Complete Works of Thomas Hardy (Illustrated) (1094 page)
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Authors: Thomas Hardy
But under sorcery unwittingly,
By draining deep the love-compelling vial
In my sick thirst, as innocently did she! . . .
This, when of late you sent for me, before
I went to Brittany, to come and help you!
“ Fair nephew,” said you, “ here upswarm our foes;
They are stark at hand, and must be strongly met
Sans tarriance, or they’ll uproot my realm.”
“ My power,” said I, “ is all at your command.”
I came. I neared in night-time to the gate,
Where the hot host of Sessoines clung encamped;
Killed them at th’entrance, and got in to you,
Who welcomed me with joy. I forth’d again,
Again slew more, and saved the stronghold’s fame!
Yet you (weaker) requite me thus! You might — have fought me!
(K. Mark droops his head in silence.)
Sir Andret
O fie upon thee, traitor, pleading thus! It profits naught. To-day here sees thee die!
Tristram
O Andret, Andret; this from thee to me — Thee, whom I onetime held my fastest friend;
Wert thou as I, I would not treat thee so!
(Sir Andret turns aside and looks down) [Weaker) Fair Knights, bethink ye what
I’ve done for Cornwall, — Its fate was on my shoulder — and I saved it! —
Yea, thick in jeopardies I’ve thrust myself To fame your knighthood! — daily stretched
my arm For — the weal — of you — all!
Tristram
dies.
Q. Iseult
[springing up, the King standing dazed)
O murderer, husband called! — possest of me Against my nature and my pleading tears, When all my heart was Tristram’s — his past wording,
To your own knowledge. Now this mute red mouth
You’ve gored in my Beloved, bids me act: Act do I then. So out you — follow him!
She snatches King Mark’s dagger from his belt and stabs him with it. King Mark falls and dies. Queen Iseult rushes out. Sir Andret, stooping and finding the King dead, follows after the Queen. A few moments’ pause during which the sea and sky darken, and the wind rises, distant thunder murmuring. Enter W atchman; next Brangwain.
SCENE XX
Watchman and Chanters, with the dead King and Tristram; then Brangwain.
Watchman
She’s glode off like a ghost, with deathy mien;
It seems toward the ledge — yes, she — the Queen.
Brangwain (entering hurriedly)
She’s over the cliff, and Tristram’s brachet with her! . . .
What have we here? ... Sir Tristram’s body? O!
Chanters: Men. (Brangwain standing and gradually drooping during their chant)
Alas, for this wroth day! She’s leapt the ledge and fallen
Into the loud black bay, Whose waters, loosed and swollen, Are spirting into spray!
She’s vanished from the world, Over the blind rock hurled; And the little hound her friend Has made with hers its end!
Chanters: Women
Alas, for this wroth day! Our Tristram, noble knight, A match for Arthur’s might, Lies here as quaking clay. This is no falsehood fell, But very truth indeed That we too surely read! Would that we had to tell But pleasant truth alway!
Brangwain (arousing and gazing round)
Here’s more of this same stuff of death.
Look down — What see I lying there? King Mark, too, slain?
The sea’s dark noise last night, the sky’s vast yawn
Of hollow bloodshot cloud, meant murder,
then, As I divined!
Enter Iseult the Whitehanded, Queen’s Ladies, Retainers, Bower- women., and others.
SCENE XXI
Iseult the Whitehanded, Brangwain, Queen’s Ladies, etc., and Chanters.
Iseult the White H.
I heard her cry. I saw her leap! How fair She was! What wonder that my brother Kay
Should pine for love of her. . . . O she should not
Have done it to herself! Nor life nor death Is worth a special quest.
(She sees Tristram’s body.) What’s this — my husband? My Tristram dead likewise? He one with her?
(She sinks and clasps Tristram.)
Chanters: M. and W.
Slain by King Mark unseen, in evil vow, Who never loved him! Pierced in the back
— aye, now, By sleight no codes of chivalry allow!
Iseult the White H.
And she beholding! That the cause where- for
She went and took her life? He was not
hers. . . . Yet did she love him true, if wickedly!
Re-enter Sir Andret, with other Knights, Squires, Herald, etc.
SCENE XXII
Iseult the Whitehanded, Brangwain, Sir Andret, etc., and Chanters.
Sir Andret (saturninely)
Nor sight nor sound of her! A Queen.
‘Od’s blood, Her flaws in life get mended by her death,
And she and Tristram sport re-burnished fames!
Iseult the White H.
(seeing
Mark’s
body)
And the King also dead? My Tristram’s slayer?
Yet strange to me. Then even had I not come
Across the southern water recklessly
This would have shaped the same — the very- same.
(Turning again to Tristram.)
Tristram, dear husband! O! . . .
(She rocks herself over him)
What a rare beauteous knight has perished here
By this most cruel craft! Could not King Mark
If wronged, have chid him — minded him of me,
And not done this, done this! Well, well; she’s lost him,
Even as have I. — This stronghold moans with woes,
And jibbering voices join with winds and waves
To make a dolorous din! . . .
(They lift her) Aye, I will rise —
Betake me to my own dear Brittany —
Dearer in that our days there were so sweet,
Before I knew what pended me elsewhere !
These halls are hateful to me! May my
eyes
Meet them no more!
(She turns to go)
Brangwain
I will attend you, Madam.
Exit Iseult the Whitehanded assisted by Brangwain and Bowerwomen. Knights, retainers, etc., lift the bodies and carry them out. A Dirge by the Chanters.
EPILOGUE
Re-enter Merlin
Thus from the past, the throes and themes Whereof I spake — now dead as dreams —
Have been re-shaped and drawn In feinted deed and word, as though Our shadowy and phantasmal show Were very movements to and fro Of forms so far-off gone.
These warriors and dear women, whom I’ve called, as bidden, from the tomb,
May not have failed to raise An antique spell at moments here? — They were, in their long-faded sphere, As you are now who muse thereat; Their mirth, crimes, fear and love begat Your own, though thwart their ways; And may some pleasant thoughts outshape From this my conjuring to undrape Such ghosts of distant days!
The Criticism
A STUDY OF THOMAS HARDY by D.H. Lawrence
This critical work was written in the early months of World War I, and was originally intended to be a short analysis of Hardy’s characters, but then developed into a major statement of Lawrence’s philosophy of art. The introduction to this work shows its relation to Lawrence’s final rewriting of
The Rainbow
and its place among his continual attempts to express his philosophy in a definitive form.
D.H. Lawrence, the famous novelist and poet, who was greatly influenced by Hardy
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
Of Poppies and Phoenixes and the Beginning of the Argument
Man has made such a mighty struggle to feel at home on the face of the earth, without even yet succeeding. Ever since he first discovered himself exposed naked betwixt sky and land, belonging to neither, he has gone on fighting for more food, more clothing, more shelter; and though he has roofed-in the world with houses and though the ground has heaved up massive abundance and excess of nutriment to his hand, still he cannot be appeased, satisfied. He goes on and on. In his anxiety he has evolved nations and tremendous governments to protect his person and his property; his strenuous purpose, unremitting, has brought to pass the whole frantic turmoil of modern industry, that he may have enough, enough to eat and wear, that he may be safe. Even his religion has for the systole of its heart-beat, propitiation of the Unknown God who controls death and the sources of nourishment.
But for the diastole of the heart-beat, there is something more, something else, thank heaven, than this unappeased rage of self- preservation. Even the passion to be rich is not merely the greedy wish to be secure within triple walls of brass, along with a huge barn of plenty. And the history of mankind is not altogether the history of an effort at self-preservation which has at length become over blown and extravagant.
Working in contradiction to the will of self-preservation, from the very first man wasted himself begetting children, colouring himself and dancing and howling,.and sticking feathers in his hair, in scratching pictures on the walls of his cave, and making graven images of his unutterable feelings. So he went on wildly and with gorgeousness taking no thought for the morrow, but, at evening, considering the ruddy lily.
