ACT III.
Tent below Emain, with shabby skins and benches. There is an opening at each side and at back, the latter closed. Old Woman comes in with food and fruits and arranges them on table. Conchubor comes in on right.
CONCHUBOR.
— sharply. — Has no one come with news for me?
OLD WOMAN.
I’ve seen no one at all, Conchubor.
CONCHUBOR.
— watches her working for a moment, then makes sure opening at back is
closed. — Go up then to Emain, you’re not wanting here. (A
noise heard left.) Who is that?
OLD WOMAN.
— going left. — It’s Lavarcham coming again.
She’s a great wonder for jogging back and forward through the world, and
I made certain she’d be off to meet them; but she’s coming alone,
Conchubor, my dear child Deirdre isn’t with her at all.
CONCHUBOR.
Go up so and leave us.
OLD WOMAN.
— pleadingly. — I’d be well pleased to set my eyes on
Deirdre if she’s coming this night, as we’re told.
CONCHUBOR.
— impatiently. — It’s not long till you’ll see
her. But I’ve matters with Lavarcham, and let you go now, I’m
saying.
[He shows her out right, as Lavarcham comes in on the left.
LAVARCHAM.
— looking round her with suspicion. — This is a queer place
to find you, and it’s a queer place to be lodging Naisi and his brothers,
and Deirdre with them, and the lot of us tired out with the long way we have
been walking.
CONCHUBOR.
You’ve come along with them the whole journey?
LAVARCHAM.
I have, then, though I’ve no call now to be wandering that length to a
wedding or a burial, or the two together. (She sits down wearily.)
It’s a poor thing the way me and you is getting old, Conchubor, and
I’m thinking you yourself have no call to be loitering this place getting
your death, maybe, in the cold of night.
CONCHUBOR.
I’m waiting only to know is Fergus stopped in the north.
LAVARCHAM.
— more sharply. — He’s stopped, surely, and
that’s a trick has me thinking you have it in mind to bring trouble this
night on Emain and Ireland and the big world’s east beyond them. (She
goes to him.) And yet you’d do well to be going to your dun, and not
putting shame on her meeting the High King, and she seamed and sweaty and in
great disorder from the dust of many roads. (Laughing derisively.) Ah,
Conchubor, my lad, beauty goes quickly in the woods, and you’d let a
great gasp, I tell you, if you set your eyes this night on Deirdre.
CONCHUBOR.
— fiercely. — It’s little I care if she’s white
and worn, for it’s I did rear her from a child. I should have a good
right to meet and see her always.
LAVARCHAM.
A good right is it? Haven’t the blind a good right to be seeing, and the
lame to be dancing, and the dummies singing tunes? It’s that right you
have to be looking for gaiety on Deirdre’s lips. (Coaxingly.)
Come on to your dun, I’m saying, and leave her quiet for one night
itself.
CONCHUBOR.
— with sudden anger. — I’ll not go, when it’s
long enough I am above in my dun stretching east and west without a comrade,
and I more needy, maybe, than the thieves of Meath. . . . You think I’m
old and wise, but I tell you the wise know the old must die, and they’ll
leave no chance for a thing slipping from them they’ve set their blood to
win.
LAVARCHAM.
— nodding her head. — If you’re old and wise,
it’s I’m the same, Conchubor, and I’m telling you
you’ll not have her though you’re ready to destroy mankind and skin
the gods to win her. There’s things a king can’t have, Conchubor,
and if you go rampaging this night you’ll be apt to win nothing but death
for many, and a sloppy face of trouble on your own self before the day will
come.
CONCHUBOR.
It’s too much talk you have. (Goes right.) Where is Owen? Did you
see him no place and you coming the road?
LAVARCHAM.
I seen him surely. He went spying on Naisi, and now the worms is spying on his
own inside.
CONCHUBOR.
— exultingly. — Naisi killed him?
LAVARCHAM.
He did not, then. It was Owen destroyed himself running mad because of
Deirdre. Fools and kings and scholars are all one in a story with her like, and
Owen thought he’d be a great man, being the first corpse in the game
you’ll play this night in Emain.
CONCHUBOR.
It’s yourself should be the first corpse, but my other messengers are
coming, men from the clans that hated Usna.
LAVARCHAM.
— drawing back hopelessly. — Then the gods have pity on us
all!
[Men with weapons come in.
CONCHUBOR.
— to Soldiers. — Are Ainnle and Ardan separate from Naisi?
MEN.
They are, Conchubor. We’ve got them off, saying they were needed to make
ready Deirdre’s house.
CONCHUBOR.
And Naisi and Deirdre are coming?
SOLDIER.
Naisi’s coming, surely, and a woman with him is putting out the glory of
the moon is rising and the sun is going down.
CONCHUBOR.
— looking at Lavarcham. — That’s your story that
she’s seamed and ugly?
SOLDIER.
I have more news. (Pointing to Lavarcham.) When that woman heard you
were bringing Naisi this place, she sent a horse-boy to call Fergus from the
north.
CONCHUBOR.
— to Lavarcham. — It’s for that you’ve been
playing your tricks, but what you’ve won is a nearer death for Naisi.
(To Soldiers.) Go up and call my fighters, and take that woman up to
Emain.
LAVARCHAM.
I’d liefer stay this place. I’ve done my best, but if a bad end is
coming, surely it would be a good thing maybe I was here to tend her.
CONCHUBOR.
— fiercely. — Take her to Emain; it’s too many tricks
she’s tried this day already. (A Soldier goes to her.)
LAVARCHAM.
Don’t touch me. (She puts her cloak round her and catches
Conchubor’s arm.) I thought to stay your hand with my stories till
Fergus would come to be beside them, the way I’d save yourself,
Conchubor, and Naisi and Emain Macha; but I’ll walk up now into your
halls, and I’ll say (with a gesture) it’s here nettles will
be growing, and beyond thistles and docks. I’ll go into your high
chambers, where you’ve been figuring yourself stretching out your neck
for the kisses of a queen of women; and I’ll say it’s here
there’ll be deer stirring and goats scratching, and sheep waking and
coughing when there is a great wind from the north. (Shaking herself loose.
Conchubor makes a sign to Soldiers.) I’m going, surely. In a short
space I’ll be sitting up with many listening to the flames crackling, and
the beams breaking, and I looking on the great blaze will be the end of Emain.
[She goes out.
CONCHUBOR.
— looking out. — I see two people in the trees; it should be
Naisi and Deirdre. (To Soldier.) Let you tell them they’ll lodge
here tonight.
[Conchubor goes out right. Naisi and Deirdre come in on left, very weary.
NAISI.
— to Soldiers. — Is it this place he’s made ready for
myself and Deirdre?
SOLDIER.
The Red Branch House is being aired and swept and you’ll be called there
when a space is by; till then you’d find fruits and drink on this table,
and so the gods be with you.
[Goes out right.
NAISI.
— looking round. — It’s a strange place he’s put
us camping and we come back as his friends.
DEIRDRE.
He’s likely making up a welcome for us, having curtains shaken out and
rich rooms put in order; and it’s right he’d have great state to
meet us, and you his sister’s son.
NAISI.
— gloomily. — It’s little we want with state or rich
rooms or curtains, when we’re used to the ferns only and cold streams and
they making a stir.
DEIRDRE.
— roaming round room. — We want what is our right in Emain
(looking at hangings), and though he’s riches in store for us
it’s a shabby, ragged place he’s put us waiting, with frayed rugs
and skins are eaten by the moths.
NAISI.
— a little impatiently. — There are few would worry over
skins and moths on this first night that we’ve come back to Emain.
DEIRDRE.
— brightly. — You should be well pleased it’s for that
I’d worry all times, when it’s I have kept your tent these seven
years as tidy as a bee-hive or a linnet’s nest. If Conchubor’d a
queen like me in Emain he’d not have stretched these rags to meet us.
(She pulls hanging, and it opens.) There’s new earth on the ground
and a trench dug. . . . It’s a grave, Naisi, that is wide and deep.
NAISI.
— goes over and pulls back curtain showing grave. — And
that’ll be our home in Emain. . . . He’s dug it wisely at the butt
of a hill, with fallen trees to hide it. He’ll want to have us killed and
buried before Fergus comes.
DEIRDRE.
Take me away. . . . Take me to hide in the rocks, for the night is coming
quickly.
NAISI.
— pulling himself together. — I will not leave my brothers.
DEIRDRE.
— vehemently. — It’s of us two he’s jealous.
Come away to the places where we’re used to have our company. . . .
Wouldn’t it be a good thing to lie hid in the high ferns together?
(She pulls him left.) I hear strange words in the trees.
NAISI.
It should be the strange fighters of Conchubor. I saw them passing as we came.
DEIRDRE.
— pulling him towards the right. — Come to this side.
Listen, Naisi!
NAISI.
There are more of them. . . . We are shut in, and I have not Ainnle and Ardan
to stand near me. Isn’t it a hard thing that we three who have conquered
many may not die together?
DEIRDRE.
— sinking down. — And isn’t it a hard thing that you
and I are in this place by our opened grave; though none have lived had
happiness like ours those days in Alban that went by so quick.
NAISI.
It’s a hard thing, surely, we’ve lost those days for ever; and yet
it’s a good thing, maybe, that all goes quick, for when I’m in that
grave it’s soon a day’ll come you’ll be too wearied to be
crying out, and that day’ll bring you ease.
DEIRDRE.
I’ll not be here to know if that is true.
NAISI.
It’s our three selves he’ll kill tonight, and then in two months
or three you’ll see him walking down for courtship with yourself.
DEIRDRE.
I’ll not be here.
NAISI.
— hard. — You’d best keep him off, maybe, and then,
when the time comes, make your way to some place west in Donegal, and
it’s there you’ll get used to stretching out lonesome at the fall
of night, and waking lonesome for the day.
DEIRDRE.
Let you not be saying things are worse than death.
NAISI.
— a little recklessly. — I’ve one word left. If a day
comes in the west that the larks are cocking their crests on the edge of the
clouds, and the cuckoos making a stir, and there’s a man you’d
fancy, let you not be thinking that day I’d be well pleased you’d
go on keening always.
DEIRDRE.
— turning to look at him. — And if it was I that died,
Naisi, would you take another woman to fill up my place?
NAISI.
— very mournfully. — It’s little I know, saving only
that it’s a hard and bitter thing leaving the earth, and a worse and
harder thing leaving yourself alone and desolate to be making lamentation on
its face always.
DEIRDRE.
I’ll die when you do, Naisi. I’d not have come here from Alban but
I knew I’d be along with you in Emain, and you living or dead. . . . Yet
this night it’s strange and distant talk you’re making only.
NAISI.
There’s nothing, surely, the like of a new grave of open earth for
putting a great space between two friends that love.
DEIRDRE.
If there isn’t, it’s that grave when it’s closed will make us
one for ever, and we two lovers have had great space without weariness or
growing old or any sadness of the mind.
CONCHUBOR.
— coming in on right. — I’d bid you welcome, Naisi.
NAISI.
— standing up. — You’re welcome, Conchubor. I’m
well pleased you’ve come.
CONCHUBOR.
— blandly. — Let you not think bad of this place where
I’ve put you till other rooms are readied.
NAISI.
— breaking out. — We know the room you’ve readied. We
know what stirred you to send your seals and Fergus into Alban and stop him in
the north, (opening curtain and pointing to the grave) and dig that
grave before us. Now I ask what brought you here?
CONCHUBOR.
I’ve come to look on Deirdre.
NAISI.
Look on her. You’re a knacky fancier, and it’s well you chose the
one you’d lure from Alban. Look on her, I tell you, and when you’ve
looked I’ve got ten fingers will squeeze your mottled goose neck, though
you’re king itself.
DEIRDRE.
— coming between them. — Hush, Naisi! Maybe
Conchubor’ll make peace. . . . Do not mind him, Conchubor; he has cause
to rage.
CONCHUBOR.
It’s little I heed his raging, when a call would bring my fighters from
the trees. . . . But what do you say, Deirdre?
DEIRDRE.
I’ll say so near that grave we seem three lonesome people, and by a new
made grave there’s no man will keep brooding on a woman’s lips, or
on the man he hates. It’s not long till your own grave will be dug in
Emain, and you’d go down to it more easy if you’d let call Ainnle
and Ardan, the way we’d have a supper all together, and fill that grave,
and you’ll be well pleased from this out, having four new friends the
like of us in Emain.
CONCHUBOR.
— looking at her for a moment. — That’s the first
friendly word I’ve heard you speaking, Deirdre. A game the like of yours
should be the proper thing for softening the heart and putting sweetness in
the tongue; and yet this night when I hear you I’ve small blame left for
Naisi that he stole you off from Ulster.
DEIRDRE.
— to Naisi. — Now, Naisi, answer gently, and we’ll be
friends tonight.
NAISI.
— doggedly. — I have no call but to be friendly. I’ll
answer what you will.
DEIRDRE.
— taking Naisi’s hand. — Then you’ll call
Conchubor your friend and king, the man who reared me up upon Slieve Fuadh.
[As Conchubor is going to clasp Naisi’s hand cries are heard behind.
CONCHUBOR.
What noise is that?
AINNLE.
— behind. — Naisi. . . . Naisi. Come to us; we are
betrayed and broken.
NAISI.
It’s Ainnle crying out in a battle.
CONCHUBOR.
I was near won this night, but death’s between us now.
[He goes out.
DEIRDRE.
— clinging to Naisi. — There is no battle. . . . Do not
leave me, Naisi.
NAISI.
I must go to them.
DEIRDRE.
— beseechingly. — Do not leave me, Naisi. Let us creep up in
the darkness behind the grave. If there’s a battle, maybe the strange
fighters will be destroyed, when Ainnle and Ardan are against them.
[Cries heard.
NAISI.
— wildly. — I hear Ardan crying out. Do not hold me from my
brothers.
DEIRDRE.
Do not leave me, Naisi. Do not leave me broken and alone.
NAISI.
I cannot leave my brothers when it is I who have defied the king.
DEIRDRE.
I will go with you.
NAISI.
You cannot come. Do not hold me from the fight.
[He throws her aside almost roughly.
DEIRDRE.
— with restraint. — Go to your brothers. For seven years you
have been kindly, but the hardness of death has come between us.
NAISI.
— looking at her aghast. — And you’ll have me meet
death with a hard word from your lips in my ear?
DEIRDRE.
We’ve had a dream, but this night has waked us surely. In a little while
we’ve lived too long, Naisi, and isn’t it a poor thing we should
miss the safety of the grave, and we trampling its edge?
AINNLE.
— behind. — Naisi, Naisi, we are attacked and ruined!
DEIRDRE.
Let you go where they are calling. (She looks at him for an instant
coldly.) Have you no shame loitering and talking, and a cruel death facing
Ainnle and Ardan in the woods?
NAISI.
— frantic. — They’ll not get a death that’s
cruel, and they with men alone. It’s women that have loved are cruel
only; and if I went on living from this day I’d be putting a curse on the
lot of them I’d meet walking in the east or west, putting a curse on the
sun that gave them beauty, and on the madder and the stone-crop put red upon
their cloaks.
DEIRDRE.
— bitterly. — I’m well pleased there’s no one in
this place to make a story that Naisi was a laughing-stock the night he died.
NAISI.
There’d not be many’d make a story, for that mockery is in your
eyes this night will spot the face of Emain with a plague of pitted graves.
[He goes out.
CONCHUBOR.
— outside. — That is Naisi. Strike him! (Tumult. Deirdre
crouches down on Naisi’s cloak. Conchubor comes in hurriedly.)
They’ve met their death — the three that stole you, Deirdre, and
from this out you’ll be my queen in Emain.
[A keen of men’s voices is heard behind.
DEIRDRE.
— bewildered and terrified. — It is not I will be a queen.
CONCHUBOR.
Make your lamentation a short while if you will, but it isn’t long till a
day’ll come when you begin pitying a man is old and desolate, and High
King also. . . . Let you not fear me, for it’s I’m well pleased you
have a store of pity for the three that were your friends in Alban.
DEIRDRE.
I have pity, surely. . . . It’s the way pity has me this night, when I
think of Naisi, that I could set my teeth into the heart of a king.
CONCHUBOR.
I know well pity’s cruel, when it was my pity for my own self destroyed
Naisi.
DEIRDRE.
— more wildly. — It was my words without pity gave Naisi a
death will have no match until the ends of life and time. (Breaking out into
a keen.) But who’ll pity Deirdre has lost the lips of Naisi from her
neck and from her cheek for ever? Who’ll pity Deirdre has lost the
twilight in the woods with Naisi, when beech-trees were silver and copper, and
ash-trees were fine gold?
CONCHUBOR.
— bewildered. — It’s I’ll know the way to pity
and care you, and I with a share of troubles has me thinking this night it
would be a good bargain if it was I was in the grave, and Deirdre crying over
me, and it was Naisi who was old and desolate.
[Keen heard.
DEIRDRE.
— wild with sorrow. — It is I who am desolate; I, Deirdre,
that will not live till I am old.
CONCHUBOR.
It’s not long you’ll be desolate, and I seven years saying,
“It’s a bright day for Deirdre in the woods of Alban”; or
saying again, “What way will Deirdre be sleeping this night, and wet
leaves and branches driving from the north?” Let you not break the thing
I’ve set my life on, and you giving yourself up to your sorrow when
it’s joy and sorrow do burn out like straw blazing in an east wind.
DEIRDRE.
— turning on him. — Was it that way with your sorrow, when I
and Naisi went northward from Slieve Fuadh and let raise our sails for Alban?
CONCHUBOR.
There’s one sorrow has no end surely — that’s being old and
lonesome. (With extraordinary pleading.) But you and I will have a
little peace in Emain, with harps playing, and old men telling stories at the
fall of night. I’ve let build rooms for our two selves, Deirdre, with red
gold upon the walls and ceilings that are set with bronze. There was never a
queen in the east had a house the like of your house, that’s waiting
for yourself in Emain.
SOLDIER — running in. — Emain is in flames. Fergus has come back and is setting fire to the world. Come up, Conchubor, or your state will be destroyed!
CONCHUBOR.
— angry and regal again. — Are the Sons of Usna buried?
SOLDIER.
They are in their grave, but no earth is thrown.
CONCHUBOR.
Let me see them. Open the tent! (Soldier opens back of tent and shows
grave.) Where are my fighters?
SOLDIER.
They are gone to Emain.
CONCHUBOR.
— to Deirdre. — There are none to harm you. Stay here until
I come again.
[Goes out with Soldier. Deirdre looks round for a moment, then goes up slowly and looks into grave. She crouches down and begins swaying herself backwards and forwards, keening softly. At first her words are not heard, then they become clear.
DEIRDRE.
It’s you three will not see age or death coming — you that were my
company when the fires on the hill-tops were put out and the stars were our
friends only. I’ll turn my thoughts back from this night, that’s
pitiful for want of pity, to the time it was your rods and cloaks made a little
tent for me where there’d be a birch tree making shelter and a dry stone;
though from this day my own fingers will be making a tent for me, spreading out
my hairs and they knotted with the rain.
[Lavarcham and Old Woman come in stealthily on right.
DEIRDRE.
— not seeing them. — It is I, Deirdre, will be crouching in
a dark place; I, Deirdre, that was young with Naisi, and brought sorrow to his
grave in Emain.
OLD WOMAN.
Is that Deirdre broken down that was so light and airy?
LAVARCHAM.
It is, surely, crying out over their grave.
[She goes to Deirdre.
DEIRDRE.
It will be my share from this out to be making lamentation on his stone always,
and I crying for a love will be the like of a star shining on a little harbour
by the sea.
LAVARCHAM.
— coming forward. — Let you rise up, Deirdre, and come off
while there are none to heed us, the way I’ll find you shelter and some
friend to guard you.
DEIRDRE.
To what place would I go away from Naisi? What are the woods without Naisi or
the sea shore?
LAVARCHAM.
— very coaxingly. — If it is that way you’d be, come
till I find you a sunny place where you’ll be a great wonder
they’ll call the queen of sorrows; and you’ll begin taking a pride
to be sitting up pausing and dreaming when the summer comes.
DEIRDRE.
It was the voice of Naisi that was strong in summer — the voice of Naisi
that was sweeter than pipes playing, but from this day will be dumb always.
LAVARCHAM.
— to Old Woman. — She doesn’t heed us at all.
We’ll be hard set to rouse her.
OLD WOMAN.
If we don’t the High King will rouse her, coming down beside her with the
rage of battle in his blood, for how could Fergus stand against him?
LAVARCHAM.
— touching Deirdre with her hand. — There’s a score of
woman’s years in store for you, and you’d best choose will you
start living them beside the man you hate, or being your own mistress in the
west or south?
DEIRDRE.
It is not I will go on living after Ainnle and after Ardan. After Naisi I will
not have a lifetime in the world.
OLD WOMAN.
— with excitement. — Look, Lavarcham! There’s a light
leaving the Red Branch. Conchubor and his lot will be coming quickly with a
torch of bog-deal for her marriage, throwing a light on her three comrades.
DEIRDRE.
— startled. — Let us throw down clay on my three comrades.
Let us cover up Naisi along with Ainnle and Ardan, they that were the pride of
Emain. (Throwing in clay.) There is Naisi was the best of three, the
choicest of the choice of many. It was a clean death was your share, Naisi; and
it is not I will quit your head, when it’s many a dark night among the
snipe and plover that you and I were whispering together. It is not I will quit
your head, Naisi, when it’s many a night we saw the stars among the clear
trees of Glen da Ruadh, or the moon pausing to rest her on the edges of the
hills.
OLD WOMAN.
Conchubor is coming, surely. I see the glare of flames throwing a light upon
his cloak.
LAVARCHAM.
— eagerly. — Rise up, Deirdre, and come to Fergus, or be the
High King’s slave for ever!
DEIRDRE.
— imperiously. — I will not leave Naisi, who has left the
whole world scorched and desolate. I will not go away when there is no light in
the heavens, and no flower in the earth under them, but is saying to me that it
is Naisi who is gone for ever.
CONCHUBOR.
— behind. — She is here. Stay a little back. (Lavarcham
and Old Woman go into the shadow on left as Conchubor comes in. With
excitement, to Deirdre.) Come forward and leave Naisi the way I’ve
left charred timber and a smell of burning in Emain Macha, and a heap of
rubbish in the storehouse of many crowns.
DEIRDRE.
— more awake to what is round her. — What are crowns and
Emain Macha, when the head that gave them glory is this place, Conchubor, and
it stretched upon the gravel will be my bed tonight?
CONCHUBOR.
Make an end of talk of Naisi, for I’ve come to bring you to Dundealgan
since Emain is destroyed.
[Conchubor makes a movement towards her.
DEIRDRE.
— with a tone that stops him. — Draw a little back from
Naisi, who is young for ever. Draw a little back from the white bodies I am
putting under a mound of clay and grasses that are withered — a mound
will have a nook for my own self when the end is come.
CONCHUBOR.
— roughly. — Let you rise up and come along with me in place
of growing crazy with your wailings here.
DEIRDRE.
It’s yourself has made a crazy story, and let you go back to your arms,
Conchubor, and to councils where your name is great, for in this place you
are an old man and a fool only.
CONCHUBOR.
If I’ve folly, I’ve sense left not to lose the thing I’ve
bought with sorrow and the deaths of many.
[He moves towards her.
DEIRDRE.
Do not raise a hand to touch me.
CONCHUBOR.
There are other hands to touch you. My fighters are set round in among the
trees.
DEIRDRE.
Who’ll fight the grave, Conchubor, and it opened on a dark night?
LAVARCHAM.
— eagerly. — There are steps in the wood. I hear the call of
Fergus and his men.
CONCHUBOR.
— furiously. — Fergus cannot stop me. I am more powerful
than he is, though I am defeated and old.
FERGUS.
— comes in to Deirdre; a red glow is seen behind the grove.
— I have destroyed Emain, and now I’ll guard you all times,
Deirdre, though it was I, without knowledge, brought Naisi to his grave.
CONCHUBOR.
It’s not you will guard her, for my whole armies are gathering. Rise up,
Deirdre, for you are mine surely.
FERGUS.
— coming between them. — I am come between you.
CONCHUBOR.
— wildly. — When I’ve killed Naisi and his brothers,
is there any man that I will spare? And is it you will stand against me,
Fergus, when it’s seven years you’ve seen me getting my death with
rage in Emain?
FERGUS.
It’s I, surely, will stand against a thief and a traitor.
DEIRDRE.
— stands up and sees the light from Emain. — Draw a little
back with the squabbling of fools when I am broken up with misery. (She
turns round.) I see the flames of Emain starting upward in the dark night;
and because of me there will be weasels and wild cats crying on a lonely wall
where there were queens and armies and red gold, the way there will be a story
told of a ruined city and a raving king and a woman will be young for ever.
(She looks round.) I see the trees naked and bare, and the moon shining.
Little moon, little moon of Alban, it’s lonesome you’ll be this
night, and tomorrow night, and long nights after, and you pacing the woods
beyond Glen Laoi, looking every place for Deirdre and Naisi, the two lovers who
slept so sweetly with each other.
FERGUS.
— going to Conchubor’s right and whispering. — Keep
back, or you will have the shame of pushing a bolt on a queen who is out of her
wits.
CONCHUBOR.
It is I who am out of my wits, with Emain in flames, and Deirdre raving, and my
own heart gone within me.
DEIRDRE.
— in a high and quiet tone. — I have put away sorrow like a
shoe that is worn out and muddy, for it is I have had a life that will be
envied by great companies. It was not by a low birth I made kings uneasy, and
they sitting in the halls of Emain. It was not a low thing to be chosen by
Conchubor, who was wise, and Naisi had no match for bravery. It is not a small
thing to be rid of grey hairs, and the loosening of the teeth. (With a sort
of triumph.) It was the choice of lives we had in the clear woods, and in
the grave, we’re safe, surely. . . .
CONCHUBOR.
She will do herself harm.
DEIRDRE.
— showing Naisi’s knife. — I have a little key to
unlock the prison of Naisi you’d shut upon his youth for ever. Keep back,
Conchubor; for the High King who is your master has put his hands between us.
(She half turns to the grave.) It was sorrows were foretold, but great
joys were my share always; yet it is a cold place I must go to be with you,
Naisi; and it’s cold your arms will be this night that were warm about my
neck so often. . . . It’s a pitiful thing to be talking out when your
ears are shut to me. It’s a pitiful thing, Conchubor, you have done this
night in Emain; yet a thing will be a joy and triumph to the ends of life and
time.
[She presses knife into her heart and sinks into the grave. Conchubor and Fergus go forward. The red glow fades, leaving stage very dark.
FERGUS.
Four white bodies are laid down together; four clear lights are quenched in
Ireland. (He throws his sword into the grave.) There is my sword that
could not shield you — my four friends that were the dearest always. The
flames of Emain have gone out: Deirdre is dead and there is none to keen her.
That is the fate of Deirdre and the children of Usna, and for this night,
Conchubor, our war is ended.
[He goes out.
LAVARCHAM.
I have a little hut where you can rest, Conchubor; there is a great dew
falling.
CONCHUBOR.
— with the voice of an old man. — Take me with you.
I’m hard set to see the way before me.
OLD WOMAN.
This way, Conchubor.
[They go out.
LAVARCHAM.
— beside the grave. — Deirdre is dead, and Naisi is dead;
and if the oaks and stars could die for sorrow, it’s a dark sky and a
hard and naked earth we’d have this night in Emain.