walks the orchard,
Weeping so bitterly?

Elgiva.
O England, England,
Dost feel it at thy heart, thou hast no king?
Ah me, and no avenger? The twin boys
I bore, that should have rid thee of thy tyrant,
Rock on the chilly sea: such little ones,
Cast forth without a nurse. O pitiless!
We do not keep a fire where no one comes;
I'm lonely, and the ashes in my blood
Tell of such desolation. I have lost
My twain, and all my kindness—

Edith.
Lady, lady,
'Tis quiet; you can rock a child to sleep
Down there, if that's your meaning. Come along.

Elgiva.
It is his sister Edith, who has had
Strange woe; whose little son . . . O God! O Heaven!
She stands there from whose body came the thing
That widowed me. So tall she is and white—
The fountain of my tears.

Edith.
I want your hand
To do it with. I held an iris-leaf—
It flashed like a drowned sword, and then I cried
A ghost! The moonlight laughed so merrily.
But I will say the Scripture over: Wives,
Obey your husbands. He is hidden there,
Under the cresses.

Elgiva
[aside].
She is surely mad.
I'll be an angry keeper, and my mood
Gives me a touch of cruelty.—Stand still.
How dare you stir?

Edith.
It is all learnt by heart;
It must be done; he watches all the while,
Though out of sight.

Elgiva.
Come back to me. Obey!

Edith.
Ah, now you know the word—obey! Yes, yes.
I will do all you tell me.

Elgiva.
Then walk back.
[Aside]
O God, that I should be so harsh! She fixes
Such waiting eyes upon me, timorous,
Yet full of noble candour, Edmund's eyes,
That could not learn suspicion.—Come away;
Sit on the bank. She does it like a child.
A child! I fill with tenderness: God sends her
To keep my heart a mother's. How it throbs
Against her nestling forehead!

Edith.
I am happy;
You said I must not drown. Indeed 'twas foul,
And I am fond of linen newly washed
I mean in shallow water, where the pebbles
Are clear and burnished . . . for—you do not know—
I felt that I was making me a harlot
To perish with him. Say it over to me,
Forbid it every hour and every day,
Now, and each moment! Save me by your voice,
Lest the reeds have me, and the loathsomeness,
The violating dregs.

Elgiva.
You shall not die;
It is a great command; and mortal sin
It were to disobey.

Edith.
Is that the word?
I feel an impulse sucking me apart
From this dear side, and yonder—

Elgiva.
I am strong;
You shall not go. Obey me.

Edith.
There it is!
Your voice is living, his down there is dead;
He could but catch me with the water plants;
You hold me in your lap, and twine me round
So firmly in your arms. Obey, obey!
Just as you think it well for me. I know
Why they have dressed me as a penitent;
My feet are muddy; but my hair, you see,
Is golden when I turn it to the moon,
Quite clear and shining. Shall I tie it up
The old way, like a crown? Faugh, it is damp;
I thought I had not sinned.

Elgiva.
It is the dew
Of autumn-eve, my dearest. You shall be
My care, my child, my blessing. We will live
Thus hand-in-hand, for we are sisters, both
Beloved of Edmund. It was in this orchard
His first kiss crowned my lips below the trees;
Their buds were red: the apples now are fallen,
The boughs no more possess them. Do I cry?
But there is something calm as Paradise
I' the climate of this weeping. All the night
Is one blue home of stars, and I am certain
Of a sweet sudden that my boys are safe
In the far country, and will live at peace,
And grow up with their father's spirit near.
I think it is this crooning at my breast
Makes me so blessèd; like the wood-dove's moan,
Sorrow and comfort are both reconciled
In this low music. She is sleeping half,
And half complaining. Noble Edmund's sister,
And England's royal princess!

Edith.
I have never
Known all this joy since I was three years old.
I go back in your arms through many days
Till I can find that I lay warm like this,
Taking no thought, my blood just like a prayer
They chant to measured harmonies.

Elgiva.
She enters
The life of heaven, though outside its door,
And a mad nun at Malmesbury! I will lead her
To my own cell; for the bland night is sending
Its sleep to earth, and visiting her brain
To heal all ache. My woman-child, my own.

[Exeunt.]