the sea-coast of Cornwall. The hall is lofty, panelled with oak,
furnished squarely with old oak furniture. There is an open
hearth, with oak benches, on the right; beyond the fireplace is a
door, leading into the house. In the centre of the hall is a long
table, the end of which faces the audience. An oak arm-chair
stands at the head, plain oak chairs at the sides. At the back,
to the left of the table, is a door leading into a bedroom. On
the left is a panelled screen which reaches two-thirds of the way
to the ceiling and forms the whole of the wall. A door in the
centre of it leads to the entrance-hall.
It is twilight in autumn. During the whole of the action BARBARA
ROSCORLA is lying in bed, in the inner room. With her, during the
first part of the play, is SISTER KATHERINE, a nurse.
ASENATH and SISTER AGATHA are seated by the fire; the old woman
drowses.
The wind is heard as the curtain rises.
SISTER A.: (with a start) Asenath, Asenath, is that only the wind?
ASENATH: (rousing herself) Eh?
SISTER A.: Is that the wind?
ASENATH: It is the wind from the sea. It blew all night. You can hear
the sea out beyond; sometimes you can hear it louder than the wind.
There’s always been wind at sea when the Roscorlas were born; they bring
trouble.
SISTER A.: The wind frightens me. I have never been quite myself since I
came here.
ASENATH: Yes, yes, the Roscorlas come with the wind; they bring trouble.
SISTER A.: (nodding her head towards the closed door) Do you think she
is going to die?
ASENATH: It isn’t death I’m fearing; it’s being born.
SISTER A.: Is that what _she_ is afraid of?
ASENATH: It’s a poor gift being born; if they that come could think
twice, not many of them would take it.
SISTER A.: Is that what she is afraid of? I have never seen any woman
who seemed to dread so what was going to happen. She lies there all the
time as if she were seeing a ghost.
ASENATH: The wives of all the Roscorlas feared what they were going to
bring into the world. Peter Roscorla’s wife is only like all the others.
SISTER A.: I have never seen any woman who was so afraid of being a
mother.
ASENATH: Any woman is wise to fear it; there’s little joy and much care
for any mother; but it’s a bitter motherhood here in this house. She
does right to fear it.
SISTER A.: She is such a little thing, and so young, and sometimes she
trembles all over, so that the bed quivers.
ASENATH: She is thinking on that that’s to be. Did she say nothing when
you were with her?
SISTER A.: She said nothing; she lay there with her long black hair all
over the pillow; her eyes were wide open, staring straight in front of
her; I think she was listening to the wind.
ASENATH: The last that was born in this house was Gregory Roscorla,
Peter Roscorla’s brother; there was an evil wind when he was born, and
the sea came up the village street as far as the market-cross.
SISTER A.: I have never seen Gregory Roscorla; does he not come to this
house?
ASENATH: Not for these fifteen years. He was the best of them, Gregory;
a fine lad, a wild lad; but he was his father’s child, his father loved
him the best. ’Tis his place here, by rights of love; but it’s Peter’s
by rights of law. Peter’s the elder, and his father hated him for that,
and now he hates his brother that’s younger, and they haven’t spoken a
word for these fifteen years, and Gregory hasn’t set a foot inside the
house.
SISTER A.: Do they hate one another so much?
ASENATH: (leaning forward, speaking low) Shall I tell you a thing? Why
do you think Peter Roscorla is so hungry for the child to come that’s
coming, and why has he been wild for joy ever since he had the hope of
him, and why does he fear every minute of the day that his wife isn’t
cared for as she should be? Is it love for his wife, do you think? Is it
just and only because he wants a son of his own? O, he loves his wife,
and he’s hungering for a son of his own; but it’s to spite his brother
as well, it’s for fear his brother should come to take his place here
after he’s dead; it’s because his brother shan’t inherit Roscorla.
SISTER A.: Has his brother ever done him any harm?
ASENATH: Gregory never did any man harm; but the Roscorla blood’s in
Peter. Do you know what they say in these parts? “To hate like a
Roscorla.” Peter will have an evil child.
SISTER A.: And she, why is it she is so afraid of being a mother?
ASENATH: (as before, leaning forward and speaking low) Do you know how
Peter Roscorla that was, died? No one knows how he died; his sons don’t
know how he died; I tended him, weeks and weeks, and he cried on God and
the saints when he saw hell-fire coming near him; there was the smoke of
it in his eyes, and he fell a-whimpering at the last, and he cursed the
father that had begotten him. The child that’s going to be born will
curse his father.
SISTER A.: Do you mean that they are all—?
ASENATH: An evil race, bad sons, and bad fathers; evil in the blood.
They come and they go with the wind, and it’s the birth that’s the
greater evil.
SISTER A.: And she, does she know?
ASENATH: (keenly) Ay, she knows now.
SISTER A.: Didn’t she know when she married him?
ASENATH: What does a young girl know? A little and sweet thing, like a
young child, that I could take in my arms. But she knows now,
(meaningly).
SISTER A.: She should never have known.
ASENATH: (fiercely) It was right for her to know; what I told her I told
her for her good.
SISTER A.: (rising, in agitation) You? Do you mean that _you_ told her?
(The door at the side opens and PETER ROSCORLA enters. He is in
riding gaiters, spotted with mud; he carries a whip which he lays
down gently on a table near the door. He moves with clumsy care,
glancing at the bedroom door, as if afraid of disturbing his
wife).
ROSCORLA: (going over to SISTER AGATHA and speaking rapidly and harshly)
Why are you not with her? Has the doctor called?
SISTER A.: (standing stiffly) Sister Katherine is taking her turn to
watch beside her; she was asleep when I left her. The doctor has not
called.
ROSCORLA: (taking out his watch and putting it back without looking at
it) I went for him, but he wasn’t there. When do you think he will come?
(Takes out watch again and looks at it.) You say she’s asleep. Has she
been quite quiet? said nothing? not wanted anything?
SISTER A.: She cried a little, but very quietly. She has said nothing.
ROSCORLA: (makes a few steps, then turns—anxiously) When do you think he
will come?
SISTER A.: The doctor promised to be here soon after five.
ROSCORLA: (looking at his watch and speaking slowly) Five minutes to
five. (He controls himself with an effort.) (appealingly) I suppose I
mayn’t go in?
(SISTER AGATHA shakes her head firmly, she sits down in her
former seat, and turns to the fire. ROSCORLA moves away and seats
himself heavily in the oak armchair at the upper end of the long
table. ASENATH has not taken her eyes off his face. He looks at
her abruptly).
What are you staring at me for, like an old raven?
ASENATH: Mayn’t old Asenath look at you, Master Peter? It’s three
generations of the Roscorlas that she’s seen born. There was Peter
Roscorla, your father, there was you, Master Peter, there was Master
Gregory—
ROSCORLA: (his face convulsed with rage) Gregory!
(He is about to bring down his fist on the table when he stops,
glancing aside at the closed door. ASENATH gets up and comes over
to him slowly).
ASENATH: (shaking her head) No birth here comes to good. There’s a wind
at sea, Master Peter, there’s a wind coming in from the sea; the wind’s
bringing trouble, it’s bringing trouble to the Roscorlas; mark my words,
it’s an evil night, Master Peter, it’s an evil night to be born on.
ROSCORLA: (angrily, looking up at her with an ugly sneer) You’re the
witch on the hearth, Asenath; you always bode ill-luck. But you’re
wrong; it’s an ill wind, Asenath, but it’s bringing good luck to me.
ASENATH: (shaking her head) No birth here comes to good, Master Peter.
Do you know what you’re going to give to the child that’s to be born?
(He stares at her with a puzzled look).
The legacy of the Roscorlas.
(As she speaks the door at the side opens and DR. TREVITHICK
enters. He comes up to the table. ROSCORLA rises eagerly).
ROSCORLA: I am so glad you have come. And you will stay?
DR. T.: I have to see an old man in the village. But I can attend to
that later. There is no change, Sister Agatha?
SISTER A.: (rising and coming forward) There is no change, doctor. She
was asleep a little while ago. Shall I see if she is awake?
DR. T.: If you please.
(SISTER AGATHA opens the bedroom door quietly, and goes in. Part
of the bed is seen as she opens the door).
(The Doctor turns to ROSCORLA, looking at him keenly).
Have you done exactly as I told you?
ROSCORLA: (meekly) Yes, doctor.
DR. T.: You have left her quite alone; not disturbed her in way? not let
her know that you have any anxiety?
ROSCORLA: I have left her quite alone.
(SISTER AGATHA opens the bedroom door, and beckons to the doctor,
who goes in. The stage has gradually darkened: ASENATH gets up
and lights several candles, which give a dim light.
ROSCORLA walks up and down uneasily; suddenly he stops in front
of ASENATH, who is in the act of lighting a candle).
What do you mean by what you said just now?
ASENATH: (hypocritically) What was it I was saying just now, Master
Peter?
(She goes back to the fireside. He follows her).
ROSCORLA: The legacy of the Roscorlas. What did you mean?
ASENATH: It was only a word that I said, Master, and there was no great
meaning in it. Birth and death I’ve seen the coming and going of them
for three generations. (Looking up at him and putting her hand on his
sleeve.) Are you not fearing this birth that’s going to be?
ROSCORLA: (excitedly) Asenath, when I come in here holding my son in my
arms——
ASENATH: Your son, Master Peter?
ROSCORLA: It must be a son. Hasn’t the first-born here always been a
son, Asenath?
ASENATH: Very true, Master; the first-born of the Roscorlas has always
been a son; yes, it’ll be a son, Master Peter, and the blood of the
Roscorlas will be in him....
ROSCORLA: (triumphantly) Didn’t I tell you? The legacy of the Roscorlas!
Is that what you meant? It’s old blood, good Cornish blood, the blood of
gentlemen.
ASENATH: Ay, ay, old and gentle; do you know what goes to the seasoning
of old blood among gentle-folk?
(The bedroom door opens, and the doctor comes out with a very
anxious look on his face. He looks scrutinisingly at ROSCORLA
before speaking to him. ASENATH looks suspiciously at the doctor,
and mutters, shaking her head).
ASENATH: It’s not the doctor that’s wanted, but the power of God!
(ASENATH goes out by the door on the right).
ROSCORLA: Well, doctor?
(A pause).
DR. T.: (sitting down at the side of the table and leaning his arms upon
it) I must not hide from you that the case is grave.
ROSCORLA: She is worse! She is not dying?
DR. T.: She is not dying. But she is not out of danger.
ROSCORLA: Only—you are going to save her!
DR. T.: I hope so, I think so. But, something may have to be done, as I
feared. There are times when it is doubtful if we or Nature are the best
physicians. Nature generally knows better than we do, but she is not
always to be trusted to do what we want.
ROSCORLA: Something will have to be done!
DR. T.: _May_ have to be done. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?
ROSCORLA: I will answer anything you ask me.
DR. T.: Do you know I sometimes wish we physicians had the power that
our rival, the priest, has; the power of getting at the truth, the real,
inner truth of our patients. The body is so often little more than the
slave of the mind. And yet all we can say is: “Do you feel a pain here,
a pain there?” the mere ache of the body. We dare not pry into the soul.
ROSCORLA: What do you mean?
DR T.: If I were a priest, I would ask your wife to come to me for
confession.
ROSCORLA: (proudly) My wife has nothing to confess.
DR. T.: Do not misunderstand me. Something has been preying on her mind;
the mind has helped to take its own revenge upon the body; some shock,
some brooding trouble; do you know of any?
ROSCORLA: (shaking his head blankly) No.
DR. T.: Something to account for what is certainly the fact: that she
has a morbid horror of giving birth to a child.
ROSCORLA: Nothing possible in the world.
DR. T.: How long is it since she became melancholy, silent, brooding?
Since she has expected the child?
ROSCORLA: She was filled with joy! Oh, it is not that. Something has
changed her, but not that, about five months ago. I don’t know what it
was. There was no reason. There could have been no reason.
DR. T.: And since then?
ROSCORLA: (bitterly) She has been different, she has seemed as if she
were afraid of something; afraid of me! But it’s nerves, surely it’s
nothing but nerves? It’s wild here in the Winter, the house is gloomy,
it’s too near the sea. She is rather afraid of the sea and the wind, but
I’ll take her to London, I’ll do anything she likes. I’m very fond of
Barbara! All I want is one thing: my son. It _will_ be a son. It must
be. It’s all I want in the world.
DR. T.: You want a son more than anything in the world?
(A pause).
Do you know I don’t always agree with people when they express that
wish. There are some children who should never be born. (He looks at
ROSCORLA keenly.)
ROSCORLA: (excitedly) My son must be born. If I don’t have a son,
Gregory gets the land when I die.
DR. T.: Is that why you want a son so much, Roscorla?
ROSCORLA: (rising to his feet, in intense excitement, and leaning
towards the doctor) Isn’t that reason enough? Gregory shall never be
master here, not if I’m alive, not if I’m dead. _I_ keep him out now,
and my son keeps him out when I’m gone.
DR. T.: What wrong has your brother done you?
ROSCORLA: (sitting down fiercely) Wrong? None! He exists.
DR. T.: Is that enough reason, in your family, for hating one another?
ROSCORLA: (jumping up in rage) Yes. (Sitting down again.) Don’t you know
the saying: to hate like a Roscorla? It’s a true saying.
DR. T.: I know it’s a true saying. I was by your father’s bedside when
he died.
ROSCORLA: They sent me away when he was dying. I was young then. I never
heard much about it.
DR. T.: When I said to you just now that there were some children who
should never be born——
ROSCORLA: Yes?
DR. T.: Do you know much about your family history, Roscorla?
ROSCORLA: I’ve got the pedigree; it’s in the drawer, yonder. I never
went beyond it.
DR. T.: I don’t quite mean that. Your father, your grandfather, _his_
father: do you know much about them, about how they lived and died?
ROSCORLA: (with a laugh, which he tries to render careless) Now you’re
talking to me like Asenath. What are these riddles, Doctor?
DR. T.: Asenath! What was she saying to you? She has been here since
your grandfather’s time, hasn’t she?
ROSCORLA: Asenath is always saying she has seen three generations born,
and the birth of a Roscorla brings trouble and talk of that kind. But
you, Doctor, you are not going to tell me old wives’ tales? (Excitedly.)
I want to know exactly what you mean.
DR. T.: What I mean is this, that, as you must be aware, there is a
certain strain in your family, call it a strain of eccentricity, which
is not exactly healthy; perhaps from an abstract point of view, not
exactly desirable to perpetuate. Have you ever thought of the
responsibility of bringing a child into the world? (Meaningly.) Has your
wife ever thought of it?
ROSCORLA: (looking round at him in a dazed, awakening way) I begin to
see what you mean. You mean (slowly) that we are all——(breaking off with
a gasp of terror).
DR. T.: You see my point. You see the reason why I speak to you about it
at this moment.
ROSCORLA: (haggard and dazed, shaking his head helplessly) No.... (His
face slowly changes, and with a dull terror in his eyes he whispers.) Is
it in me?
DR. T.: No, no, I don’t mean that at all. One generation may escape,
often does. It is the next that suffers.
ROSCORLA: The next!
DR. T.: Now, I tell you frankly: I am not sure that I can save both your
wife and your child. If the child lives the mother _may_ die. Will you
risk her life on a possibility, on such a possibility? Will you, after
what I have told you?
ROSCORLA: (sullenly) I don’t believe what you have told me. The family’s
a good family. You and Asenath are only trying to frighten me. I must
have my son. _And_ Barbara——(excitedly) Both!
DR. T.: I am not sure I can save them both.
ROSCORLA: Barbara has been a good wife to me. There was no woman for me
till I married Barbara. I shouldn’t care much for life if she wasn’t
there. But my son—he’s to live after me! If my son isn’t born Gregory’ll
have the place. (Starting to his feet as if struck by a sudden thought.)
Do you think _she_ knows anything about it? Is _that_ why she’s
frightened of me?
DR. T.: I think it is possible she has guessed something.
ROSCORLA: (in wild excitement) She wants to rob me of my child! She
wants my child not to be born! They all want my child not to be born!
They are all in league against me! But, I’ll have my way. It’s the way
of Nature! I have that on my side they can’t fight with. They’re
fighting against God. (Dropping into his chair as if exhausted.) I must
have my child.
(While he is speaking the door on the right opens, and ASENATH
steals in quietly and makes her way unobserved to her seat by the
fire. She listens to every word).
DR. T.: At whatever cost?
ROSCORLA: At whatever cost!
DR. T.: (rising and taking out his watch) I will return in half-an-hour.
Mind, till then, quiet; above all, quiet.
(He goes out. ROSCORLA buries his face in his hands, and then
sits staring before him with his elbows on his knees. After a
pause).
ROSCORLA: What have you been saying to my wife, Asenath?
ASENATH: (as if she did not hear) Eh, master?
ROSCORLA: It is you that set her thinking on things there was no need to
think on.
ASENATH: A young wife thinks her own thoughts; what should an old woman
give her to think on? Maybe, it’s the wind she’s thinking on now, and
the life that’s coming as the wind comes.
ROSCORLA: How did my father die, Asenath?
ASENATH: He died hard; he cursed his own father.
ROSCORLA: And my grandfather, Asenath?
ASENATH: They took him away; he didn’t die at Roscorla. The Roscorla
blood was in him.
ROSCORLA: Does Barbara know all this, Asenath?
ASENATH: How should I know, master? It’s whispered, it’s not spoken.
ROSCORLA: (getting up and walking to and fro, and speaking half to
himself and half to ASENATH) If it’s true—but it’s not true—it makes no
difference. Do you understand, Asenath, it’s not true! Have you been
telling these lies to my wife?
(ASENATH makes no reply, but gazes at him fixedly).
The Roscorla family is the best family in Cornwall. What have you been
telling her?
(She remains silent).
She always believed everything you said to her. And she has been
believing it; she hates to bear me a child because he’ll be a Roscorla.
He shall, he shall be a Roscorla! I am going to speak to her, she must
see, it must be proved to her! She doesn’t want my child to be born,
Asenath. But he _must_ be born.
(In suppressed excitement he goes up to the bedroom door, opens
it and goes in).
ASENATH: What were they talking about? “Must have my child,” he said;
“at any cost,” he said. Whose cost? Mistress Barbara’s. It’s the mother
for the child, they mean. Is it? (she laughs) She shall know, she shall.
She’s a brave woman; she will do justice on the Roscorlas.
(SISTER AGATHA opens the bedroom door and comes out, accompanied
by SISTER KATHERINE, who goes out by the door on the right. She
goes over to ASENATH).
SISTER A.: He sent us away. Will he be quite quiet? He was quiet, but he
looked strange. He said he had to speak to her alone.
ASENATH: It’s lies that he has to tell her. But I am going to tell her
the truth.
SISTER A.: Asenath, what is the truth? Is it something terrible? Why do
you look at me like that?
ASENATH: Has she said nothing?
SISTER A.: She was listening, and she asked me if that was the wind, and
I said yes, and she said “The wind from the sea. The wind of birth!” and
then she said, “I don’t want to die, but it would be better if I were
dead. I am bringing life.” And she turned her head over on the pillow,
and lay quite still.
ASENATH: And that was all?
SISTER A.: No; I heard her say: “If I had only the courage!” I don’t
know what she meant. And she said, as if she were speaking to herself,
“It would be the right thing, wouldn’t it?”
ASENATH: She knows the right thing, and when she knows all she will do
the right thing.
SISTER A.: Listen! He is speaking loud. O, he should not cry out to her
like that! I must go back. She was so frightened, and she is lying there
between life and death, as if she had to choose between them.
ASENATH: (rising) Child, let me go in to her. I can soothe her better
than you can soothe her.
SISTER A.: If she could only sleep!
ASENATH: I will try to put her to sleep. But only if she chooses sleep.
(The bedroom door opens and ROSCORLA rushes out violently.
ASENATH slips into the room and closes the door behind her).
ROSCORLA: (beside himself—to SISTER AGATHA) I told her it was alright; I
told her the child must be born; I was perfectly quiet; I said “Look at
me!” I was as quiet as possible, but she wouldn’t hear; she shrank away
from me; she said: “You, you I see it all; now I see it!” and that put
me in a fury, and I don’t quite know what I said to her.
(A low wail is heard from the bedroom; they listen).
What was that?
SISTER A.: Asenath is trying to put her to sleep.
ROSCORLA: Why isn’t the doctor here?
SISTER A.: I think I hear him coming. Listen.
ROSCORLA: He is coming!
(He goes towards the door; the doctor comes in, greets him, and,
with a questioning lift of the eyebrows to SISTER AGATHA, goes
into the bedroom, followed by her. After a slight pause, the
doctor comes out, holding a phial in his hand. He says quietly):
DR T.: I have come too late. She is dead.
ROSCORLA: (with a cry, falling on his knees by the table) My God!
ASENATH: (appearing at the bedroom door) hush! I have put her to sleep.
She chose sleep. There will be no more trouble to the Roscorlas for a
time now.
THE CURTAIN FALLS.
THE READER CRITIC
Letters from Ezra Pound
Chère Editeuse:
May I be permitted to leave the main part of the magazine, and reply in
the correspondence columns to several other writers of letters?
A. R. S. Cher Monsieur: There is one section of our magazine devoted
(DEEvoted) to “interpretation”; it is, if you have not divined it, The
Reader Critic. It is, so far as I know, the only publication that ever
has “interpreted” our native country. Never before has the intelligent
foreigner been able to learn “what the American artist is up against.”
V. H., (Maine). Chère Madam: Could Lewis but hear you, through his
gas-mask, gazing at the ruins of one of the gun parapets of his battery,
I think he would smile with the delicate and contented smile that I have
at moments seen “lighting his countenance”. There was once a man who
began an article: “WE MUST KILL JOHN BULL, we must kill him with Art”.
These words smote the astonished eyes of the British public. No other
Englishman had ever before so blasphemed the effete national symbol.
Neither had any one else very much objected to the ladies in nightgowns
which distinguished Punch’s caricatures. The writer was, needless to
say, Wyndham Lewis. He will probably have died for his country before
they find out what he meant.
L. P. Cher Monsieur: You ask “What sympathy can the majority of readers
feel for the foreign editor, Ezra Pound, with his contemptuous invective
against the ‘vulgus’?” Are the majority of the readers “vulgus”? We had
hoped the few choice spirits were gathered. Perhaps they have only
migrated to this side of the ocean.
There was also a lady or mother who wrote to me (personally) from New
Jersey, asking me to stop the magazine as Lewis’s writings were “bad for
her milk”. (I am afraid there is no way of softening her phrase for our
readers). Madame, what you need is lactol and not literature; you should
apply to a druggist.