Locrine - A Tragedy [17]
A Room in the Palace.
Enter GUENDOLEN and MADAN.
GUENDOLEN.
Come close, and look upon me. Child or man, -
I know not how to call thee, being my child,
Who know not how myself am called, nor can -
God witness--tell thee what should she be styled
Who bears the brand and burden set on her
That man hath set on me--the lands are wild
Whence late I bade thee hither, swift of spur
As he that rides to guard his mother's life;
Thou hast found nought loathlier there, nought hate-fuller
In all the wilds that seethe with fluctuant strife,
Than here besets thine advent. Son, if thou
Be son of mine, and I thy father's wife -
MADAN.
If heaven be heaven, and God be God.
GUENDOLEN.
As now
We know not if they be. Give me thine hand.
Thou hast mine eyes beneath thy father's brow, -
And therefore bears it not the traitor's brand.
Swear--But I would not bid thee swear in vain
Nor bind thee ere thine own soul understand,
Ere thine own heart be molten with my pain,
To do such work for bitter love of me
As haply, knowing my heart, thou wert not fain -
Even thou--to take upon thee--bind on thee -
Set all thy soul to do or die.
MADAN.
I swear.
GUENDOLEN.
And though thou sworest not, yet the thing should be.
The burden found for me so sore to bear
Why should I lay on any hand but mine,
Or bid thine own take part therein, and wear
A father's blood upon it--here--for sign?
Ay, now thou pluck'st it forth of hers to whom
Thou sworest and gavest it plighted. O Locrine,
Thy seed it was that sprang within my womb,
Thine, and none other--traitor born and liar,
False-faced, false-tongued--the fire of hell consume
Me, thee, and him for ever!
MADAN.
Hath my sire
Wronged thee?
GUENDOLEN.
Thy sire? my lord? the flower of men?
How?
MADAN.
For thy tongue was tipped but now with fire -
With fire of hell--against him.
GUENDOLEN.
Now, and then,
Are twain; thou knowest not women, how their tongue
Takes fire, and straight learns patience: Guendolen
Is there no more than crownless woman, wrung
At heart with anguish, and in utterance mad
As even the meanest whom a snake hath stung
So near the heart that all the pulse it had
Grows palpitating poison. Wilt thou know
Whence?
MADAN.
Could I heal it, then mine own were glad.
GUENDOLEN.
What think'st thou were the bitterest wrong, the woe
Least bearable by woman, worst of all
That man might lay upon her? Nay, thou art slow:
Speak: though thou speak but folly. Silent? Call
To mind whatso thou hast ever heard of ill
Most monstrous, that should turn to fire and gall
The milk and blood of maid or mother--still
Thou shalt not find, I think, what he hath done -
What I endure, and die not. For my will
It is that holds me yet alive, O son,
Till all my wrong be wroken, here to keep
Fast watch, a living soul before the sun,
Anhungered and athirst for night and sleep,
That will not slake the ravin of her thirst
Nor quench her fire of hunger, till she reap
The harvest loved of all men, last as first -
Vengeance.
MADAN.
What wrong is this he hath done thee? Words
Are edgeless weapons: live we blest or curst,
No jot the more of evil or good engirds
The life with bitterest curses compassed round
Or girt about with blessing. Hinds and herds
Wage threats and brawl and wrangle: wind and sound
Suffice their souls for vengeance: we require
Deeds, and till place for these and time be found
Silence. What bids thee bid me slay my sire?
GUENDOLEN.
I praise the gods that gave me thee: thine heart
Is none of his, no changeling's in desire,
No coward's as who begat thee: mine thou art
All, and mine only. Lend me now thine ear:
Thou knowest -
MADAN.
What anguish holds thy lips apart
And strikes thee silent? Am I bound to hear
What thou to speak art bound not?
GUENDOLEN.
How my lord,
Our lord, thy sire--the king whose throne is here
Imperial--smote and drove the wolf-like horde
That raged against us from the raging east,
And how their chief sank in the unsounded
Enter GUENDOLEN and MADAN.
GUENDOLEN.
Come close, and look upon me. Child or man, -
I know not how to call thee, being my child,
Who know not how myself am called, nor can -
God witness--tell thee what should she be styled
Who bears the brand and burden set on her
That man hath set on me--the lands are wild
Whence late I bade thee hither, swift of spur
As he that rides to guard his mother's life;
Thou hast found nought loathlier there, nought hate-fuller
In all the wilds that seethe with fluctuant strife,
Than here besets thine advent. Son, if thou
Be son of mine, and I thy father's wife -
MADAN.
If heaven be heaven, and God be God.
GUENDOLEN.
As now
We know not if they be. Give me thine hand.
Thou hast mine eyes beneath thy father's brow, -
And therefore bears it not the traitor's brand.
Swear--But I would not bid thee swear in vain
Nor bind thee ere thine own soul understand,
Ere thine own heart be molten with my pain,
To do such work for bitter love of me
As haply, knowing my heart, thou wert not fain -
Even thou--to take upon thee--bind on thee -
Set all thy soul to do or die.
MADAN.
I swear.
GUENDOLEN.
And though thou sworest not, yet the thing should be.
The burden found for me so sore to bear
Why should I lay on any hand but mine,
Or bid thine own take part therein, and wear
A father's blood upon it--here--for sign?
Ay, now thou pluck'st it forth of hers to whom
Thou sworest and gavest it plighted. O Locrine,
Thy seed it was that sprang within my womb,
Thine, and none other--traitor born and liar,
False-faced, false-tongued--the fire of hell consume
Me, thee, and him for ever!
MADAN.
Hath my sire
Wronged thee?
GUENDOLEN.
Thy sire? my lord? the flower of men?
How?
MADAN.
For thy tongue was tipped but now with fire -
With fire of hell--against him.
GUENDOLEN.
Now, and then,
Are twain; thou knowest not women, how their tongue
Takes fire, and straight learns patience: Guendolen
Is there no more than crownless woman, wrung
At heart with anguish, and in utterance mad
As even the meanest whom a snake hath stung
So near the heart that all the pulse it had
Grows palpitating poison. Wilt thou know
Whence?
MADAN.
Could I heal it, then mine own were glad.
GUENDOLEN.
What think'st thou were the bitterest wrong, the woe
Least bearable by woman, worst of all
That man might lay upon her? Nay, thou art slow:
Speak: though thou speak but folly. Silent? Call
To mind whatso thou hast ever heard of ill
Most monstrous, that should turn to fire and gall
The milk and blood of maid or mother--still
Thou shalt not find, I think, what he hath done -
What I endure, and die not. For my will
It is that holds me yet alive, O son,
Till all my wrong be wroken, here to keep
Fast watch, a living soul before the sun,
Anhungered and athirst for night and sleep,
That will not slake the ravin of her thirst
Nor quench her fire of hunger, till she reap
The harvest loved of all men, last as first -
Vengeance.
MADAN.
What wrong is this he hath done thee? Words
Are edgeless weapons: live we blest or curst,
No jot the more of evil or good engirds
The life with bitterest curses compassed round
Or girt about with blessing. Hinds and herds
Wage threats and brawl and wrangle: wind and sound
Suffice their souls for vengeance: we require
Deeds, and till place for these and time be found
Silence. What bids thee bid me slay my sire?
GUENDOLEN.
I praise the gods that gave me thee: thine heart
Is none of his, no changeling's in desire,
No coward's as who begat thee: mine thou art
All, and mine only. Lend me now thine ear:
Thou knowest -
MADAN.
What anguish holds thy lips apart
And strikes thee silent? Am I bound to hear
What thou to speak art bound not?
GUENDOLEN.
How my lord,
Our lord, thy sire--the king whose throne is here
Imperial--smote and drove the wolf-like horde
That raged against us from the raging east,
And how their chief sank in the unsounded