by W. B. Yeats
There was a young man with a pale face and red hair standing beside it. Some of our people came up whose turn it was to guard the shore. I heard them ask the young man his name. He said he was under bonds not to tell it. Then words came between them, and they fought, & the young man killed half of them, and the others ran away.
FINTAIN.
It matters nothing to us, but he has come at last.
BARACH.
Who has come?
FINTAIN.
I know who that young man is. There is not another like him in the world. I saw him when I had my eyesight.
BARACH.
You saw him?
FINTAIN.
I used to be in Aoife’s country when I had my eyesight.
BARACH.
That was before you went on shipboard and were blinded for putting a curse on the wind?
FINTAIN.
Queen Aoife had a son that was red haired and pale faced like herself, and everyone said that he would kill Cuchullain some day, but I would not have that spoken of.
BARACH.
Nobody could do that. Who was his father?
FINTAIN.
Nobody but Aoife knew that, not even he himself.
BARACH.
Not even he himself! Was Aoife a goddess & lecherous?
FINTAIN.
I overheard her telling that she never had but one lover, and that he was the only man who overcame her in battle. There were some who thought him one of the Riders of the Sidhe, because the child was great of limb and strong beyond others. The child was begotten over the mountains; but come nearer and I will tell you something.
BARACH.
You have thought something?
FINTAIN.
When I hear the young girls talking about the colour of Cuchullain’s eyes, & how they have seven colours, I have thought about it. That young man has Aoife’s face and hair, but he has Cuchullain’s eyes.
BARACH.
How can he have Cuchullain’s eyes?
FINTAIN.
He is Cuchullain’s son.
BARACH.
And his mother has sent him hither to fight his father.
FINTAIN.
It is all quite plain. Cuchullain went into Aoife’s country when he was a young man that he might learn skill in arms, and there he became Aoife’s lover.
BARACH.
And now she hates him because he went away, and has sent the son to kill the father. I knew she was a goddess.
FINTAIN.
And she never told him who his father was, that he might do it. I have thought it all out, fool. I know a great many things because I listen when nobody is noticing and I keep my wits awake. What ails you now?
BARACH.
I have remembered that I am hungry.
FINTAIN.
Well, forget it again, and I will tell you about Aoife’s country. It is full of wonders. There are a great many Queens there who can change themselves into wolves and into swine and into white hares, and when they are in their own shapes they are stronger than almost any man; and there are young men there who have cat’s eyes and if a bird chirrup or a mouse squeak they cannot keep them shut even though it is bedtime and they sleepy; and listen, for this is a great wonder, a very great wonder, there is a long narrow bridge, and when anybody goes to cross it, that the Queens do not like, it flies up as this bench would if you were to sit on the end of it. Everybody who goes there to learn skill in arms has to cross it. It was in that country too that Cuchullain got his spear made out of dragon bones. There were two dragons fighting in the foam of the sea, & their grandam was the moon, and six Queens came along the shore.
BARACH.
I won’t listen to your story.
FINTAIN.
It is a very wonderful story. Wait till you hear what the six Queens did. Their right hands were all made of silver.
BARACH.
No, I will have my dinner first. You have eaten the fowl I left in front of the fire. The last time you sent me to steal something you made me forget all about it till you had eaten it up.
FINTAIN.
No, there is plenty for us both.
BARACH.
Come with me where it is.
FINTAIN.
(Who is being led towards the door at the back by Barach.) O, it is all right, it is in a safe place.
BARACH.
It is a fine fowl. It was the biggest in the yard.
FINTAIN.
It had a good smell, but I hope that the wild dogs have not smelt it. (Voices are heard outside the door at the side.) Here is our master. Let us stay and talk with him. Perhaps Cuchullain will give you a new cap with a feather. He told me that he would give you a new cap with a feather, a feather with an eye that looks at you, a peacock’s feather.
BARACH.
No, no. (He begins pulling Fintain towards the door.)
FINTAIN.
If you do not get it now, you may never get it, for the young man may kill him.
BARACH.
No, no, I am hungry. What a head you have, blind man. Who but you would have remembered that the hen-wife slept for a little at noon every day.
FINTAIN.
(Who is being led along very slowly and unwillingly.)
Yes, I have a good head. The fowl should be done just right, but one never knows when a wild dog may come out of the woods.
(They go out through the big door at the back. As they go out Cuchullain & certain young Kings come in at the side door. Cuchullain though still young is a good deal older than the others. They are all very gaily dressed, and have their hair fastened with balls of gold. The young men crowd about Cuchullain with wondering attention.)
FIRST YOUNG KING.
You have hurled that stone beyond our utmost mark
Time after time, but yet you are not weary.
SECOND YOUNG KING.
He has slept on the bare ground of Fuad’s Hill
This week past, waiting for the bulls and the deer.
CUCHULLAIN.
Well, why should I be weary?
FIRST YOUNG KING.
It is certain
His father was the god who wheels the sun,
And not king Sualtam.
THIRD YOUNG KING.
(To a young King who is beside him.) He came in the dawn,
And folded Dectara in a sudden fire.
FOURTH YOUNG KING.
And yet the mother’s half might well grow weary,
And it new come from labours over sea.
THIRD YOUNG KING.
He has been on islands walled about with silver,
And fought with giants.
(They gather about the ale vat and begin to drink.)
CUCHULLAIN.
Who was it that went out?
THIRD YOUNG KING.
As we came in?
CUCHULLAIN.
Yes.
THIRD YOUNG KING.
Barach and blind Fintain.
CUCHULLAIN.
They always flock together; the blind man
Has need of the fool’s eyesight and strong body,
While the poor fool has need of the other’s wit,
And night and day is up to his ears in mischief
That the blind man imagines. There’s no hen-yard
But clucks and cackles when he passes by
As if he’d been a fox. If I’d that ball
That’s in your hair and the big stone again,
I’d keep them tossing, though the one is heavy
And the other light in the hand. A trick I learnt
When I was learning arms in Aoife’s country.
FIRST YOUNG KING.
What kind of woman was that Aoife?
CUCHULLAIN.
Comely.
FIRST YOUNG KING.
But I have heard that she was never married,
And yet that’s natural, for I have never known
A fighting woman, but made her favours cheap,
Or mocked at love til
l she grew sandy dry.
CUCHULLAIN.
What manner of woman do you like the best?
A gentle or a fierce.
FIRST YOUNG KING.
A gentle surely.
CUCHULLAIN.
I think that a fierce woman’s better, a woman
That breaks away when you have thought her won,
For I’d be fed and hungry at one time.
I think that all deep passion is but a kiss
In the mid battle, and a difficult peace
‘Twixt oil and water, candles and dark night,
Hill-side and hollow, the hot-footed sun,
And the cold sliding slippery-footed moon,
A brief forgiveness between opposites
That have been hatreds for three times the age
Of his long ‘stablished ground. Here’s Concobar;
So I’ll be done, but keep beside me still,
For while he talks of hammered bronze and asks
What wood is best for building, we can talk
Of a fierce woman.
(Concobar, a man much older than Cuchullain, has come in through the great door at the back. He has many Kings about him. One of these Kings, Daire, a stout old man, is somewhat drunk.)
CONCOBAR.
(To one of those about him.) Has the ship gone yet? We have need of more bronze workers and that ship I sent to Africa for gold is late.
CUCHULLAIN.
I knew their talk.
CONCOBAR.
(Seeing Cuchullain.) You are before us, King.
CUCHULLAIN.
So much the better, for I welcome you
Into my Muirthemne.
CONCOBAR.
But who are these?
The odour from their garments when they stir
Is like a wind out of an apple garden.
CUCHULLAIN.
My swordsmen and harp players and fine dancers,
My bosom friends.
CONCOBAR.
I should have thought, Cuchullain,
My graver company would better match
Your greatness and your years; but I waste breath
In harping on that tale.
CUCHULLAIN.
You do, great King.
Because their youth is the kind wandering wave
That carries me about the world; and if it sank,
My sword would lose its lightness.
CONCOBAR.
Yet, Cuchullain,
Emain should be the foremost town of the world.
CUCHULLAIN.
It is the foremost town.
CONCOBAR.
No, no, it’s not.
Nothing but men can make towns great, and he,
The one over-topping man that’s in the world,
Keeps far away.
DAIRE.
He will not hear you, King,
And we old men had best keep company
With one another. I’ll fill the horn for you.
CONCOBAR.
I will not drink, old fool. You have drunk a horn
At every door we came to.
DAIRE.
You’d better drink,
For old men light upon their youth again
In the brown ale. When I have drunk enough,
I am like Cuchullain as one pea another,
And live like a bird’s flight from tree to tree.
CONCOBAR.
We’ll to our chairs for we have much to talk of,
And we have Ullad and Muirthemne, and here
Is Conall Muirthemne in the nick of time.
(He goes to the back of stage to welcome a company of Kings who come in through the great door. The other Kings gradually get into their places. Cuchullain sits in his great chair with certain of the young men standing around him. Others of the young men, however, remain with Daire at the ale vat. Daire holds out the horn of ale to one or two of the older Kings as they pass him going to their places. They pass him by, most of them silently refusing.)
DAIRE.
Will you not drink?
AN OLD KING.
Not till the council’s over.
A YOUNG KING.
But I’ll drink, Daire.
ANOTHER YOUNG KING.
Fill me a horn too, Daire.
ANOTHER YOUNG KING.
If I’d drunk half that you have drunk to-day,
I’d be upon all fours.
DAIRE.
That would be natural
When Mother Earth had given you this good milk
From her great breasts.
CUCHULLAIN.
(To one of the young Kings beside him)
One is content awhile
With a soft warm woman who folds up our lives
In silky network. Then, one knows not why,
But one’s away after a flinty heart.
THE YOUNG KING.
How long can the net keep us?
CUCHULLAIN.
All our lives
If there are children, and a dozen moons
If there are none, because a growing child
Has so much need of watching it can make
A passion that’s as changeable as the sea
Change till it holds the wide earth to its heart.
At least I have heard a father say it, but I
Being childless do not know it. Come nearer yet;
Though he is ringing that old silver rod
We’ll have our own talk out. They cannot hear us.
(Concobar who is now seated in his great chair, opposite Cuchullain, beats upon the pillar of the house that is nearest to him with a rod of silver, till the Kings have become silent. Cuchullain alone continues to talk in a low voice to those about him, but not so loud as to disturb the silence. Concobar rises and speaks standing.)
CONCOBAR.
I have called you hither, Kings of Ullad, and Kings
Of Muirthemne and Connall Muirthemne,
And tributary Kings, for now there is peace —
It’s time to build up Emain that was burned
At the outsetting of these wars; for we,
Being the foremost men, should have high chairs
And be much stared at and wondered at, and speak
Out of more laughing overflowing hearts
Than common men. It is the art of kings
To make what’s noble nobler in men’s eyes
By wide uplifted roofs, where beaten gold,
That’s ruddy with desire, marries pale silver
Among the shadowing beams; and many a time
I would have called you hither to this work,
But always, when I’d all but summoned you,
Some war or some rebellion would break out.
DAIRE.
Where’s Maine Morgor and old Usnach’s children,
And that high-headed even-walking Queen,
And many near as great that got their death