Of vain ambitious men, selfish and callous,
And frail life drifters, reticent, delicate.
Litheness thread bulk; a nation’s harmony.
These are not lame, nor bent awry, but placeless
With the rust and stagnant. All that’s low I’ll charm;
Barbaric love sweeten to tenderness.
Cunning run into wisdom, craft turn to skill.
Their meanness threaded right and sensibly
Change to a prudence, envied and not sneered.
Their hugeness be a driving wedge to a thing,
Ineffable and useable, as near
Solidity as human life can be.
So grandly fashion these rude elements
Into some newer nature, a consciousness
Like naked light seizing the all-eyed soul,
Oppressing with its gorgeous tyranny
Until they take it thus — or die.
[While speaking, he places his hand on the unsuspecting Egyptian’s head and gently pulls his hair back (caressingly), until his chin is above his forehead, and holds him so till he is suffocated. In the darkness ahead is seen the glimmer of javelins and spears. It is Prince Imra’s cohorts come to arrest MOSES]
THE AMULET
LILITH. SAUL. AMAK. NUBIAN.
LILITH sits under pomegranate trees watching AMAK playing with his father’s helm and spear. A light smoke is ascending from the chimney of the hut, and through the doorway a naked Nubian man is seen stirring the embers. SAUL sleeps.
LILITH. Amak, you’ll break your father’s sleep,
Come here and tell me what those spices are
This strange man bakes our cakes with.
It makes the brain wild. Be still, Amak.
I’ll give you the strange man your father brought
And he will run with you upon his back to-day.
Come from your father or you’ll get no cakes;
He’s been a long journey.
Bring me the pictured book he brought for you.
What! Already cut to pieces?
Put away that horn from your father’s ear
And stay that horrid noise; come, Amak.
(AMAK runs to his mother with a jade amulet, shouting)
AMAK. Look mother what I’ve found.
(He runs back again, making great shouts)
LILITH. It dances with my blood. When my eyes caught it first
I was like lost and yearned, and yearned and yearned,
And strained like iron to stay my head from falling
Upon that beggar’s breast where the jade stone hung.
Perhaps the spirit of Saul’s young love lies here
Strayed far and brought back by this stranger [?means]
Saul said his discourse was more than deep Heaven.
For the storm trapped him ere he left the town
Loaded with our week’s victuals. The slime clung
And licked and clawed and chewed the clogged dragging wheels
Till they sunk nigh to the axle. Saul sodden and vexed
Like fury smote the mules’ mouths, pulling but sweat
From his drowned hair and theirs, while the thunder knocked
And all the air yawned water, falling water,
And the light cart was water, like a wrecked raft,
And all seemed like a forest under the ocean.
Sudden the lightning flashed upon a figure
Moving as a man moves in the slipping mud
But singing not as a man sings, through the storm,
Which could not drown his sounds. Saul bawled ‘Hi! Hi!’
And the man loomed, naked vast, and gripped the wheels.
Saul fiercely dug from under. He tugged the wheels,
The mules foamed, straining, straining,
Sudden they went.
Saul and the man leaped in, Saul miserably sodden
Marvelled at the large cheer in a naked glistening man.
And soon fell in with that contented mood.
That when our hut’s light broke on his new mind
He could not credit it. Too soon it seemed.
The strange man’s talk was witchery.
I pray his baking be as magical.
The cakes should be nigh burnt.
(She calls the NUBIAN. He answers from within)
NUBIAN. They are laid by to cool, housewife.
LILITH. Bring me the sherbet from the ledge and the fast-dried figs.
(The NUBIAN brings sherbet and figs and a bowl of ice and lays them down)
(She looks curiously at him. He is an immense man with squat, mule-skinned features: his jet-black curled beard, crisp hair, glistening nude limbs, appear to her like some heathen idol of ancient stories)
(She thinks to herself)
Out of the lightning
In a dizzying cloven wink
This apparition stood up,
Of stricken trunk or beast spirit
Stirred by Saul’s blasphemies.
So Saul’s heart feared aghast.
But lo, he touched the mischance and life ran straight.
Was it the storm-spirit, storm’s pilot,
With all the heaving debris of Noah’s sunken days
Dragged on his loins;
Law’s spirit wandering to us
Through Nature’s anarchy,
Wandering towards us when the Titans yet were young?
Perhaps Moses and Buddha he met.
(She speaks aloud)
The shadow of these pomegranate boughs
Is sweet and restful. Sit and ease your feet. Eat of these figs,
You have journeyed long.
NUBIAN. All my life, housewife.
LILITH. YOU have seen men and women,
Soaked yourself in powers and old glories,
In broken days and tears and in some glee,
And touched cold hands —
Hands shut in pitiless trance when the feast is high,
I think there is more sorrow in the world
Than man can bear.
NUBIAN. None can exceed their limit, lady.
You either bear or break.
LILITH. Can one choose to break? To bear,
To wearily bear is misery.
Beauty is this corroding malady.
NUBIAN. Beauty is a great paradox —
Music’s secret soul creeping about the senses
To wrestle with man’s coarser nature.
It is hard when beauty loses.
LILITH. I think beauty is a bad bargain made of life.
Men’s iron sinews hew them room in the world
And use deceits to gain them trophies.
Ah! when our beauty fails us did we not use
Deceits, where were our room in the world?
Only our room in the world?
Are not the songs and devices of men
Moulds they have made after my scarlet mouth,
go Of cunning words and haughty contours of bronze
And viols and gathered air?
They without song have sung me
Boldly and shamelessly.
I am no wanton, no harlot.
I have been pleased and smiled my pleasure,
I am a wife with a woman’s natural ways.
Yet through the shadow of the pomegranates
Filters a poison day by day,
And to a malady turns
The blonde, the ample music of my heart.
Inward to eat my heart
My thoughts are worms that suck my softness all away.
I watch the dumb eyeless hours
Drop their tears, then shapeless moaning drop.
Unfathomable is my mouth’s dream
Do not men say?
So secret are my far eyes,
Weaving for iron men profound subtleties.
Sorceress they name me,
And my eyes harden, and they say
‘How may those eyes know love
If God made he
r without a heart?
‘Her tears, her moaning,
Her sad profound gaze,
The dishevelled lustres of her hair
Moon-storm like’, they say,
‘These are her subtleties,’ men say.
My husband sleeps,
The ghosts of my virgin days do not trouble him.
His sleep can be over-long,
For there is that in my embers
Pride and blushes of fire, the outraged blood,
His sleep makes me remember.
Sleep! hairy hunter, sleep!
You are not hungry more
Having fed on my deliciousness.
Your sleep is not adultery to me,
For you were wed to a girl
And I am a woman.
My lonely days are not whips to my honour.
(She dries her tears with her hair, then fingers the amulet at her throat)
Yours, friend.
NUBIAN (eagerly) My amulet! My amulet!
(He speaks gravely) Small comfort is counsel to broken lives,
But tolerance is medicinal.
In all our textures are loosed
Pulses straining against strictness
Because an easy issue lies therefrom.
(Could they but slink past the hands holding whips
To hunt them from the human pale
Where is the accident to cover; Spite fears bias.)
I am justified at my heart’s plea;
He is justified also.
For the eyes of vanity are sleepless — are suspicious,
Are mad with imaginings
Of secret stabs in words, in looks, in gestures.
Man is a chimera’s eremite,
That lures him from the good kindness of days
Which only asks his willingness.
There is a crazed shadow from no golden body
That poisons at the core
What smiles may stray.
It mixes with all God-ancestralled essences
And twists the brain and heart.
This shadow sits in the texture of Saul’s being,
Mauling your love and beauty with its lies;
I hold a power like light to shrivel it.
There, in your throat’s hollow — that green jade.
(He snatches at it as she lets it fall. He grows white and
troubled, and walks to where AMAK is playing, and sees
minutely strewn pieces of paper.)
(He mutters) Lost — Lost.
The child has torn the scroll in it
And half is away. It cannot be spelt now.
LILITH. God, restore me his love.
Ah! Well!
(She rises)
I will go now prepare our evening meal
And waken my husband, my lover once.
NUBIAN (musing) The lightning of the heavens
Lifts an apocalypse.
The dumb night’s lips are seared and wide,
The world is reeling with sound.
Was I deaf before, mute, tied?
What shakes here from lustre-seeded pomegranates
Not in the great world,
More vast and terrible.
What is this ecstasy in form,
This lightning
That found the lightning in my blood,
Searing my spirit’s lips aghast and naked.
I am flung in the abyss of days
And the void is filled with rushing sound
From pent eternities.
I am strewn as the cypher is strewn.
A woman — a soft woman!
Our girls have hair
Like heights of night ringing with never-seen larks,
Or blindness dim with dreams.
Here is a yellow tiger gay that blinds your night.
Mane — Mane — Mane!
Your honey spilt round that small dazzling face
Shakes me to golden tremors.
I have no life at all,
Only thin golden tremors.
Light tender beast!
Your fragile gleaming wrists
Have shook the scaled glaciers from under me,
And bored into my craft
That is now with the old dreamy Adam
With other things of dust.
LILITH. YOU lazy hound. See my poor child.
(He turns to see LILITH drop the bowl and cakes and run to
AMAK who is crying, half stifled under SAUL’S huge shield)
(SAUL opens his eyes)
THE TOWER OF SKULLS
MOURNERS
These layers of piled-up skulls,
These layers of gleaming horror — stark horror!
Ah me! Through my thin hands they touch my eyes.
Everywhere, everywhere is a pregnant birth,
And here in death’s land is a pregnant birth.
Your own crying is less mortal
Than the amazing soul in your body.
Your own crying you parrot takes up
And from your empty skulls cries it afterwards.
Thou whose dark activities unenchanted
Days from gyrating days, suspending them
To thrust them far from sight, from the gyrating days
Which have gone widening on and left us here,
Cast derelicts lost for ever.
When aged flesh looks down on tender brood;
For he knows between his thin ribs’ walls
The giant universe, the interminable
Panorama — synods, myths and creeds,
He knows his dust is fire and seed.
TEL’S SONG
Small dazzling face!
I shut you in my soul;
How can I perish now?
But thence a strange decay —
Your fragile gleaming wrists
Waver my days and shake my life
To golden tremours. I have no life at all,
Only thin golden tremours
That shudder over the abyss of days
Which hedged my spirit, my spirit your prison walls
That shrunk like phantasms with your vivid beauty.
Towering and widenening till
The sad moonless place
Throngs with a million torches
And spears and flaming wings.
THE UNICORN
CONTENTS
EARLY DRAFT OF A SCENE.
THE UNICORN
EARLY DRAFT OF A SCENE.
SCENE. A Market.
SAUL leaning against his cart in converse with DEALER.
SAUL. I saw it plain. I could have touched it.
DEALER. Against Lot’s Pool you say? Strange as [the myth]
Of barren men, strange beasts, I lent your wife.
(Our wines are strong, the pool vapours queer shapes
And the cart’s jolting made him doze and mix,
Phantasing from the story.)
The victuals are all tied secure. Now haste,
Before the storm breaks. The sequel of the myth
I’ll seek and bring your wife. My greetings to her.
SAUL. The myth? Ah yes.
Here was the usual road, the usual sky,
The same brown surging flanks, the well thewed legs
Jogging between my thoughts, the long queer ears
That seemed to hear a calling from the town.
Here was Lot’s Pool, bare of the shining boys
I looked for, fishing; but it was mealtime then,
As I remember by a hut I passed,
Then... I was nigh jerked from the cart
At the dead stop — like a wind it flew by —
The haughty contours of a swift white horse
And on its brows a tree, a branching [tree].
My blood froze up... Wait... listen!
DEALER. What shrieks? who run? why flee you, friend?
So white and mute? I’ll run with you.
SAUL. Hide me, hide me. There, there, its horns...
&nb
sp; [The Unicorn rushes by]
SAUL. Is it gone? I shake, I shake.
[SAUL slowly clambers into his cart, dazed]
SAUL. GO on, go on, go from this cursed [place].
It is no use if things are ordered so.
The streets are bare and strange, all seems detached.
What if I died last night, and I that ride
Is what the old place will not relinquish yet
Because Lilith now wrings her vain hands at last
By my cold form, a little colder yet,
And holds my soul back, saying, ‘It cannot be.
Look look, I know his eyeballs tried to move.’
…
.. this white terror is that virgin will
Of all my unused love. To die, to die
Before I laid my great love bare, so hidden
While she asked tenderness for alien things
Apart from my mood, or my mood despised.
I yearned for some outlet for my towering love.
My taciturn ways, cold, laconic
Like this metallic sky, scintillant.
No, no, I feel the wet drops.
How black, profoundest midnight,
There is no road or sky, yet on the brink
Noon glitters, I ride eyeless
And the rain beats and beats like endless hoofs.
The trapping of Tel, the chief of the decaying race, was evidently abandoned,
but some fragments refer to the trapping of the Unicorn and apparently to its escape.
TEL.... Beauty,
Music’s secret soul creeping about man’s senses,
Gleaming and fading unknowable and known.
Man yearns and woman yearns and yearning is
Beauty and music, faith, and hope and dreams,
Religion, love, endeavour, stability
Of man’s whole universe.
LILITH. Most secret, hidden, is my own music from me.
Where is Saul gone?
I hear him in the cellar with Amak.
AMAK (off) Father, the chain is rusty.
Is it to chain the Unicorn?
TEL. Be wary, heart; I fear it is for me.
[The door is burst open and the TRADER rushes breathless in]
TRADER. Hide, hide! The Unicorn! The riders!
Our women are all taken —
The Unicorn itself took the place of a woman for Tel. Something of its more general significance appears in the following rough fragment.
LILITH. The mateless soul haunts all the elements, it wails
In the wasting wind of obliteration.
Surely
The white beast is the figure of man’s soul,
Blind, passing and repassing the thing it needs
That utters no sound, for it knows not the thing’s will,
Evil or good.
TEL. Ah Umusol, my eyes love, you have feared them
Complete Works of Isaac Rosenberg Page 15