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Title: The King's Threshold; and On Baile's Strand
Author: W. B. Yeats
Release date: October 18, 2012 [eBook #41102]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KING'S THRESHOLD; AND ON BAILE'S STRAND ***
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
THE SECRET ROSE.
THE CELTIC TWILIGHT.
POEMS.
THE WIND AMONG THE REEDS.
THE SHADOWY WATERS.
IDEAS OF GOOD AND EVIL.
THE SECRET ROSE.
THE CELTIC TWILIGHT.
POEMS.
THE WIND AMONG THE REEDS.
THE SHADOWY WATERS.
IDEAS OF GOOD AND EVIL.
PLAYS FOR AN IRISH THEATRE
VOLUME III.
VOLUME III.
THE KING’S THRESHOLD:
AND ON BAILE’S STRAND:
BEING VOLUME THREE
OF PLAYS FOR AN IRISH THEATRE:
BY
W. B. YEATS
LONDON: A. H. BULLEN,
47, GREAT RUSSELL STREET, W.C. 1904
47, GREAT RUSSELL STREET, W.C. 1904
CHISWICK PRESS: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.
NOTE
Both these plays have been written for Mr. Fay’s “Irish National Theatre.” “The King’s Threshold” was played in October, 1903, and “On Baile’s Strand” will be played in February or March, 1904. Both are founded on Old Irish Prose Romances, but I have borrowed some ideas for the arrangement of my subject in “The King’s Threshold” from “Sancan the Bard,” a play published by Mr. Edwin Ellis some ten years ago.
W. B. Y.
CONTENTS
THE KING’S THRESHOLD
LIST OF CHARACTERS
| King Guaire. | ||
| The Chamberlain of King Guaire. | ||
| A Soldier. | ||
| A Monk. | ||
| The Mayor of Kinvara. | ||
| A Cripple. | ||
| Another Cripple. | ||
| Aileen, | } | Ladies of the Court. |
| Essa, | ||
| Princess Buan. | ||
| Princess Finnhua, her Sister. | ||
| Fedelm, Seanchan’s Sweetheart. | ||
| Cian, | } | Servants of Seanchan. |
| Brian, | ||
| Senias, | } | Pupils of Seanchan. |
| Arias, | ||
| Seanchan (pronounced Shanahan), Chief Poet of Ireland. | ||
| Pupils, Courtiers. | ||
A PROLOGUE.[1]
An Old Man with a red dressing-gown, red slippers and red nightcap, holding a brass candlestick with a guttering candle in it, comes on from side of stage and goes in front of the dull green curtain.
Old Man.
I’ve got to speak the prologue. [He shuffles on a few steps.] My nephew, who is one of the play actors, came to me, and I in my bed, and my prayers said, and the candle put out, and he told me there were so many characters in this new play, that all the company were in it, whether they had been long or short at the business, and that there wasn’t one left to speak the prologue. Wait a bit, there’s a draught here. [He pulls the curtain closer together.] That’s better. And that’s why I’m here, and maybe I’m a fool for my pains.
And my nephew said, there are a good many plays to be played for you, some to-night and some on other nights through the winter, and the most of them are simple enough, and tell out their story to the end. But as to the big play you are to see to-night, my nephew taught me to say what the poet had taught him to say about it. [Puts down candlestick and puts right finger on left thumb.] First, he who told the story of Seanchan on King Guaire’s threshold long ago in the old books told it wrongly, for he was a friend of the king, or maybe afraid of the king, and so he put the king in the right. But he that tells the story now, being a poet, has put the poet in the right.
And then [touches other finger] I am to say: Some think it would be a finer tale if Seanchan had died at the end of it, and the king had the guilt at his door, for that might have served the poet’s cause better in the end. But that is not true, for if he that is in the story but a shadow and an image of poetry had not risen up from the death that threatened him, the ending would not have been true and joyful enough to be put into the voices of players and proclaimed in the mouths of trumpets, and poetry would have been badly served.
[He takes up the candlestick again.
And as to what happened Seanchan after, my nephew told me he didn’t know, and the poet didn’t know, and it’s likely there’s nobody that knows. But my nephew thinks he never sat down at the king’s table again, after the way he had been treated, but that he went to some quiet green place in the hills with Fedelm, his sweetheart, where the poor people made much of him because he was wise, and where he made songs and poems, and it’s likely enough he made some of the old songs and the old poems the poor people on the hillsides are saying and singing to-day.
[A trumpet-blast.
Well, it’s time for me to be going. That trumpet means that the curtain is going to rise, and after a while the stage there will be filled up with great ladies and great gentlemen, and poets, and a king with a crown on him, and all of them as high up in themselves with the pride of their youth and their strength and their fine clothes as if there was no such thing in the world as cold in the shoulders, and speckled shins, and the pains in the bones and the stiffness in the joints that make an old man that has the whole load of the world on him ready for his bed.
[He begins to shuffle away, and then stops.
And it would be better for me, that nephew of mine to be thinking less of his play-acting, and to have remembered to boil down the knap-weed with a bit of three-penny sugar, for me to be wetting my throat with now and again through the night, and drinking a sup to ease the pains in my bones.
[He goes out at side of stage.
THE KING’S THRESHOLD.
Scene: Steps before the Palace of King Guaire at Gort. A table in front of steps to right with food on it. Seanchan lying on steps to left. Pupils before steps. King on top of steps at centre.
King.
I welcome you that have the mastery
Of the two kinds of music; the one kind
Being like a woman, the other like a man;
Both you that understand stringed instruments,
And how to mingle words and notes together
So artfully, that all the art is but speech
Delighted with its own music; and you that carry
The long twisted horn and understand
The heady notes that being without words
Can hurry beyond time and fate and change;
For the high angels that drive the horse of time,
The golden one by day, by night the silver,
Are not more welcome to one that loves the world
For some fair woman’s sake.
I have called you hither
To save the life of your great master, Seanchan,
For all day long it has flamed up or flickered
To the fast-cooling hearth.
Senias.
When did he sicken?
Is it a fever that is wasting him?
King.
He did not sicken, but three days ago
He said he would not eat, and lay down there
And has not eaten since. Till yesterday
I thought that hunger and weakness had been enough,
But finding them too trifling and too light
To hold his mouth from biting at the grave
I called you hither, and have called others yet.
The girl he is to wed at harvest-time,
That should be of all living the most dear,
Is coming from the South, and had I known
Of any other neighbours or good friends
That might persuade him, I had brought them hither,
Even though I’d to ransack the world for them.
Senias.
What was it put him to this work, High King?
King.
You will call it no great matter. Three days ago
I yielded to the outcry of my courtiers,
Bishops, soldiers, and makers of the law,
Who long had thought it against their dignity
For a mere man of words to sit among them
At my own table; and when the meal was spread
I ordered Seanchan to good company,
But to a lower table; and when he pleaded
The poet’s right, established when the world
Was first established, I said that I was King
And made and unmade rights at my own pleasure.
And that it was the men who ruled the world,
And not the men who sang to it, who should sit
Where there was the most honour. My courtiers,
Bishops, soldiers, and makers of the law
Shouted approval, and amid that noise
Seanchan went out, and from that hour to this,
Although there is good food and drink beside him,
Has eaten nothing. If a man is wronged,
Or thinks that he is wronged, and will lie down
Upon another’s threshold until he dies,
The common people for all time to come
Will raise a heavy cry against that threshold,
Even though it is the King’s. He lies there now
Perishing; he is calling against my majesty,
That old custom that has no meaning in it,
And as he perishes, my name in the world
Is perishing also. I cannot give way
Because I am King, because if I give way
My nobles would call me a weakling, and it may be
The very throne be shaken; but should you
That are his friends speak to him and persuade him
To turn his mouth from the ill-savouring grave
And eat good food, he shall not lack my favour;
For I will give plough-land and grazing-land,
Or all but anything he has set his heart on.
It is not all because of my good name
I’d have him live, for I have found him a man
That might well hit the fancy of a king
Banished out of his country, or a woman’s,
Or any other’s that can judge a man
For what he is. But I that sit a throne,
And take my measure from the needs of the state,
Call his wild thought that over-runs the measure,
Making words more than deeds, and his proud will
That would unsettle all, most mischievous,
And he himself a most mischievous man.
Senias.
King, whether you did right or wrong in this
Let the King say, for all that I need say
Is that there’s nothing that cries out for death
In the withholding of that ancient right,
And that I will persuade him. Your own words
Had been enough persuasion were it not
That he is lost in dreams that hunger makes,
And therefore heedless, or lost in heedless sleep.
King.
I leave him to your love, that it may promise
Plough-lands and grass-lands, jewels and silken wear,
Or anything but that old right of the poets.
[He goes out. The Pupils, who have been standing perfectly quiet, all turn towards Seanchan, and move a step nearer.
Senias.
The King did wrong to abrogate our right,
But Seanchan, who talks of dying for it,
Talks foolishly. Look at us, Seanchan,
Waken out of your dream and look at us,
Who have ridden under the moon and all the day,
Until the moon has all but come again,
That we might be beside you.
[Seanchan turns half round leaning on his elbow, and speaks as if in a dream.
Seanchan.
I was but now
At Almhuin, in a great high-raftered house,
With Finn and Osgar. Odours of roast flesh
Rose round me and I saw the roasting spits,
And then the dream was broken, and I saw
Grania dividing salmon by a pool,
And then I was awakened by your voice.
Senias.
It is your hunger that makes you dream of flesh
Roasting, and for your hunger I could weep;
And yet the hunger of the crane that starves
Because the moonlight glittering on the pool
And flinging a pale shadow has made it shy,
Seems to me little more fantastical
Than this that’s blown into so great a trouble.
Seanchan.
[Who has turned away again.]
There is much truth in that, for all things change
At times, as if the moonlight altered them,
And my mind alters as if it were the crane’s;
For when the heavy body has grown weak
There’s nothing that can tether the wild mind
That being moonstruck and fantastical
Goes where it fancies. I had even thought
I knew your voice and face, but now the words
Are so unlikely that I needs must ask
Who is it that bids me put my hunger by?
Senias.
I am your oldest pupil, Seanchan;
The one that has been with you many years,
So many that you said at Candlemas
That I had almost done with school, and knew
All but all that poets understand.
Seanchan.
My oldest pupil. No, that cannot be;
For it is someone of the courtly crowds
That have been round about me from sunrise
And I am tricked by dreams, but I’ll refute them.
I asked the pupil that I loved the best,
At Candlemas, why poetry is honoured,
Wishing to know how he’d defend our craft
In distant lands among strange churlish Kings.
And he’d an answer.
Senias.
I said the poets hung
Images of the life that was in Eden
About the childbed of the world, that it,
Looking upon those images, might bear
Triumphant children; but why must I stand here
Repeating an old lesson while you starve?
Seanchan.
Tell on, for I begin to know the voice;
What evil thing will come upon the world
If the arts perish?
Senias.
If the arts should perish
The world that lacked them would be like a woman
That looking on the cloven lips of a hare
Brings forth a hare-lipped child.
Seanchan.
But that’s not all.
For when I asked you how a man should guard
Those images you had an answer also,
If you’re the man that you have claimed to be,
Comparing them to venerable things
God gave to men before he gave them wheat.
Senias.
I answered, and the word was half your own,
That he should guard them, as the men of Dea
Guard their four treasures, as the Grail King guards
His holy cup, or the pale righteous horse
The jewel that is underneath his horn,
Pouring out life for it, as one pours out
Sweet heady wine—but now I understand
You would refute me out of my own mouth;
And yet a place at table near the King
Is nothing of great moment, Seanchan.
How does so light a thing touch poetry?
[Seanchan is now sitting up. He still looks dreamily in front of him.
Seanchan.
At Candlemas you called this poetry
One of the fragile mighty things of God
That die at an insult.
Senias.
[To other Pupils.] Give me some true answer.
For on that day we spoke about the court
And said that all that was insulted there
The world insulted, for the courtly life,
Being the first comely child of the world,
Is the world’s model. How shall I answer him?
Can you not give me some true argument?
I will not tempt him with a lying one.
Arias.
[Throwing himself at Seanchan’s feet.]
Why did you take me from my father’s fields?
If you would leave me now, what shall I love?
Where shall I go, what shall I set my hand to?
And why have you put music in my ears
If you would send me to the clattering houses?
I will throw down the trumpet and the harp,
For how could I sing verses or make music
With none to praise me and a broken heart?
Seanchan.
What was it that the poets promised you
If it was not their sorrow? Do not speak.
Have I not opened school on these bare steps,
And are not you the youngest of my scholars?
And I would have all know that when all falls
In ruin, poetry calls out in joy,
Being the scattering hand, the bursting pod,
The victim’s joy among the holy flame,
God’s laughter at the shattering of the world,
And now that joy laughs out and weeps and burns
On these bare steps.
Arias.
O Master, do not die.
[Three men come in. Cian and Brian, old men carrying basket with food, and Mayor of Kinvara. They stand at the side listening.
Senias.
Trouble him with no useless argument.
Be silent; there is nothing we can do
Except find out the King and kneel to him
And beg our ancient right. These three have come
To say whatever we could say and more,
And fare as badly. Come, boy, that’s no use;
[He lifts the Boy up.
If it seem well that we beseech the King,
Lay down your harps and trumpets on the stones
In silence and come with me silently.
Come with slow footfalls and bow all your heads,
For a bowed head becomes a mourner best.
[They lay the harps and trumpets down one by one and then go out very solemnly and slowly, following one another.
Cian.
Let’s show the food that’s in the basket.
Mayor.
[Who carries an Ogham stick.] No,
I must get through my speech or I’ll forget it;
Besides, there is no reason why he’d eat
Till he has heard my reasons.
Cian.
It were better
To show what we have brought him in the basket,
For we have nothing that he has not liked
From boyhood.
Brian.
For we have not brought kings’ food
That’s cooked for everybody and nobody.
Mayor.
You are not showing right respect to me,
Or to the people of Kinvara, when you wish
That something else should come before my message.
Seanchan.
What brings you here? I never sent for you.
Cian.
He must be famishing, he looks so pale.
We had better get the food out first. I tell you,
That we have brought the things he likes the best.
Mayor.
No, no; I lost a word at every cross road
And maybe if I do not speak it now
I’ll have forgot it.
Cian.
Well, out with it quickly.
Seanchan.
Why, what’s this foolery?
Mayor.
No foolery;
A message from the richest, best born townsman
Of your own town, and from your aged father.
Cian.
Run through it while I am getting out the food.
Mayor.
How was I to begin? What was the word
That was to keep it in my memory?
Wait, I have notched it on this Ogham stick.
“Chief poet,” “Ireland,” “Townsman”; that is it.
Chief poet of Ireland, when we heard that trouble
Had come between you and the King of Ireland
It plunged us in deep sorrow, part for you,
Our honoured townsman, part for our good town.
The King was said to be most friendly to us,
And we had reasons, as you’ll recollect,
For thinking that he was about to give
Those grazing lands inland we so much need,
Being pinched between the water and the rocks.
But now his friendliness being ill repaid
Will be turned from us and our town get nothing.
But there was something else—I’ll find the word
That was to keep it in my memory.
“Pride”—that’s the word,—we would not have you think,
Weighty as these considerations are,
That they have been as weighty in our minds
As our desire that one we take much pride in,
A man who has been an honour to our town,
Should live and prosper, therefore we beseech you
To give way in a matter of no moment,
A matter of mere sentiment, a trifle,
That we may always keep our pride in you.
Seanchan.
Their pride, their pride, what do they know of pride?
My pupils do not know it, for they beg
From the King’s favour what is theirs by right,
And how can men, that God has made so weak
They need a rich man’s favour every day,
Know anything of pride?
Cian.
[To Mayor.] You have spoken it wrongly.
You have forgotten something out of it about the cattle dying.
Mayor.
Maybe you do not know, being much away,
How many of our cattle died last winter
From lacking grass, and that there was much sickness
Because the poor had nothing but salt fish
To live upon. The people all came out
And stood about the doors as I went by.
Seanchan.
What would you have of me?
For there are men that shall be born at last
And find sweet nurture that they may have voices
Even in anger like the strings of harps.
Yet how could they be born to majesty
If I had never made the golden cradle?
Mayor.
Cian.
He is listening.
Mayor.
He says that he is old and that he needs you,
And that the people will be pointing at him
And he not able to lift up his head
If you should turn the King’s favour away.
And he adds to it, that he cared you well,
And you in your young age, and that it’s right
That you should care him now.
Cian.
And when he spoke
He cried because the stiffness of his bones
Prevented him from coming.
Mayor.
But your mother
Has sent no message, for when they had told her
The way it is between you and the King
She said, “No message can do any good,
He will not send the answer that you want;
We cannot change him,” and she went indoors,
Lay down upon her bed and turned her face
Out of the light. And thereupon your father
Said, “Tell him how she is, and that she sends
No message.” I have nothing more to say.
Cian and Brian, you can set out the food.
[He sits down on steps. Seanchan is silent.
Mayor.
I have a horse waiting outside the town
To bring me home, and all the neighbours wait
Your answer. What answer am I to bring?
Seanchan.
Give them my answer—no, I have no answer:
My mother knew it.
Mayor.
Maybe you have forgotten
That all our fields are so heaped up with stones
That the goats famish, and the mowers mow
With knives, and that the King half promised us——
Seanchan.
Mayor.
But——
Cian.
You have said enough;
I knew that you would never speak it right.
Seanchan.
Our mothers know us, they know us to the bone,
They knew us before birth, and that is why
They know us even better than the sweethearts
Upon whose breasts we have lain.
Brian.
We have brought your honour
The food that you have always liked the best,
Young pigeons from Kinvara, and watercress
Out of the stream that’s by the blessed well,
And dulse from Duras. Here is the dulse, your honour,
It is wholesome, and has the good taste of the sea.
Seanchan.
O Brian, you would spread the table for me
As you would spread it when I was in my childhood;
But all that’s finished.
Mayor.
I knew he would not care
For country things now that he’s grown accustomed
To the King’s dishes. I told Brian too
He’d have his pains for nothing. But he’s old.
[Goes over to table at right. While he is speaking Cian and Brian are in vain offering Seanchan food.
And what dishes! Venison from Slieve Echtge
Fattened with poor men’s crops; flesh of wild pig;
Not fat nor lean, but streaky and right well cured;
Bread that’s the whitest that I’ve ever seen.
Cian.
You’re in the right, you’re in the right, he will not eat.
[Pouring wine into cup.
Mayor.
Bring him some wine, it will give him strength to eat.
[Brian brings wine over towards Seanchan.
No wonder if the King is proud and merry,
And keeps all day in the saddle, when even I
Am well-nigh drunken with the odour of it,
And if I dared—I dare not.
Cian.
Drink it, sir.
Brian.
Drink a few drops.
Seanchan.
Drink it yourself, old man,
For you have come a journey, and I daresay
You did not eat or drink upon the road.
Cian.
How can I drink it when your honour’s thirsty?
[He offers cup again. The King’s Household comes in. Chamberlain with long staff, a Soldier, a Monk, two Ladies, followed by Cripples who beg from the ladies, who keep close together at right, talking to each other at intervals. Soldier goes over to Mayor, and talks to him.
Chamberlain.
Well, have you it in imagination still
To overthrow the dignity of the King,
Or is the game finished?
[A pause.
How many days
Will you keep up this quarrel with the King,
With the King’s nobles and myself and all
Who’d gladly be your friends if you would let them?
Soldier.
[Who has been speaking to Mayor and Servants.]
Was it you that sent his servants and the Mayor
Of his own town to wheedle him into life?
Chamberlain.
It was the King himself.
Soldier.
Was it worth our while
To have got rid of him from the King’s table
If he is to be humoured and made much of?
Chamberlain.
It seems that he has not eaten yet, although
He’s had another dozen hours of hunger.
Soldier.
If he’s so proud and obstinate a neck
I’d let him starve.
Monk.
Persuade him to eat, my lord.
His death would make a scandal, and stir up
The common people.
Chamberlain.
And I have a fancy
That if it brought misfortune on the King,
Or the King’s house, we’d be as little thought of
As summer linen when the winter’s come.
Aileen.
[To Cian.] You’ve had no luck, old man.
Cian.
We have not, lady.
Aileen.
Maybe he’s out of humour with your ways,
Having grown used to sprightlier service.
Cian.
Maybe.
But the King’s messengers have gone for one
That will persuade him. [To Brian.] Come, let us go;
For she might lose her way in this fine place.
Come, we have been too long upon the tree,
[Plucking sleeve of Mayor.
And there are little golden pippins here.
Soldier.
Give me the dish, I’ll hand it him myself.
Aileen.
I wonder if she is pretty.
[Mayor and Servants have gone out.
Soldier.
Eat this, old hedgehog.
Sniff up the savour and unroll yourself.
But if I were the King I’d make you do it
With wisps of lighted straw.
Seanchan.
You have rightly named me,
I lie rolled up under the ragged thorns
That are upon the edge of those great waters
Where all things vanish away, and I have heard
Murmurs that are the ending of all sound.
I am out of life, I am rolled up, and yet,
Hedgehog although I am, I’ll not unroll
For you, King’s dog. Go to the King, your master,
Crouch down and wag your tail, for it may be
He has nothing now against you, and I think
The stripes of your last beating are all healed.
Chamberlain.
Don’t answer, you were never to his mind.
And now you have angered him to no good purpose.
But put the dish down and I will speak to him.
Seanchan.
You must needs keep your patience yet awhile,
For I have some few mouthfuls of sweet air
To swallow before I have grown to be as civil
As any other dust.
Chamberlain.
You wrong us, Seanchan,
There is none here but holds you in respect,
And if you would only eat out of this dish
The King would show how much he honours you.
Aileen.
[Giving Cripple money.]
You are always discontented. Look at this cripple,
He has had to cover up his eyes with rags
Because they are too weak to look at the sun,
And has a crooked body, and yet he is cheerful.
Stand there where he can see you.
[Cripple goes over and stands in front of Seanchan, bowing and smiling.
Chamberlain.
We have come to you
Because we wish you a long, prosperous life;
Who could imagine you’d so take to heart
Being put from the high table.
Seanchan.
It was not I
That you have driven away from the high table,
But the images of them that weave a dance,
By the four rivers in the mountain garden.
Monk.
He means we have driven poetry away.
Chamberlain.
It is the men who are learned in the laws,
Or have led the King’s armies that should sit
At the King’s table. Nor has poetry
Been altogether driven away, for I,
As you should know, have written poetry,
And often when the table has been cleared
And candles lighted, the King calls for me
And I repeat it him. My poetry
Is not to be compared with yours, but still
Where I am honoured, poetry is honoured
In some measure.
Seanchan.
If you are a poet,
Cry out that the King’s money would not buy,
Nor the high circle consecrate his head,
If poets had never christened gold, and even
The moon’s poor daughter, that most whey-faced metal,
Precious; and cry out that none alive
Would ride among the arrows with high heart
Or scatter with an open hand, had not
Our heady craft commended wasteful virtues.
And when that story’s finished, shake your coat
Where the little jewels gleam on it, and say
A herdsman sitting where the pigs had trampled
Made up a song about enchanted kings,
Who were so finely dressed one fancied them
All fiery, and women by the churn
And children by the hearth caught up the song
And murmured it until the tailors heard it.
Monk.
How proud these poets are! It was full time
To break their pride.
Seanchan.
And I would have you say
That when we are driven out we come again
Like a great wind that runs out of the waste
To blow the tables flat.
Chamberlain.
If you’d eat something
You’d find you have these thoughts because you are hungry.
Seanchan.
And when you have told them all these things, lie down
On this bare threshold and starve until the King
Restore to us the ancient right of the poets.
Aileen.
Let’s come away. There’s no use talking to him,
For he’s resolved to die, and that’s no loss:
We will go watch the hurley.
Monk.
You should obey
The King’s commandment and not question it,
For it is God himself who has made him king.
Essa.
Let’s hear his answer to the monk.
Seanchan.
Stoop down,
For there is something I would say to you.
Has that wild God of yours that was so wild
When you’d but lately taken the King’s pay,
Grown any tamer? He gave you all much trouble
Being so unruly and inconsiderate.
Aileen.
What does he mean?
Monk.
Seanchan.
Or it may be you have persuaded him
To chirp between two dishes when the King
Sits down to table.
Monk.
Let go my habit, sir.
What do I care about your insolent dreams.
Seanchan.
And maybe he has learnt to sing quite softly
Because loud singing would disturb the King
Who is sitting drowsily among his friends
After the table has been cleared——
Monk.
Let go.
[Seanchan has been dragged some feet, clinging to the Monk’s habit.
Seanchan.
Not yet; you did not think that hungry hands
Could be so strong. They are not civil yet—
I’d know if you have taught him to eat bread
From the King’s hand, and perch upon his finger.
I think he perches on the King’s strong hand,
But it may be that he is still too wild.
You must not weary in your work; a King
Is often weary and he needs a God
To be a comfort to him.
[The Monk plucks his habit away. Seanchan holds up his hand as if a bird perched upon it. He pretends to stroke the bird.
A little god,
With soft well-coloured feathers, and bright eyes.
Aileen.
We have listened long enough.
Essa.
Let us away,
Where we can watch the young men at the hurley.
Seanchan.
Yes, yes, go to the hurley, go to the hurley,
Go to the hurley, gather up your skirts,
Run quickly. You can remember many love songs;
I know it by the light that’s in your eyes,
But you’ll forget them. You’re fair to look on,
Your feet delight in dancing, and your mouths
In the slow smiling that awakens love.
The mothers that have borne you mated rightly,
For they had little ears as thirsty as are yours
For many love-songs. Go to the young men:
Are not the ruddy flesh and the thin flanks
And the broad shoulders worthy of desire?
Go from me. Here is nothing for your eyes,
But it is I that am singing you away,
Singing you to the young men.
[The two young Princesses Buan and Finnhua come in. While he has been speaking Aileen and Essa have shrunk back holding each others hands.
Aileen.
Be quiet;
Look who it is that has come out of the house.
Princesses, we are for the hurling field.
Will you come too?
Princess Buan.
We will go with you, Aileen,
But we must have some words with Seanchan,
For we have come to make him eat and drink.
Chamberlain.
I will hold out the dish and cup for him
While you are speaking to him of his folly,
If you desire it, Princess.
[He has taken up dish and cup.
Princess Buan.
Give me the cup.
My sister there will carry the dish of meat:
We’ll offer them ourselves.
Aileen.
They are so gracious,
The dear little princesses are so gracious.
[Princess Buan holds out her hand for Seanchan to kiss it; he does not move.
Although she is holding out her hand to him
He will not kiss it.
Princess Buan.
My father bids us say
That though he cannot have you at his table,
You may ask any other thing you like
And he will give it you. We carry you
A dish and a cup of wine, with our own hands,
To show in what great honour you are held.
Will you not drink a little? Does he not show
Every befitting honour to the poets?
Aileen.
O look, he has taken it, he has taken it!
The dear princesses, I have always said
That nobody could refuse them anything.
[Seanchan takes the cup in one hand, in the other he holds for a moment the hand of the Princess.
Seanchan.
O long soft fingers and pale finger-tips
Well worthy to be laid in a king’s hand;
O you have fair white hands, for it is certain
There is uncommon whiteness in these hands.
But there is something comes into my mind,
Princess. A little while before your birth
I saw your mother sitting by the road
In a high chair, and when a leper passed
She pointed him the way into the town,
And he lifted his hand and blessed her hand;
I saw it with my own eyes. Hold out your hands,
I will find out if they are contaminated;
For it has come into my thoughts that may be
The King has sent me food and drink by hands
That are contaminated. I would see all your hands,
You’ve eyes of dancers, but hold out your hands,
For it may be there are none sound among you——
[The Princesses have shrunk back in terror.
Princess Buan.
He has called us lepers.
Chamberlain.
He’s out of his mind,
And does not know the meaning of what he said.
Seanchan.
[Standing up.] There are no sound hands among you. No sound hands.
Away with you, away with all of you,
You are all lepers. There is leprosy
Among the plates and dishes that you have brought me.
I would know why you have brought me leper’s wine?
[He flings the wine in their faces.
There, there, I have given it to you again, and now
Begone or I will give my curse to you.
You have the leper’s blessing, but you think
Maybe the bread will something lack in savour
Unless you mix my curse into the dough.
[They go out to L., all except the Cripples. Seanchan is staggering in the middle of the stage.
Seanchan.
Where did I say the leprosy came from?
I said it came out of a leper’s hand
And that he walked the highway; but that’s folly,
For he was walking up there in the sky
And there he is even now with his white hand
Thrust out of the blue air and blessing them
With leprosy.
A Cripple.
He’s pointing at the moon
That’s coming out up yonder, and he calls it
Leprous, because the daylight whitens it.
Seanchan.
He’s holding up his hand above them all
King, Noblemen, Princesses, blessing all.
Who could imagine he’d have so much patience.
First Cripple.
Come out of this.
[Clutching other Cripple.
Second Cripple.
If you don’t need it, sir,
May we not carry some of it away?
[He points to food.
Seanchan.
Who’s speaking? Who are you?
First Cripple.
Come out of this.
Second Cripple.
Have pity on us, that must beg our bread
From table to table throughout the entire world
And yet be hungry.
Seanchan.
But why were you born crooked?
What bad poet did your mothers listen to
That you were born so crooked?
First Cripple.
Come away.
Maybe he’s cursed the food and it might kill us.
Second Cripple.
Yes, better come away.
[They go out.
Seanchan.
[Staggering and speaking wearily.]
He has great strength
And great patience to hold his right hand there
Uplifted and not wavering about;
He is much stronger than I am, much stronger.
[He sinks down on steps.
Enter from R. Fedelm, Cian and Brian.
Brian.
There he is lying. Go over to him now
And bid him eat.
Fedelm.
I’ll get him out of this
Before I have said a word of food and drink;
For while he is on this threshold and can hear,
It may be, the voices that made mock of him,
He would not listen.
Brian.
That is a good plan.
But there is little time, for he is weakening.
Fedelm.
[Crying.] I cannot think of any other plan
Although it breaks my heart.
Cian.
Let’s leave them now,
For she will press the honey from her bag
When we are gone.
Brian.
It will be hard to move him
If hunger and thirst have got into his bones.
[They go out leaving Fedelm and Seanchan alone. Fedelm runs over to Seanchan and kneels down before him.
Fedelm.
Seanchan! Seanchan!
[He remains looking into the sky.
Can you not see me, Seanchan?
It is myself.
[Seanchan looks at her dreamily at first, then takes her hand.
Seanchan.
Is this your hand, Fedelm?
I have been looking at another hand
That is up yonder.
Fedelm.
I have come for you.
Seanchan.
Fedelm, I did not know that you were here.
Fedelm.
And can you not remember that I promised
That I would come and take you home with me
When I’d the harvest in? and now I’ve come,
And you must come away, and come on the instant.
Seanchan.
Yes, I will come; but is the harvest in?
This air has got a summer taste in it.
Fedelm.
But is not the wild middle of the summer
A better time to marry? Come with me now.
Seanchan.
[Seizing her by both wrists.]
Who taught you that, for it’s a certainty,
Although I never knew it till last night,
That marriage, because it is the height of life,
Can only be accomplished to the full
In the high days of the year. I lay awake,
There had come a frenzy into the light of the stars
And they were coming nearer and I knew
All in a minute they were about to marry
Clods out upon the plough-lands, to beget
A mightier race than any that has been;
But some that are within there made a noise
And frighted them away.
Fedelm.
Come with me now;
We have far to go, and daylight’s running out.
Seanchan.
The stars had come so near me that I caught
Their singing; it was praise of that great race
That would be haughty, mirthful, and white-bodied
With a high head, and open hand, and how
Laughing, it would take the mastery of the world.
Fedelm.
But you will tell me all about their songs
When we’re at home. You have need of rest and care,
And I can give them you when we’re at home,
And therefore let us hurry and get us home.
Seanchan.
That’s true; and there’s some trouble here, although
I cannot now remember what it is,
And I would get away from it. Give me your help.
But why are not my pupils here to help me?
Go, call my pupils, for I need their help.
Fedelm.
Come with me now, and I will send for them,
For I have a great room that’s full of beds
I can make ready, and there is a smooth lawn
Where they can play at hurley and sing poems
Under an apple-tree.
Seanchan.
I know that place,
An apple tree and a smooth level lawn,
Where the young men can sway their hurley sticks.
Sings.
The four rivers that run there,
Through well-mown level ground,
Have come out of a blessed well
That is all bound and wound
By the great roots of an apple,
And all fowls of the air
Have gathered in the wide branches
And keep singing there.
[Fedelm, troubled, has covered her eyes with her hands.
Fedelm.
No, there are not four rivers, and those rhymes
Praise Adam’s Paradise.
Seanchan.
I can remember now.
It’s out of a poem I made long ago
About the garden in the east of the world,
And how spirits in the images of birds
Crowd in the branches of old Adam’s crab-tree;
They come before me now and dig in the fruit
With so much gluttony, and are so drunk
With that harsh, wholesome savour that their feathers
Are clinging one to another with the juice.
But you would take me to some friendly place,
And I would go there quickly.
Fedelm.
Come with me.
[She helps him to rise. He walks slowly, supported by her till he comes to the table at R.
Seanchan.
But why am I so weak? Have I been ill?
Sweetheart, why is it that I am so weak?
[He sinks on to the seat.
Fedelm.
I’ll dip this piece of bread into the wine,
For that will make you stronger for the journey.
Seanchan.
Yes, give me bread and wine, that’s what I want,
For it is hunger that is gnawing me.
[He takes bread from Fedelm, hesitates, and then thrusts it back into her hand.
But no, I must not eat it.
Fedelm.
Eat, Seanchan,
For if you do not eat it you will die.
Seanchan.
Why did you give me food?
Why did you come?
For had I not enough to fight against
Without your coming?
Fedelm.
Eat this little crust,
Seanchan, if you have any love for me.
Seanchan.
I must not eat it: but that’s beyond your wit;
Child, child, I must not eat it though I die.
Fedelm.
You do not know what love is, for if you loved
You would put every other thought away
But you have never loved me.
Seanchan.
[Seizing her by the wrist.] You, a child,
Who have but seen a man out of the window,
Tell me that I know nothing about love,
And that I do not love you. Did I not say
There was a frenzy in the light of the stars
All through the livelong night, and that the night
Was full of marriages? But that fight’s over.
And all that’s done with, and I have to die.
Fedelm.
[Throwing her arms about him.]
I will not be put from you, although I think
I had not grudged it you if some great lady,
If the King’s daughter, had set out your bed.
I will not give you up to death; no, no,
And are not these white arms and this soft neck
Better than the brown earth?
Seanchan.
I swear an oath
Upon the holy tree that I’ll not eat
Until the King restore the right of the poets.
O Sun and Moon, and all things that have strength,
Become my strength that I may put a curse
On all things that would have me break this oath.
[Fedelm has sunk down on the ground while he says this, and crouches at his feet.
Fedelm.
Seanchan, do not curse me; from this out
I will obey like any married wife.
Let me but lie before your feet.
Seanchan.
Come nearer.
[He kisses her.
If I had eaten when you bid me, sweetheart,
The kiss of multitudes in times to come
Had been the poorer.
King.
[Entering from house.] Has he eaten yet?
Fedelm.
No, King, and will not till you have restored
The right of the poets.
King.
[Coming down and standing before Seanchan.]
Seanchan, you have refused
Everybody that I have sent, and now
I come to you myself, and I have come
To bid you put your pride as far away
As I have put my pride. I had your love
Not a great while ago, and now you have planned
To put a voice by every cottage fire
And in the night when no one sees who cries
To cry against me till my throne has crumbled.
And yet if I give way I must offend
My courtiers and nobles till they too
Strike at the crown. What would you have of me?
Seanchan.
When did the poets promise safety, King?
King.
Seanchan, I bring you bread in my own hands,
And bid you eat it because of all these reasons,
And for this further reason that I love you.
[Seanchan pushes bread away with Fedelm’s hand.
You have refused it, Seanchan.
Seanchan.
We have refused it.
King.
I have been patient though I am a king,
And have the means to force you—but that’s ended,
And I am but a king and you a subject.
[He goes up steps.
Nobles and courtiers, bring the poets hither
For you can have your way: I that was man
With a man’s heart am now all king again,
Remembering that the seed I come of, although
A hundred kings have sown it and re-sown it,
Has neither trembled nor shrunk backward yet
Because of the hard business of a king.
[Princesses, Ladies, and Courtiers have come in with Pupils, who have halters round their necks.
Speak to your master, beg your life of him,
Show him the halters that are round your necks;
If his heart’s set upon it he may die,
But you shall all die with him; beg your lives;
Begin, for you have little time to lose;
Begin it you that are the oldest pupil.
Senias.
[Going up to Seanchan.]
Die, Seanchan, and proclaim the right of the poets.
King.
Silence, you are as crazy as your master.
But that young boy that seems the youngest of you,
I’d have him speak. Kneel down before him, boy,
Hold up your hands to him that he may pluck
That milky coloured neck out of the noose.
Arias.
Die, Seanchan, and proclaim the right of the poets.
[All the Pupils turn towards the King, holding out the ends of their halters.
Senias.
Gather the halters up into your hands
And lead us where you will, for in all things
But in our art we are obedient.
[The King comes slowly down the steps.
King.
[Kneeling down before Seanchan.]
Kneel down, kneel down, he has the greater power.
I give my crown to you.
[All kneel except Seanchan, Fedelm and Pupils. Seanchan rises slowly, supported by one of the Pupils and by Fedelm.
Seanchan.
O crown, O crown,
It is but right if hands that made the crown
In the old time should give it when they will.
O silver trumpets be you lifted up
[He lays the crown on the King’s head.
And cry to the great race that is to come.
Long-throated swans among the waves of time
Sing loudly, for beyond the wall of the world
It waits and it may hear and come to us.
[Some of the Pupils blow a blast upon their horns.