Delphi Complete Poetry and Plays of W. B. Yeats (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)
Page 86
Nor moist, nor faltering; they are no girl’s eyes.
(He covers his had. The GUARDIAN OF THE WELL throws off her cloak and rises. Her dress under the cloak suggests a hawk)
YOUNG MAN Why do you fix those eyes of a hawk
upon me?
I am not afraid of you, bird, woman, or witch.
(He goes to the side of the well, which the GUARD-IAN OF THE WELL has left)
Do what you will, I shall not leave this place
Till I have grown immortal like yourself.
(He has sat down; the GUARDIAN OF THE WELL has begun to dance, moving like a hawk. The OLD MAN sleeps. The dance goes on for some time)
FIRST MUSICIAN (Singing or half-singing)
0 God, protect me
From a horrible deathless body
Sliding through the veins of a sudden.
(The dance goes on for some time. The YOUNG MAN rises slowly)
FIRST MUSICIAN (Speaking) The madness has laid hold upon him now,
For he grows pale and staggers to his feet. (The dance goes on)
YOUNG MAN Run where you will,
Grey bird , you shall be perched upon my wrist.
Some were called queens and yet have been perched there.
(The dance goes on)
FIRST MUSICIAN (Speaking) I have heard water plash; it comes, it comes;
Look where it glitters. He has heard the plash;
Look, he has turned his head.
(The GUARDIAN OF THE WELL has gone out. The YOUNG MAN drops his spear, as if in a dream and goes out)
MUSICIANS (Singing)
He has lost what may not be found
Till men heap his burial-mound
And all the history ends.
He might have lived at his ease,
An old dog’s head on his knees,
Among his children and friends.
(The OLD MAN creeps up to the well)
OLD MAN The accursed shadows have deluded me,
The stones are dark and yet the well is empty;
The water flowed and emptied while I slept.
You have deluded me my whole life through,
Accursed dancers, you have stolen my life.
That there should be such evil in a Shadow!
YOUNG MAN (Entering) She has fled from me and hidden in the rocks.
OLD MAN She has but led you from the fountain. Look!
Though stones and leaves are dark where it has flowed,
There’s not a drop to drink.
(The MUSICIANS cry “Aoife!” “Aoife!” and strike gong)
YOUNG MAN What are those cries?
What is that Sound that runs along the hill?
Who are they that beat a sword upon a shield?
OLD MAN She has roused up the fierce women of the hills,
Aoife, and all her troop, to take your life,
And never till you are lying in the earth Can you know rest.
[Note: Aoife was a warrior queen whom Cuhulain defeated in battle. The two subsequently became lovers. After his departure, Aoife bore Cuchulain a son, Conlaoch, who was later killed by his, father unwittingly, in combat.]
YOUNG MAN The clash of arms again!
OLD MAN 0, do not go! The mountain is accursed;
Stay with me, I have nothing more to lose,
I do not now deceive you.
YOUNG MAN I will face them.
(He goes out, no longer, as if in dream, but shouldering his spear, and calling)
He comes! Cuchulain, son of Sualtim, comes!
(The MUSICIANS stand up; one goes to centre with folded cloth. The others unfold it. While they do so they sing. During the singing, and while hidden by the cloth, the OLD MAN goes out. When the play is performed with Mr. Dulac’s music, the musicians do not rise or unfold the cloth till after they have sung the words “a bitter life.”)
(Songs for the unfolding and folding of the cloth)
Come to me, human faces,
Familiar memories;
I have found hateful eyes
Among the desolate places,
Unfaltering, unmoistened eyes.
Folly alone I cherish,
I choose it for my share;
Being but a mouthful of air,
I am content to perish;
I am but a mouthful of Sweet air.
O lamentable shadows,
Obscurity of strife!
I choose a pleasant life
Among indolent meadows;
Wisdom must live a bitter life.
(Then they fold up the cloth, singing)
“The man that I praise,”
Cries out the empty well,
“Lives all his days
Where a hand on the bell
Can call the milch cows
To the comfortable door of his house.
Who but an idiot would praise
Dry stones in a well?”
“The man that I praise,”
Cries out the leafless tree,
“Has married and stays
By an old hearth, and he
On naught has set store
But children. and dogs on the floor.
Who but an idiot would praise
A withered tree?”
(They go out)
Curtain
THE DREAMING OF THE BONES
The stage is any bare place in a room close to the wall. A screen with a pattern of mountain and sky can stand against the wall, or a curtain with a like pattern hang upon it, but the pattern must only symbolize or suggest. One musician enters and then two others, the first stands singing while the others take their places. Then all three sit down against the wall by their instruments, which are already there — a drum, a zither, and a flute. Or they unfold a cloth as in ‘The Hawk’s Well,’ while the instruments are carried in.
FIRST MUSICIAN
(or all three musicians, singing) Why does my heart beat so? Did not a shadow pass? It passed but a moment ago. Who can have trod in the grass? What rogue is night-wandering? Have not old writers said That dizzy dreams can spring From the dry bones of the dead? And many a night it seems That all the valley fills With those fantastic dreams. They overflow the hills, So passionate is a shade, Like wine that fills to the top A grey-green cup of jade, Or maybe an agate cup. (speaking) The hour before dawn and the moon covered up. The little village of Abbey is covered up; The little narrow trodden way that runs From the white road to the Abbey of Corcomroe Is covered up; and all about the hills Are like a circle of Agate or of Jade. Somewhere among great rocks on the scarce grass Birds cry, they cry their loneliness. Even the sunlight can be lonely here, Even hot noon is lonely. I hear a footfall — A young man with a lantern comes this way. He seems an Aran fisher, for he wears The flannel bawneen and the cow-hide shoe. He stumbles wearily, and stumbling prays.
(A young man enters, praying in Irish)
Once more the birds cry in their loneliness, But now they wheel about our heads; and now They have dropped on the grey stone to the north-east.
(A man and a girl both in the costume of a past time, come in. They wear heroic masks)
YOUNG MAN
(raising his lantern) Who is there? I cannot see what you are like, Come to the light.
STRANGER
But what have you to fear?
YOUNG MAN
And why have you come creeping through the dark.
(The Girl blows out lantern)
The wind has blown my lantern out. Where are you? I saw a pair of heads against the sky And lost them after, but you are in the right I should not be afraid in County Clare; And should be or should not be have no choice, I have to put myself into your hands, Now that my candle’s out.
STRANGER
You have fought in Dublin?
YOUNG MAN
I was in the Post Office, and if taken I shall be put against a wall and shot.
STRANGER
You know some place of refuge, have some plan Or friend who will come to meet you?
YOUNG MAN
I am to lie At daybreak on the mountain and keep watch Until an Aran coracle puts in At Muckanish or at the rocky shore Under Finvarra, but would break my neck If I went stumbling there alone in the dark.
STRANGER
We know the pathways that the sheep tread out, And all the hiding-places of the hills, And that they had better hiding-places once.
YOUNG MAN
You’d say they had better before English robbers Cut down the trees or set them upon fire For fear their owners might find shelter there. What is that sound?
STRANGER
An old horse gone astray He has been wandering on the road all night.
YOUNG MAN
I took him for a man and horse. Police Are out upon the roads. In the late Rising I think there was no man of us but hated To fire at soldiers who but did their duty And were not of our race, but when a man Is born in Ireland and of Irish stock When he takes part against us —
STRANGER
I will put you safe, No living man shall set his eyes upon you. I will not answer for the dead.
YOUNG MAN
The dead?
STRANGER
For certain days the stones where you must lie Have in the hour before the break of day Been haunted.
YOUNG MAN
But I was not born at midnight.
STRANGER
Many a man born in the full daylight Can see them plain, will pass them on the high-road Or in the crowded market-place of the town, And never know that they have passed.
YOUNG MAN
My Grandam Would have it they did penance everywhere Or lived through their old lives again.
STRANGER
In a dream; And some for an old scruple must hang spitted Upon the swaying tops of lofty trees; Some are consumed in fire, some withered up By hail and sleet out of the wintry North, And some but live through their old lives again.
YOUNG MAN
Well, let them dream into what shape they please And fill waste mountains with the invisible tumult Of the fantastic conscience. I have no dread; They cannot put me into jail or shoot me, And seeing that their blood has returned to fields That have grown red from drinking blood like mine They would not if they could betray.
STRANGER
This pathway Runs to the ruined Abbey of Corcomroe; The Abbey passed, we are soon among the stone And shall be at the ridge before the cocks Of Aughanish or Bailevlehan Or grey Aughtmana shake their wings and cry.
(They go round the stage once)
FIRST MUSICIAN
(speaking) They’ve passed the shallow well and the flat stone Fouled by the drinking cattle, the narrow lane Where mourners for five centuries have carried Noble or peasant to his burial. An owl is crying out above their heads. (singing) Why should the heart take fright What sets it beating so? The bitter sweetness of the night Has made it but a lonely thing. Red bird of March, begin to crow, Up with the neck and clap the wing, Red cock, and crow.
(They go once round the stage. The first musician speaks.)
And now they have climbed through the long grassy field And passed the ragged thorn trees and the gap In the ancient hedge; and the tomb-nested owl At the foot’s level beats with a vague wing. (singing) My head is in a cloud; I’d let the whole world go. My rascal heart is proud Remembering and remembering. Red bird of March, begin to crow, Up with the neck and clap the wing Red cock and crow.
(They go round the stage. The first musician speaks.)
They are among the stones above the ash Above the briar and thorn and the scarce grass; Hidden amid the shadow far below them The cat-headed bird is crying out. (singing) The dreaming bones cry out Because the night winds blow And heaven’s a cloudy blot; Calamity can have its fling. Red bird of March begin to crow, Up with the neck and clap the wing Red cock and crow.
THE STRANGER
We’re almost at the summit and can rest. The road is a faint shadow there; and there The abbey lies amid its broken tombs. In the old days we should have heard a bell Calling the monks before day broke to pray; And when the day has broken on the ridge, The crowing of its cocks.
YOUNG MAN
Is there no house Famous for sanctity or architectural beauty In Clare or Kerry, or in all wide Connacht The enemy has not unroofed?
STRANGER
Close to the altar Broken by wind and frost and worn by time Donogh O’Brien has a tomb, a name in Latin. He wore fine clothes and knew the secrets of women But he rebelled against the King of Thomond And died in his youth.
YOUNG MAN
And why should he rebel? The King of Thomond was his rightful master. It was men like Donogh who made Ireland weak — My curse on all that troop, and when I die I’ll leave my body, if I have any choice, Far from his ivy tod and his owl; have those Who, if your tale is true, work out a penance Upon the mountain-top where I am to hide, Come from the Abbey graveyard?
THE GIRL
They have not that luck, But are more lonely, those that are buried there, Warred in the heat of the blood; if they were rebels Some momentary impulse made them rebels Or the comandment of some petty king Who hated Thomond. Being but common sinners, No callers in of the alien from oversea They and their enemies of Thomond’s party Mix in a brief dream battle above their bones, Or make one drove or drift in amity, Or in the hurry of the heavenly round Forget their earthly names; these are alone Being accursed.
YOUNG MAN
And if what seems is true And there are more upon the other side Than on this side of death, many a ghost Must meet them face to face and pass the word Even upon this grey and desolate hill.
YOUNG GIRL
Until this hour no ghost or living man Has spoken though seven centuries have run Since they, weary of life and of men’s eyes, Flung down their bones in some forgotten place Being accursed.
YOUNG MAN
I have heard that there are souls Who, having sinned after a monstrous fashion Take on them, being dead, a monstrous image To drive the living, should they meet its face, Crazy, and be a terror to the dead.
YOUNG GIRL
But these Were comely even in their middle life And carry, now that they are dead, the image Of their first youth, for it was in that youth Their sin began.
YOUNG MAN
I have heard of angry ghosts Who wander in a wilful solitude.
THE GIRL
These have no thought but love; nor joy But that upon the instant when their penance Draws to its height and when two hearts are wrung Nearest to breaking, if hearts of shadows break, His eyes can mix with hers; nor any pang That is so bitter as that double glance, Being accursed.
YOUNG MAN
But what is this strange penance — That when their eyes have met can wring them most?
THE GIRL
Though eyes can meet, their lips can never meet.
YOUNG MAN
And yet it seems they wander side by side. But doubtless you would say that when lips meet And have not living nerves, it is no meeting.
THE GIRL
Although they have no blood or living nerves Who once lay warm and live the live-long night In one another’s arms, and know their part In life, being now but of the people of dreams, Is a dreams part; although they are but shadows Hovering between a thorn tree and a stone Who have heaped up night on winged night; although No shade however harried and consumed Would change his own calamity for theirs, Their manner of life were blessed could their lips A moment meet; but when he has bent his head Close to her head or hand would slip in hand The memory of their crime flows up between And drives them apart.
YOUNG MAN
The memory of a crime — He took her from a husband’s house it may be, But does the penance for a passionate sin Last for so many centuries?
THE GIRL
No, no, The man she chose, the man she was chosen by Cared little and cares little from whose house They fled towards dawn amid the flights of arrows Or that it was a husband’s and a king’s; And how if that were all could she lac
k friends On crowded roads or on the unpeopled hill? Helen herself had opened wide the door Where night by night she dreams herself awake And gathers to her breast a dreaming man.
YOUNG MAN
What crime can stay so in the memory? What crime can keep apart the lips of lovers Wandering and alone?
THE GIRL
Her king and lover Was overthrown in battle by her husband And for her sake and for his own, being blind And bitter and bitterly in love, he brought A foreign army from across the sea.
YOUNG MAN
You speak of Dermot and of Dervorgilla Who brought the Norman in?
THE GIRL
Yes, yes I spoke Of that most miserable, most accursed pair Who sold their country into slavery, and yet They were not wholly miserable and accursed If somebody of their race at last would say: ‘I have forgiven them.’
YOUNG MAN
Oh, never, never Will Dermot and Dervorgilla be forgiven.
THE GIRL
If someone of their race forgave at last Lip would be pressed on lip.
YOUNG MAN
Oh, never, never Will Dermot and Dervorgilla be forgiven. You have told your story well, so well indeed I could not help but fall into the mood And for a while believe that it was true Or half believe, but better push on now. The horizon to the East is growing bright.