Ill Seen Ill Said Read online

  ILL SEEN ILL SAID

  ill seen

  SAMUEL

  BECKETT

  Translated from French by the author

  Grove Press, Inc., New York

  Copyright© 1981 by Lcs Editions de Minuit

  English tanslation copyright © 1981 by Samuel Beckett

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or tansmitted in any form, by any means, including

  mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,

  without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Fim pubiished in French as Mal vu mal dit

  by Lcs Editions de Minuit, Paris, France, 1981.

  Fim Hardcover Edition 1981

  Fim Priming 1981

  ISBN: 0-394-�2233-8

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 814769�

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  GROVE PRESS, INC., 196 West Houston Strc:c:t,

  New York, N.Y. 10014

  ILL SEEN ILL SAID

  ILL SEEN hL SAID 7

  From where she lies she

  sees Venus rise. On. From where she lies

  when the skies are clear she sees Venus rise

  followed by the sun. Then she rails at the

  source of all life. On. At evening when the

  skies are clear she savours its star's revenge.

  At the other window. Rigid upright on

  her old chair she watches for the radiant

  one. Her old deal spindlebacked kitchen

  chair. It emerges from out the last rays and

  sinking ever brighter is engulfed in its

  turn. On. She sits on erect and rigid in the

  deepening gloom. Such helplessness to

  move she cannot help. Heading on foot for

  a particular point often she freezes on the

  way. Unable till long after to move on not

  knowing whither or for what purpose.

  Down on her knees especially she finds it

  hard not to remain so forever. Hand resting on hand on some convenient support.

  Such as the foot of her bed. And on them

  her head. There then she sits as though

  turned to stone face to the night. Save for

  the white of her hair and faintly bluish

  white of face and hands all is black. For an

  8

  SAMUEL BECKETI

  eye having no need of light co see. All chis

  in the present as had she the misfortune co

  be still of chis world.

  The cabin. Its situation.

  Careful. On. At the inexistent centre of a

  formless place. Rather more circular chan

  otherwise finally. Flat co be sure. To cross

  it in a straight line cakes her from five co

  ten minutes. Depending on her speed and

  radius taken. Here she who loves co-here

  she who now can only stray never strays.

  Scones increasingly abound. Ever scanter

  even the rankest weed. Meagre pastures

  hem it round on which it slowly gains.

  With none co gainsay. To have gainsaid.

  As if doomed co spread. How come a cabin

  in such a place? How came? Careful. Before replying chat in the far past at the time of its building there was clover growing co

  its very walls. Implying furthermore chat it

  ILL SEEN ILL SAID 9

  the culprit. And from it as from an evil

  core that the what is the wrong word the

  evil spread. And none to urge-none to

  have urged its demolition. As if doomed to

  endure. Question answered. Chalkstones

  of striking effect in the light of the moon.

  Let it be in opposition when the skies are

  clear. Quick then still under the spell of

  Venus quick to the other window to see

  the other marvel rise. How whiter and

  whiter as it climbs it whitens more and

  more the stones. Rigid with face and hands

  against the pane she stands and marvels

  long.

  The two zones form a

  roughly circular whole. As though outlined by a trembling hand. Diameter. Careful. Say one furlong. On an average.

  Beyond the unknown. Mercifully. The

  feeling at times of being below sea level.

  10 SAMUEL BECKETT

  Especially at night when the skies are clear.

  Invisible nearby sea. Inaudible. The entire

  surface under grass. Once clear of the zone

  of stones. Save where it has receded from

  the chalky soil. Innumerable white scabs

  all shapes and sizes. Of striking effect in

  the light of the moon. In the way of animals ovines only. After long hesitation.

  They are white and make do with little.

  Whence suddenly come no knowing nor

  whither as suddenly gone. Unshepherded

  they stray as they list. Flowers? Careful.

  Alone the odd crocus still at lambing time.

  And man? Shut of at last? Alas no. For will

  she not be surprised one day to find him

  gone? Surprised no she is beyond surprise.

  How many? A figure come what may.

  Twelve. Wherewith to furnish the horizon's narrow round. She raises her eyes and sees one. Turns away and sees another. So

  on. Always afar. Still or receding. She

  never once saw one come toward her. Or

  she forgets. She forgets. Are they always

  the same? Do they see her? Enough.

  ILL SEEN ILL SAID

  ll

  A moor would have better met the case. Were there a case better

  co meet. There had co be lambs. Rightly or

  wrongly. A moor would have allowed of

  them. Lambs for their whiteness. And for

  ocher reasons as yet obscure. Another reason. And so chat there may be none. At lambing time. That from one moment co

  the next she may raise her eyes co find

  them gone. A moor would have allowed of

  them. In any case coo lace. And what

  lambs. No trace of frolic. White splotches

  in the grass. Aloof from the unheeding

  ewes. Still. Then a moment straying. Then

  still again. To chink there is still life in chis

  age. Gently gently.

  She is drawn co a certain

  spot. At times. There stands a scone. It it is

  draws her. Rounded rectangular block

  three times as high as wide. Four. Her stature now. Her lowly stature. When it draws

  12 SAMUEL BECKETI

  she must to it. She cannot see it from her

  door. Blindfold she could find her way.

  With herself she has no more converse.

  Never had much. Now none. As had she

  the misfortune to be still of this world.

  But when the stone draws then to her feet

  the prayer, Take her. Especially at night

  when the skies are clear. With moon or

  without. They take her and halt her before

  it. There she too as if of stone. But black.

  Sometimes in the light of the moon.

  Mostly of the stars alone. Does she envy

  it?

  To the imaginary stranger

  the dwelling appears deserted. Under constant watch it betrays no sign of life. The eye glued to one or the other window has

  nothing but black drapes for its pains. Motionle
ss against the door he listens long.

  No sound. Knocks. No answer. Watches

  ILL SEEN ILL SAID

  1 3

  all night in vain for the least glimmer. Returns at last to his own and avows, No one. She shows herself only to her own.

  But she has no own. Yes yes she has one.

  And who has her.

  There was a time when

  she did not appear in the zone of stones. A

  long time. Was not therefore to be seen

  going out or coming in. When she appeared only in the pastures. Was not therefore to be seen leaving them. Save as though by enchantment. But little by little

  she began to appear. In the zone of stones.

  First darkly. Then more and more plain.

  Till in detail she could be seen crossing the

  threshold both ways and closing the door

  behind her. Then a time when within her

  walls she did not appear. A long time. But

  little by little she began to appear. Within

  her walls. Darkly. Time truth to tell still

  14 SAMUEL BECKETT

  current. Though she within them no more.

  This long time.

  Yes within her walls so

  far at the window only. At one or the other

  window. Rapt before the sky. And only

  half seen so far a pallet and a ghostly chair.

  Ill half seen. And how in her faint comings

  and goings she suddenly stops dead. And

  how hard set to rise up from off her knees.

  But there too little by little she begins

  to appear more plain. Within her walls.

  As well as other objects. Such as under

  her pillow-such as deep in some recess

  this still shadowy album. Perhaps in time

  be by her when she takes it on her knees.

  See the old fingers fumble through the

  pages. And what scenes they can possibly

  be that draw the head down lower still and

  hold it in thrall. In the meantime who

  ILL SEEN ILL SAID

  1 S

  knows no more than withered flowers. No

  more!

  But quick seize her where

  she is best to be seized. In the pastures far

  from shelter. She crosses the zone of stones

  and is there. Clearer and clearer as she goes.

  Quick seeing she goes out less and less.

  And so to say only in winter. Winter in

  her winter haunts she wanders. Far from

  shelter. Head bowed she makes her slow

  wavering way across the snow. It is evening. Yet again. On the snow her long shadow keeps her company. The others are

  there. All about. The twelve. Afar. Still or

  receding. She raises her eyes and sees one.

  Turns away and sees another. Again she

  stops dead. Now the moment or never.

  But something forbids. Just time to begin to glimpse a fringe of black veil. The

  16

  SAMUEL BECKETT

  •

  face must wait. Just time before the eye

  cast down. Where nothing to be seen in

  the grazing rays but snow. And how all

  about little by little her footprints are

  effaced.

  What is it defends her?

  Even from her own. Averts the intent

  gaze. Incriminates the dearly won. Forbids

  divining her. What but life ending. Hers.

  The other's. But so otherwise. She needs

  nothing. Nothing utterable. Whereas the

  other. How need in the end? But how?

  How need in the end?

  Urnes when she is gone.

  Long lapses of time. At crocus rime it

  would be making for the distant tomb. To

  ILL SEEN ILL SAID 1 7

  have that on the imagination! On top of

  the rest. Bearing by the stem or round her

  arm the cross or wreath. But she can be

  gone at any time. From one moment of the

  year to the next suddenly no longer there.

  No longer anywhere to be seen. Nor by

  the eye of flesh nor by the other. Then as

  suddenly there again. Long after. So on.

  Any other would renounce. Avow, No

  one. No one more. Any other than this

  other. In wait for her to reappear. In order

  to resume. Resume the-what is the word?

  What the wrong word?

  Riveted to some detail

  of the desert the eye fills with tears. Imagination at wit's end spreads its sad wings.

  Gone she hears one night the sea as if afar.

  Plucks up her long skirt to make better

  haste and discovers her boots and stockings to the calf. Tears. Last example the

  18 SAMUEL BECKETI

  •

  flagstone before her door that by dint by

  dint her little weight has grooved. Tears.

  Before left for the stockings the boots have time to be ill buttoned.

  Weeping over as weeping will see now the

  buttonhook larger than life. Of tarnished

  silver pisciform it hangs by its hook from a

  nail. It trembles faintly without cease. As

  if here without cease the earth faintly

  quaked. The oval handle is wrought to a

  semblance of scales. The shank a little bent

  leads up to the hook the eye so far still dry.

  A lifetime of hooking has lessened its curvature. To the point at certain moments of its seeming unfit for service. Child's play

  with a pliers to restore it. Was there once a

  time she did? Careful. Once once in a way.

  Till she could no more. No more bring the

  jaws together. Oh not for weakness. Since

  when it hangs useless from the nail. Trem-

  ILL SEEN ILL SAID

  19

  bling imperceptibly without cease. Silver

  shimmers some evenings when the skies

  are clear. Close-up then. In which in defiance of reason the nail prevails. Long this image till suddenly it blurs.

  She is there. Again. Let

  the eye from its vigil be distracted a moment. At break or close of day. Distracted by the sky. By something in the sky. So

  that when it resumes the curtain may be

  no longer closed. Opened by her to let

  her see the sky. But even without that

  she is there. Without the curtain's being

  opened. Suddenly open. A flash. The suddenness of all! She still without stopping.

  On her way without starting. Gone without going. Back without returning. Suddenly it is evening. Or dawn. The eye rivets the bare window. Nothing in the

  sky will distract it from it more. While she

  20 SAMUEL BECKETT

  .

  from within looks her fill. Pfft occulted.

  Nothing having stirred.

  Already all confusion.

  Things and imaginings. As of always. Confusion amounting to nothing. Despite precautions. If only she could be pure figment. Unalloyed. This old so dying

  woman. So dead. In the madhouse of the

  skull and nowhere else. Where no more

  precautions to be taken. No precautions

  possible. Cooped up there with the rest.

  Hovel and stones. The lot. And the eye.

  How simple all then. If only all could be

  pure figment. Neither be nor been nor by

  any shift to be. Gently gendy. On. Careful.

  Here to the rescue two

  lights. Two small skylights. Set in the

  ILL SEEN ILL SAID 2 1

  high-pitched roof on either side. Each

  shedding dim light. No ceiling therefore.
r />   Necessarily. Otherwise with the curtains

  closed she would be in the dark. Day and

  night in the dark. And what of it? She is

  done with raising her eyes. Nearly done.

  But when she lies with them open she can

  just make out the rafters. In the dim light

  the skylights shed. An ever dimmer light.

  As the panes slowly dimmen. All in black

  she comes and goes. The hem of her long

  black skirt brushes the floor. But most

  often she is still. Standing or sitting. Lying

  or on her knees. In the dim light the skylights shed. Otherwise with the curtains closed for preference she would be in the

  dark. In the dark day and night.

  Next to emerge from

  the shadows an inner wall. Only slowly to

  dissolve in favour of a single space. East the

  bed. West the chair. A place divided by her

  22

  SAMUEL BECKETT

  use of it alone. How more desirable in

  every way an interior of a piece. The eye

  breathes again but not for long. For slowly

  it emerges again. Rises from the floor and

  slowly up to lose itself in the gloom. The

  semigloom. It is evening. The buttonhook glimmers in the last rays. The pallet scarce to be seen.

  Weary of the inanimate

  the eye in her absence falls back on the

  twelve. Out of her sight as she of theirs.

  Alone turn where she may she keeps her

  eyes fixed on the ground. On the way at

  her feet where it has come to a stop. Winter evening. Not to be precise. All so bygone. To the twelve then for want of better the widowed eye. No matter which.

  In the distance stiff he stands facing front

  and the setting sun. Dark greatcoat reaching to the ground. Antiquated block hat.

  Finally the face caught full in the last rays.

  ILL SEEN ILL SAID

  2 3

  Quick enlarge and devour before night

  falls.

  Having no need of light

  to see the eye makes haste. Before night

  falls. So it is. So itself belies. Then glutted-then torpid under its lid makes way for unreason. What if not her do they ring

  around? Careful. She who looks up no

  more looks up and sees them. Some among

  them. Still or receding. Receding. Those

  too closely seen who move to preserve

  their distance. While at the same time others advance. Those in the wake of her wandering. She never once saw one come toward her. Or she forgets. She forgets.