  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 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. What is it? “Father”—“Mother”; that is it; Your father sends this message. 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. Thrust that old cloak of yours into your mouth Till it’s done gabbling. 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. Let go my habit, Seanchan. 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. Curtain. |
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