NORA (helping CATHLEEN to close the bundle). We'll put them here in the corner.
(They put them into a hole in the chimney corner. CATHLEEN goes back to the spinning wheel.)
NORA. Will she see it was crying I was?
CATHLEEN. Keep your back to the door the way the light'll not be on you.
(NORA sits down at the chimney corner, with her back to the door. MAURYA comes in very slowly, without looking at the girls, and goes over to her stool at the other side of the fire. The cloth with the bread is still in her hand. The girls look at each other, and NORA points to the bundle of bread.)
CATHLEEN (offer spinning for a moment), You didn't give him his bit of bread?
(MAURYA begins to keen softly, without turning round.)
CATHLEEN. Did you see him riding down?
(MAURYA goes on keening.)
CATHLEEN (a little impatiently). God forgive you; isn't it a better thing to raise your voice and tell what you seen, than to be making lamentation for a thing that's done? Did you see Bartley, I'm saying to you.
MAURYA (with a weak voice). My heart's broken from this day.
CATHLEEN (as before). Did you see Bartley?
MAURYA. I seen the fearfulest thing.
CATHLEEN (leaves her wheel and looks out). God forgive you; he's riding the mare now over the green head, and the gray pony behind him.
MAURYA (starts, so that her shawl falls back from her head and shows her white tossed hair; with a frightened voice). The gray pony behind him.
CATHLEEN (coming to the fire). What is it ails you, at all?
MAURYA (speaking very slowly). I've seen the fearfulest thing any person has seen, since the day Bride Dara seen the dead man with the child in his arms.
CATHLEEN AND NORA. Uah.
(They crouch down in front of the old woman at the fire.)
NORA. Tell us what it is you seen.
MAURYA. I went down to the spring-well, and I stood there saying a prayer to myself. Then Bartley came along, and he riding on the red mare with the gray pony behind him. (She puts up her hands, as if to hide something from her eyes.) The Son of God spare us, Nora!
CATHLEEN. What is it you seen?
MAURYA. I seen Michael himself.
CATHLEEN (speaking softly). You did not, mother; it wasn't Michael you seen, for his body is after being found in the far north, and he's got a clean burial by the grace of God.
MAURYA (a little defiantly). I'm after seeing him this day, and he riding and galloping. Bartley came first on the red mare; and I tried to say "God speed you," but something choked the words in my throat. He went by quickly; and, "The blessing of God on you," says he, and I could say nothing. I looked up then, and I crying, at the gray pony, and there was Michael upon it—with fine clothes on him, and new shoes on his feet.
CATHLEEN (begins to keen). It's destroyed we are from this day.
It's destroyed, surely.
NORA. Didn't the young priest say the Almighty God wouldn't leave her destitute with no son living?
MAUKYA (in a low voice, but clearly). It's little the like of him knows of the sea…. Bartley will be lost now, and let you call in Eamon and make me a good coffin out of the white boards, for I won't live after them. I've had a husband, and a husband's father, and six sons in this house—six fine men, though it was a hard birth I had with every one of them and they coming to the world—and some of them were found and some of them were not found, but they're gone now, the lot of them…. There were Stephen, and Shawn, were lost in the great wind, and found after in the Bay of Gregory of the Golden Mouth, and carried up the two of them on the one plank, and in by that door.
(She pauses for a moment, the girls start as if they heard something through the door that is half-open behind them.)
NORA (in a whisper). Did you hear that, Cathleen? Did you hear a noise in the northeast?
CATHLEEN (in a whisper). There's someone after crying out by the seashore.
MAURYA (continues without hearing anything). There was Sheamus and his father, and his own father again, were lost in a dark night, and not a stick or sign was seen of them when the sun went up. There was Patch after was drowned out of a curagh that turned over. I was sitting here with Bartley, and he a baby, lying on my two knees, and I seen two women, and three women, and four women coming in, and they crossing themselves, and not saying a word. I looked out then, and there were men coming after them, and they holding a thing in the half of a red sail, and water dripping out of it—it was a dry day, Nora—and leaving a track to the door.
(She pauses again with her hand stretched out towards the door. It opens softly and old women begin to come in, crossing themselves on the threshold, and kneeling down in front of the stage with red petticoats over their heads.)
MAURYA (half in a dream, to Cathleen). Is it Patch, or Michael, or what is it at all?
CATHLEEN. Michael is after being found in the far north, and when he is found there how could he be here in this place?
MAURYA. There does be a power of young men floating round in the sea, and what way would they know if it was Michael they had, or another man like him, for when a man is nine days in the sea, and the wind blowing, it's hard set his own mother would be to say what man was it.
CATHLEEN. It's Michael, God spare him, for they're after sending us a bit of his clothes from the far north.
(She reaches out and hands MAURYA the clothes that belonged to MICHAEL. MAURYA stands up slowly, and takes them in her hands. NORA looks out.)
NORA. They're carrying a thing among them and there's water dripping out of it and leaving a track by the big stones.
CATHLEEN (in a whisper to the women who have come in). Is it
Bartley it is?
ONE OF THE WOMEN. It is surely, God rest his soul.
(Two younger women come in and pull out the table. Then men carry in the body of BARTLEY, laid on a plank, with a bit of a sail over it, and lay it on the table.)
CATHLEEN (to the women, as they are doing so). What way was he drowned?
ONE OF THE WOMEN. The gray pony knocked him into the sea, and he was washed out where there is a great surf on the white rocks.
(MAURYA has gone over and knelt down at the head of the table.
The women are keening softly and swaying themselves with a slow
movement. CATHLEEN and NORA kneel at the other end of the table.
The men kneel near the door.)
MAURYA (raising her head and speaking as if she did not see the people around her). They're all gone now, and there isn't anything more the sea can do to me…. I'll have no call now to be up crying and praying when the wind breaks from the south, and you can hear the surf is in the east, and the surf is in the west, making a great stir with the two noises, and they hitting one on the other. I'll have no call now to be going down and getting Holy Water in the dark nights after Samhain, and I won't care what way the sea is when the other women will be keening. (To NORA) Give me the Holy Water, Nora; there's a small sup still on the dresser.
(NORA gives it to her.)
MAURYA (drops MICHAEL'S clothes across BARTLEY'S feet, and sprinkles the Holy Water over him). It isn't that I haven't prayed for you, BARTLEY, to the Almighty God. It isn't that I haven't said prayers in the dark night till you wouldn't know what I'd be saying; but it's a great rest I'll have now, and it's time surely. It's a great rest I'll have now, and great sleeping in the long nights after Samhain, if it's only a bit of wet flour we do have to eat, and maybe a fish that would be stinking.
(She kneels down again, crossing herself, and saying prayers under her breath.)
CATHLEEN (to an old man). Maybe yourself and Eamon would make a coffin when the sun rises. We have fine white boards herself bought, God help her, thinking Michael would be found, and I have a new cake you can eat while you'll be working.
THE OLD MAN (looking at the boards). Are there nails with them?
CATHLEEN. There are not, Colum; we didn't think of the nails.
ANOTHER MAN. It's a great wonder she wouldn't think of the nails, and all the coffins she's seen made already.
CATHLEEN. It's getting old she is, and broken.
(MAURYA stands up again very slowly and spreads out the pieces of MICHAEL'S clothes beside the body, sprinkling them with the last of the Holy Water.)
NORA (in a whisper to CATHLEEN). She's quiet now and easy; but the day Michael was drowned you could hear her crying out from this to the spring-well. It's fonder she was of Michael, and would anyone have thought that?
CATHLEEN (slowly and clearly). An old woman will be soon tired with anything she will do, and isn't it nine days herself is after crying and keening, and making great sorrow in the house?
MAURYA (puts the empty cup mouth downwards on the table, and lays her hands together on BARTLEY'S feet). They're all together this time, and the end is come. May the Almighty God have mercy on Bartley's soul, and on Michael's soul, and on the souls of Sheamus and Patch, and Stephen and Shawn (bending her head); and may He have mercy on my soul, Nora, and on the soul of everyone is left living in the world.
(She pauses, and the keen rises a little more loudly from the women, then sinks away.)
MAURYA (continuing). Michael has a clean burial in the far north, by the grace of the Almighty God. Bartley will have a fine coffin out of the white boards, and a deep grave surely. What more can we want than that? No man at all can be living for ever, and we must be satisfied.
(She kneels down again, and the curtain falls slowly).
William Butler Yeats
[Footnote 1: Reprinted by arrangement with Mr. Yeats and the
Macmillan Company, New York, publishers of Mr. Yeats's Collected
Works (1912).]
MAURTEEN BRUIN
BRIDGET BRUIN, his wife
SHAWN BRUIN, their son
MAIRE BRUIN, wife of Shawn
FATHER HART
A FAERY CHILD
SETTING: a room with a hearth on the floor in the middle of a deep alcove on the right. There are benches in the alcove, and a table; a crucifix on the wall. The alcove is full of a glow of light from the fire. There is an open door facing the audience, to the left, and to the left of this a bench. Through the door one can see the forest. It is night, but the moon or a late sunset glimmers through the trees, and carries the eye far off into a vague, mysterious world. MAURTEEN BRUIN, SHAWN BRUIN, and BRIDGET BRUIN sit in the alcove at the table, or about the fire. They are dressed in the costume of some remote time, and near them sits an old priest, FATHER HART, in the garb of a friar. There is food and drink upon the table. MAIRE BRUIN stands by the door, reading a yellow manuscript. If she looks up, she can see through the door into the wood.
BRIDGET BRUIN
Because I bade her go and feed the calves,
She took that old book down out of the thatch
And has been doubled over it all day.
We should be deafened by her groans and moans
Had she to work as some do, Father Hart,
Get up at dawn like me, and mend and scour;
Or ride abroad in the boisterous night like you,
The pyx and blessed bread under your arm.
SHAWN BRUIN
You are too cross.
BRIDGET BRUIN
The young side with the young.
MAURTEEN BRUIN
She quarrels with my wife a bit at times,
And is too deep just now in the old book!
But do not blame her greatly; she will grow
As quiet as a puff-ball in a tree
When but the moons of marriage dawn and die
For half a score of times.
FATHER HART
Their hearts are wild
As be the hearts of birds, till children come.
BRIDGET BRUIN
She would not mind the griddle, milk the cow,
Or even lay the knives and spread the cloth.
FATHER HART
I never saw her read a book before;
What may it be?
MAURTEEN BRUIN
I do not rightly know;
It has been in the thatch for fifty years.
My father told me my grandfather wrote it,
Killed a red heifer and bound it with the hide.
But draw your chair this way—supper is spread;
And little good he got out of the book,
Because it filled his house with roaming bards,
And roaming ballad-makers and the like,
And wasted all his goods.—Here is the wine:
The griddle bread's beside you, Father Hart.
Colleen, what have you got there in the book
That you must leave the bread to cool? Had I,
Or had my father, read or written books
There were no stocking stuffed with golden guineas
To come, when I am dead, to Shawn and you.
FATHER HART
You should not fill your head with foolish dreams.
What are you reading?
MARIE BRUIN
How a Princess Edane,
A daughter of a King of Ireland, heard
A voice singing on a May Eve like this,
And followed, half awake and half asleep,
Until she came into the Land of Faery,
Where nobody gets old and godly and grave,
Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise,
Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue;
And she is still there, busied with a dance,
Deep in the dewy shadow of a wood,
Or where stars walk upon a mountain-top.
MAURTEEN BRUIN
Persuade the colleen to put by the book:
My grandfather would mutter just such things,
And he was no judge of a dog or horse,
And any idle boy could blarney him:
Just speak your mind.
FATHER HART
Put it away, my colleen.
God spreads the heavens above us like great wings,
And gives a little round of deeds and days,
And then come the wrecked angels and set snares,
And bait them with light hopes and heavy dreams,
Until the heart is puffed with pride and goes,
Half shuddering and half joyous, from God's peace:
And it was some wrecked angel, blind from tears,
Who flattered Edane's heart with merry words.
My colleen, I have seen some other girls
Restless and ill at ease, but years went by
And they grew like their neighbours and were glad
In minding children, working at the churn,
And gossiping of weddings and of wakes;
For life moves out of a red flare of dreams
Into a common light of common hours,
Until old age bring the red flare again.
MAURTEEN BRUIN
That's true—but she's too young to know it's true.
BRIDGET BRUIN
She's old enough to know that it is wrong
To mope and idle.
SHAWN BRUIN
I've little blame for her;
And mother's tongue were harder still to bear,
But for her fancies: this is May Eve too,
When the good people post about the world,
And surely one may think of them to-night.
Maire, have you the primroses to fling
Before the door to make a golden path
For them to bring good luck into the house?
Remember, they may steal new-married brides
After the fall of twilight on May Eve.
(MAIRE BRUIN goes over to the window and takes flowers
from the bowl and strews them outside the door.)
FATHER HART
You do well, daughter, because God permits
Great power to the good people on May Eve.
SHAWN BRUIN
They can work all their will with primroses;
Change them to golden money, or little flames
To burn up those who do them any wrong.
MARIE BRUIN (in a dreamy voice)
I had no sooner flung them by the door
Than the wind cried and hurried them away;
And then a child came running in the wind
And caught them in her hands and fondled them:
Her dress was green: her hair was of red gold;
Her face was pale as water before dawn.
FATHER HART
Whose child can this be?
MAURTEEN BRUIN
No one's child at all.
She often dreams that someone has gone by
When there was nothing but a puff of wind.
MARIE BRUIN
They will not bring good luck into the house,
For they have blown the primroses away;
Yet I am glad that I was courteous to them,
For are not they, likewise, children of God?
FATHER HART
Colleen, they are the children of the fiend,
And they have power until the end of Time,
When God shall fight with them a great pitched battle
And hack them into pieces.
MARIE BRUIN
He will smile,
Father, perhaps, and open His great door,
And call the pretty and kind into His house.
FATHER HART
Did but the lawless angels see that door,
They would fall, slain by everlasting peace;
And when such angels knock upon our doors
Who goes with them must drive through the same storm.
(A knock at the door. MAIRE BRUIN opens it and then goes to the dresser and fills a porringer with milk and hands it through the door, and takes it back empty and closes the door.)
MARIE BRUIN
A little queer old woman cloaked in green,
Who came to beg a porringer of milk.
BRIDGET BRUIN
The good people go asking milk and fire
Upon May Eve—Woe on the house that gives,
For they have power upon it for a year.
I knew you would bring evil on the house.
MAURTEEN BRUIN
Who was she?
MARIE BRUIN
Both the tongue and face were strange.
MAURTEEN BRUIN
Some strangers came last week to Clover Hill;
She must be one of them.
BRIDGET BRUIN
I am afraid.
MAURTEEN BRUIN
The priest will keep all harm out of the house.
FATHER HART
The cross will keep all harm out of the house
While it hangs there.
MAURTEEN BRUIN
Come, sit beside me, colleen,
And put away your dreams of discontent,
For I would have you light up my last days
Like the good glow of the turf, and when I die
I will make you the wealthiest hereabout:
For hid away where nobody can find
I have a stocking full of yellow guineas.
BRIDGET BRUIN
You are the fool of every pretty face,
And I must pinch and pare that my son's wife
May have all kinds of ribbons for her head.
MAURTEEN BRUIN
Do not be cross; she is a right good girl!
The butter is by your elbow, Father Hart.
My colleen, have not Fate and Time and Change
Done well for me and for old Bridget there?
We have a hundred acres of good land,
And sit beside each other at the fire,
The wise priest of our parish to our right,
And you and our dear son to left of us.
To sit beside the board and drink good wine
And watch the turf smoke coiling from the fire
And feel content and wisdom in your heart,
This is the best of life; when we are young
We long to tread a way none trod before,
But find the excellent old way through love
And through the care of children to the hour
For bidding Fate and Time and Change good-bye.
(A knock at the door. MAIRE BRUIN opens it and then
takes a sod of turf out of the hearth in the tongs and
goes out through the door. SHAWN follows her and
meets her coming in.)
SHAWN BRUIN
What is it draws you to the chill o' the wood?
There is a light among the stems of the trees
That makes one shiver.
MARIE BRUIN
A little queer old man
Made me a sign to show he wanted fire
To light his pipe.
BRIDGET BRUIN
You've given milk and fire,
Upon the unluckiest night of the year, and brought,
For all you know, evil upon the house.
Before you married you were idle and fine,
And went about with ribbons on your head;
And now—no, father, I will speak my mind,
She is not a fitting wife for any man—
SHAWN BRUIN
Be quiet, mother!
MAURTEEN BRUIN
You are much too cross!
MARIE BRUIN
What do I care if I have given this house,
Where I must hear all day a bitter tongue,
Into the power of faeries!
BRIDGET BRUIN
You know well
How calling the good people by that name
Or talking of them over much at all
May bring all kinds of evil on the house.
MARIE BRUIN
Come, faeries, take me out of this dull house!
Let me have all the freedom I have lost;
Work when I will and idle when I will!
Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
For I would ride with you upon the wind,
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame!
FATHER HART
You cannot know the meaning of your words.
MARIE BRUIN
Father, I am right weary of four tongues:
A tongue that is too crafty and too wise,
A tongue that is too godly and too grave,
A tongue that is more bitter than the tide,
And a kind tongue too full of drowsy love,
Of drowsy love and my captivity.
(SHAWN BRUIN comes over to her and leads her to the
settle.)
SHAWN BRUIN
Do not blame me: I often lie awake
Thinking that all things trouble your bright head—
How beautiful it is—such broad pale brows
Under a cloudy blossoming of hair!
Sit down beside me here—these are too old,
And have forgotten they were ever young.
MARIE BRUIN
Oh, you are the great door-post of this house,
And I, the red nasturtium, climbing up.
(She takes SHAWN'S hand, but looks shyly at the priest
and lets it go.)
FATHER HART
Good daughter, take his hand—by love alone
God binds us to Himself and to the hearth
And shuts us from the waste beyond His peace,
From maddening freedom and bewildering light.
SHAWN BRUIN
Would that the world were mine to give it you
With every quiet hearth and barren waste,
The maddening freedom of its woods and tides,
And the bewildering light upon its hills.
MARIE BRUIN
Then I would take and break it in my hands
To see you smile watching it crumble away.
SHAWN BRUIN
Then I would mould a world of fire and dew
With no one bitter, grave, or over wise,
And nothing marred or old to do you wrong,
And crowd the enraptured quiet of the sky
With candles burning to your lonely face.
MARIE BRUIN
Your looks are all the candles that I need.
SHAWN BRUIN
Once a fly dancing in a beam of the sun,
Or the light wind blowing out of the dawn,
Could fill your heart with dreams none other knew,
But now the indissoluble sacrament
Has mixed your heart that was most proud and cold
With my warm heart forever; and sun and moon
Must fade and heaven be rolled up like a scroll;
But your white spirit still walk by my spirit.
(A VOICE sings in the distance.)
MARIE BRUIN
Did you hear something call? Oh, guard me close,
Because I have said wicked things to-night;
And seen a pale-faced child with red-gold hair,
And longed to dance upon the winds with her.
A VOICE (close to the door)
The wind blows out of the gates of the day,
The wind blows over the lonely of heart
And the lonely of heart is withered away,
While the faeries dance in a place apart,
Shaking their milk-white feet in a ring,
Tossing their milk-white arms in the air;
For they hear the wind laugh, and murmur and sing
Of a land where even the old are fair,
And even the wise are merry of tongue;
But I heard a reed of Coolaney say,
"When the wind has laughed and murmured and sung,
The lonely of heart is withered away!"
MAURTEEN BRUIN
I am right happy, and would make all else
Be happy too. I hear a child outside,
And will go bring her in out of the cold.
(He opens the door. A CHILD dressed in pale green and
with red-gold hair comes into the house.)
THE CHILD
I tire of winds and waters and pale lights!
MAURTEEN BRUIN
You are most welcome. It is cold out there;
Who would think to face such cold on a May Eve?
THE CHILD
And when I tire of this warm little house
There is one here who must away, away,
To where the woods, the stars, and the white streams
Are holding a continual festival.
MAURTEEN BRUIN
Oh, listen to her dreamy and strange talk.
Come to the fire.
THE CHILD
I will sit upon your knee,
For I have run from where the winds are born,
And long to rest my feet a little while.
(She sits upon his knee.)
BRIDGET BRUIN
How pretty you are!
MAURTEEN BRUIN
Your hair is wet with dew!
BRIDGET BRUIN
I will warm your chilly feet.
(She takes the child's feet in her hands.)
MAURTEEN BRUIN
You must have come
A long, long way, for I have never seen
Your pretty face, and must be tired and hungry;
Here is some bread and wine.
THE CHILD
The wine is bitter.
Old mother, have you no sweet food for me?
BRIDGET BRUIN
I have some honey!
(She goes into the next room.)
MAURTEEN BRUIN
You are a dear child;
The mother was quite cross before you came.
(BRIDGET returns with the honey, and goes to the dresser
and fills a porringer with milk.)
BRIDGET BRUIN
She is the child of gentle people; look
At her white hands and at her pretty dress.
I've brought you some new milk, but wait awhile,
And I will put it by the fire to warm,
For things well fitted for poor folk like us
Would never please a high-born child like you.
THE CHILD
Old mother, my old mother, the green dawn
Brightens above while you blow up the fire;
And evening finds you spreading the white cloth.
The young may lie in bed and dream and hope,
But you work on because your heart is old.
BRIDGET BRUIN
The young are idle.
THE CHILD
Old father, you are wise
And all the years have gathered in your heart
To whisper of the wonders that are gone.
The young must sigh through many a dream and hope,
But you are wise because your heart is old.
MAURTEEN BRUIN
Oh, who would think to find so young a child
Loving old age and wisdom?
(BRIDGET gives her more bread and honey.)
THE CHILD
No more, mother.
MAURTEEN BRUIN
What a small bite! The milk is ready now;
What a small sip!
THE CHILD
Put on my shoes, old mother,
For I would like to dance now I have eaten.
The reeds are dancing by Coolaney lake,
And I would like to dance until the reeds
And the white waves have danced themselves to sleep.
BRIDGET
(Having put on her shoes, she gets off the old man's knees
and is about to dance, but suddenly sees the crucifix
and shrieks and covers her eyes.)
What is that ugly thing on the black cross?
FATHER HART
You cannot know how naughty your words are!
That is our Blessed Lord!
THE CHILD
Hide it away!
BRIDGET BRUIN
I have begun to be afraid, again!
THE CHILD
Hide it away!
MAURTEEN BRUIN
That would be wickedness!
BRIDGET BRUIN
That would be sacrilege!
THE CHILD
The tortured thing!
Hide it away!
MAURTEEN BRUIN
Her parents are to blame.
FATHER HART
That is the image of the Son of God.
(THE CHILD puts her arm around his neck and kisses him.)
THE CHILD
Hide it away! Hide it away!
MAURTEEN BRUIN
No! no!
FATHER HART
Because you are so young and little a child
I will go take it down.
THE CHILD
Hide it away,
And cover it out of sight and out of mind.
(FATHER HART takes it down and carries it towards the
inner room.)
FATHER HART
Since you have come into this barony
I will instruct you in our blessed faith:
Being a clever child you will soon learn.
(To the others)
We must be tender with all budding things.
Our Maker let no thought of Calvary
Trouble the morning stars in their first song.
(Puts the crucifix in the inner room.)
THE CHILD
Here is level ground for dancing. I will dance.
The wind is blowing on the waving reeds,
The wind is blowing on the heart of man.
(She dances, swaying about like the reeds.)
MAIRE (to SHAWN BRUIN)
Just now when she came near I thought I heard
Other small steps beating upon the floor,
And a faint music blowing in the wind,
Invisible pipes giving her feet the time.
SHAWN BRUIN
I heard no step but hers.
MARIE BRUIN
Look to the bolt!
Because the unholy powers are abroad.
MAURTEEN BRUIN (to THE CHILD)
Come over here, and if you promise me
Not to talk wickedly of holy things
I will give you something.
THE CHILD
Bring it me, old father!
(MAURTEEN BRUIN goes into the next room.)
FATHER HART
I will have queen cakes when you come to me!
(MAURTEEN BRUIN returns and lays a piece of money on
the table. THE CHILD makes a gesture of refusal.)
MAURTEEN BRUIN
It will buy lots of toys; see how it glitters!
THE CHILD
Come, tell me, do you love me?
MAURTEEN BRUIN
I love you!
THE CHILD
Ah! but you love this fireside!
FATHER HART
I love you.
When the Almighty puts so great a share
Of His own ageless youth into a creature,
To look is but to love.
THE CHILD
But you love Him above.
BRIDGET BRUIN
She is blaspheming.
THE CHILD (to MAIRE)
And do you love me?
MARIE BRUIN
I—I do not know.
THE CHILD
You love that great tall fellow over there:
Yet I could make you ride upon the winds,
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame!
MARIE BRUIN
Queen of the Angels and kind Saints, defend us!
Some dreadful fate has fallen: a while ago
The wind cried out and took the primroses,
And she ran by me laughing in the wind,
And I gave milk and fire, and she came in
And made you hide the blessed crucifix.
FATHER HART
You fear because of her wild, pretty prattle;
She knows no better.
(To THE CHILD)
Child, how old are you?
THE CHILD
When winter sleep is abroad my hair grows thin,
My feet unsteady. When the leaves awaken
My mother carries me in her golden arms.
I will soon put on my womanhood and marry
The spirits of wood and water, but who can tell
When I was born for the first time? I think
I am much older than the eagle cock
That blinks and blinks on Ballygawley Hill,
And he is the oldest thing under the moon.
FATHER HART
She is of the faery people.
THE CHILD
I am Brig's daughter.
I sent my messengers for milk and fire,
And then I heard one call to me and came.
(They all except SHAWN and MAIRE BRUIN gather
behind the priest for protection.)
SHAWN (rising)
Though you have made all these obedient,
You have not charmed my sight, and won from me
A wish or gift to make you powerful;
I'll turn you from the house.
FATHER HART
No, I will face her.
THE CHILD
Because you took away the crucifix
I am so mighty that there's none can pass
Unless I will it, where my feet have danced
Or where I've twirled my finger tops.
(SHAWN tries to approach her and cannot.)
MAURTEEN
Look, look!
There something stops him—look how he moves his hands
As though he rubbed them on a wall of glass.
FATHER HART
I will confront this mighty spirit alone.
(They cling to him and hold him back.)
THE CHILD (while she strews primroses)
No one whose heart is heavy with human tears
Can cross these little cressets of the wood.
FATHER HART
Be not afraid, the Father is with us,
And all the nine angelic hierarchies,
The Holy Martyrs and the Innocents,
The adoring Magi in their coats of mail,
And He who died and rose on the third day,
And Mary with her seven times wounded heart.
(THE CHILD ceases strewing the primroses, and kneels upon the settle beside MAIRE and puts her arms about her neck.)
Cry, daughter, to the Angels and the Saints.
THE CHILD
You shall go with me, newly married bride,
And gaze upon a merrier multitude;
White-armed Nuala, Aengus of the birds,
Feacra of the hurtling foam, and him
Who is the ruler of the Western Host,
Finvarra, and their Land of Heart's Desire,
Where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood,
But joy is wisdom, Time an endless song.
I kiss you and the world begins to fade.
FATHER HART
Daughter, I call you unto home and love!
THE CHILD
Stay, and come with me, newly married bride,
For, if you hear him, you grow like the rest:
Bear children, cook, be mindful of the churn,
And wrangle over butter, fowl, and eggs,
And sit at last there, old and bitter of tongue,
Watching the white stars war upon your hopes.
SHAWN
Awake out of that trance, and cover up
Your eyes and ears.
FATHER HART
She must both look and listen,
For only the soul's choice can save her now.
Daughter, I point you out the way to heaven.
THE CHILD
But I can lead you, newly married bride,
Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise,
Where nobody gets old and godly and grave,
Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue,
And where kind tongues bring no captivity;
For we are only true to the far lights
We follow singing, over valley and hill.
FATHER HART
By the dear name of the one crucified,
I bid you, Maire Bruin, come to me.
THE CHILD
I keep you in the name of your own heart!
(She leaves the settle, and stooping takes up a mass
of primroses and kisses them.)
We have great power to-night, dear golden folk,
For he took down and hid the crucifix.
And my invisible brethren fill the house;
I hear their footsteps going up and down.
Oh, they shall soon rule all the hearts of men
And own all lands; last night they merrily danced
About his chapel belfry! (To MAIRE) Come away,
I hear my brethren bidding us away!
FATHER HART
I will go fetch the crucifix again.
(They hang about him in terror and prevent him from
moving.)
BRIDGET BRUIN
The enchanted flowers will kill us if you go.
MAURTEEN BRUIN
They turn the flowers to little twisted flames.
SHAWN BRUIN
The little twisted flames burn up the heart.
THE CHILD
I hear them crying, "Newly married bride,
Come to the woods and waters and pale lights."
MARIE BRUIN
I will go with you.
FATHER HART
She is lost, alas!
THE CHILD (standing by the door)
But clinging mortal hope must fall from you:
For we who ride the winds, run on the waves
And dance upon the mountains, are more light
Than dewdrops on the banners of the dawn.
MARIE BRUIN
Oh, take me with you.
(SHAWN BRUIN goes over to her.)
SHAWN BRUIN
Beloved, do not leave me!
Remember when I met you by the well
And took your hand in mine and spoke of love.
MARIE BRUIN
Dear face! Dear voice!
THE CHILD
Come, newly married bride!
MARIE BRUIN
I always loved her world—and yet—and yet—
(Sinks into his arms.)
THE CHILD (from the door)
White bird, white bird, come with me, little bird.
MARIE BRUIN
She calls to me!
THE CHILD
Come with me, little bird!
MARIE BRUIN
I can hear songs and dancing!
SHAWN BRUIN
Stay with me!
MARIE BRUIN
I think that I would stay—and yet—and yet—
THE CHILD
Come, little bird with crest of gold!
MARIE BRUIN (very softly)
And yet—
THE CHILD
Come, little bird with silver feet!
(MAIRE dies, and the child goes.)
SHAWN BRUIN
She is dead!
BRIDGET BRUIN
Come from that image: body and soul are gone.
You have thrown your arms about a drift of leaves
Or bole of an ash tree changed into her image.
FATHER HART
Thus do the spirits of evil snatch their prey
Almost out of the very hand of God;
And day by day their power is more and more,
And men and women leave old paths, for pride
Comes knocking with thin knuckles on the heart.
A VOICE (singing outside)
The wind blows out of the gates of the day,
The wind blows over the lonely of heart,
And the lonely of heart is withered away
While the faeries dance in a place apart,
Shaking their milk-white feet in a ring,
Tossing their milk-white arms in the air;
For they hear the wind laugh and murmur and sing
Of a land where even the old are fair,
And even the wise are merry of tongue;
But I heard a reed of Coolaney say,
"When the wind has laughed and murmured and sung,
The lonely of heart is withered away."
(The song is taken up by many voices, who sing loudly, as if in triumph. Some of the voices seem to come from within the house.)
Gordon Bottomley
[Footnote 1: This play is reprinted by permission of and by arrangement with Constable and Company, Limited, London.]
GUNNAR HAMUNDSSON
HALLGERD LONGCOAT, his wife
RANNVEIG, his mother
ODDNY, ASTRID, and STEINVOR, Hallgerd's housewomen
ORMILD, a woman thrall
BIARTEY, JOFRID, and GUDFINN, beggar-women
GIZUR THE WHITE, MORD VALGARDSSON, THORGRIM THE
EASTERLING, THORBRAND THORLEIKSSON and ASBRAND
his brother, AUNUND, THORGEIB, and HROALD,
riders
MANY OTHER RIDERS AND VOICES OF RIDERS
TIME: Iceland, A.D. 990
The side wall is low and wainscoted with carved panelling on which hang weapons, shields, and coats of mail. In one place a panel slid aside shews a shut bed.
In front of the panelling are two long benches with a carved high-seat between them. Across the end of the hall are similar panellings and the seats, with corresponding tables, of the women's dais; behind these and in the gable wall is a high narrow door with a rounded top.
A timber roof slopes down to the side wall and is upheld by cross-beams and two rows of tall pillars which make a rather narrow nave of the centre of the hall. One of these rows runs parallel to the side wall, the pair of pillars before the high-seat being carved and ended with images; of the other row only two pillars are visible at the extreme right.
Within this nave is the space for the hearths; but the only hearth visible is the one near the women's dais. In the roof above it there is a louvre: the fire glows and no smoke rises. The hall is lit everywhere by the firelight.
The rafters over the women's dais carry a floor at the level of the side walls, forming an open loft which is reached by a wide ladder fixed against the wall: a bed is seen in this loft. Low in the roof at intervals are shuttered casements, one being above the loft: all the shutters are closed. Near the fire a large shaggy hound is sleeping; and ORMILD, in the undyed woollen dress of a thrall, is combing wool.
ODDNY stands spinning at the side; near her ASTRID and STEINVOR sit stitching a robe which hangs between them.
ASTRID
Night is a winter long: and evening falls.
Night, night and winter and the heavy snow
Burden our eyes, intrude upon our dreams,
And make of loneliness an earthly place.
ORMILD
This bragging land of freedom that enthralls me
Is still the fastness of a secret king
Who treads the dark like snow, of old king Sleep.
He works with night, he has stolen death's tool frost
That makes the breaking wave forget to fall.
ASTRID
Best mind thy comb-pot and forget our king
Before the Longcoat helps at thy awaking….
I like not this forsaken quiet house.
The housemen out at harvest in the Isles
Never return. Perhaps they went but now,
Yet I am sore with fearing and expecting
Because they do not come. They will not come.
I like not this forsaken quiet house,
This late last harvest, and night creeping in.
ODDNY
I like not dwelling in an outlaw's house.
Snow shall be heavier upon some eyes
Than you can tell of—ay, and unseen earth
Shall keep that snow from filling those poor eyes.
This void house is more void by brooding things
That do not happen, than by absent men.
Sometimes when I awaken in the night
My throbbing ears are mocking me with rumours
Of crackling beams, beams falling, and loud flames.
ASTRID (pointing to the weapons by the high-seat)
The bill that Gunnar won in a far sea-fight
Sings inwardly when battle impends; as a harp
Replies to the wind, thus answers it to fierceness,
So tense its nature is and the spell of its welding;
Then trust ye well that while the bill is silent
No danger thickens, for Gunnar dies not singly.
STEINVOR
But women are let forth free when men go burning?
ODDNY
Fire is a hurrying thing, and fire by night
Can see its way better than men see theirs.
ASTRID
The land will not be nobler or more holpen
If Gunnar burns and we go forth unsinged.
Why will he break the atonement that was set?
That wise old Njal who has the second sight
Foretold his death if he should slay twice over
In the same kin, or break the atonement set:
Yet has he done these things and will not care.
Kolskegg, who kept his back in famous fights,
Sailed long ago and far away from us
Because that doom is on him for the slayings;
Yet Gunnar bides although that doom is on him
And he is outlawed by defiance of doom.
STEINVOR
Gunnar has seen his death: he is spoken for.
He would not sail because, when he rode down
Unto the ship, his horse stumbled and threw him,
His face toward the Lithe and his own fields.
Olaf the Peacock bade him be with him
In his new mighty house so carven and bright,
And leave this house to Rannveig and his sons:
He said that would be well, yet never goes.
Is he not thinking death would ride with him?
Did not Njal offer to send his sons,
Skarphedin ugly and brave and Hauskuld with him,
To hold this house with Gunnar, who refused them,
Saying he would not lead young men to death?
I tell you Gunnar is done…. His fetch is out.
ODDNY
Nay, he's been topmost in so many fights
That he believes he shall fight on untouched.
STEINVOR
He rides to motes and Things before his foes.
He has sent his sons harvesting in the Isles.
He takes deliberate heed of death—to meet it,
Like those whom Odin needs. He is fey, I tell you—
And if we are past the foolish ardour of girls
For heroisms and profitless loftiness
We shall get gone when bedtime clears the house.
'T is much to have to be a hero's wife,
And I shall wonder if Hallgerd cares about it:
Yet she may kindle to it ere my heart quickens.
I tell you, women, we have no duty here:
Let us get gone to-night while there is time,
And find new harbouring ere the laggard dawn,
For death is making narrowing passages
About this hushed and terrifying house.
(RANNVEIG, an old wimpled woman, enters as if from a door at the
unseen end of the hall.)
ASTRID
He is so great and manly, our master Gunnar,
There are not many ready to meet his weapons:
And so there may not be much need of weapons.
He is so noble and clear, so swift and tender,
So much of Iceland's fame in foreign places,
That too many love him, too many honour him
To let him die, lest the most gleaming glory
Of our grey country should be there put out.
RANNVEIG
Girl, girl, my son has many enemies
Who will not lose the joy of hurting him.
This little land is no more than a lair
That holds too many fiercenesses too straitly,
And no man will refuse the rapture of killing
When outlawry has made it cheap and righteous.
So long as anyone perceives he knows
A bare place for a weapon on my son
His hand shall twitch to fit a weapon in.
Indeed he shall lose nothing but his life
Because a woman is made so evil fair,
Wasteful and white and proud in harmful acts.
I lose two sons when Gunnar's eyes are still,
For then will Kolskegg never more turn home….
If Gunnar would but sail, three years would pass;
Only three years of banishment said the doom—
So few, so few, for I can last ten years
With this unshrunken body and steady heart.
(To ORMILD)
Have I sat down in comfort by the fire
And waited to be told the thing I knew?
Have any men come home to the young women,
Thinking old women do not need to hear,
That you can play at being a bower-maid
In a long gown although no beasts are foddered?
Up, lass, and get thy coats about thy knees,
For we must cleanse the byre and heap the midden
Before the master knows—or he will go,
And there is peril for him in every darkness.
ORMILD (tucking up her skirts)
Then are we out of peril in the darkness?
We should do better to nail up the doors
Each night and all night long and sleep through it,
Giving the cattle meat and straw by day.
ODDNY
Ay, and the hungry cattle should sing us to sleep.
(The others laugh. ORMILD goes out to the left; RANNVEIG is following her, but pauses at the sound of a voice.)
HALLGERD (beyond the door of the women's dais)
Dead men have told me I was better than fair,
And for my face welcomed the danger of me:
Then am I spent?
(She enters angrily, looking backward through the doorway.)
Must I shut fast my doors
And hide myself? Must I wear up the rags
Of mortal perished beauty and be old?
Or is there power left upon my mouth
Like colour, and lilting of ruin in my eyes?
Am I still rare enough to be your mate?
Then why must I shame at feasts and bear myself
In shy ungainly ways, made flushed and conscious
By squat numb gestures of my shapeless head—
Ay, and its wagging shadow—clouted up,
Twice tangled with a bundle of hot hair,
Like a thick cot-quean's in the settling time?
There are few women in the Quarter now
Who do not wear a shapely fine-webbed coif
Stitched by dark Irish girls in Athcliath
With golden flies and pearls and glinting things:
Even my daughter lets her big locks show,
Show and half show, from a hood gentle and close
That spans her little head like her husband's hand.
GUNNAR (entering by the same door)
I like you when you bear your head so high;
Lift but your heart as high, you could get crowned
And rule a kingdom of impossible things.
You would have moon and sun to shine together,
Snowflakes to knit for apples on bare boughs,
Yea, love to thrive upon the terms of hate.
If I had fared abroad I should have found
In many countries many marvels for you—
Though not more comeliness in peopled Romeborg
And not more haughtiness in Mickligarth
Nor craftiness in all the isles of the world,
And only golden coifs in Athcliath:
Yet you were ardent that I should not sail,
And when I could not sail you laughed out loud
And kissed me home….
HALLGERD (who has been biting her nails)
And then … and doubtless … and strangely …
And not more thriftiness in Bergthorsknoll
Where Njal saves old soft sackcloth for his wife.
Oh, I must sit with peasants and aged women,
And keep my head wrapped modestly and seemly.
(She turns to RANNVEIG.)
I must be humble—as one who lives on others.
(She snatches off her wimple, slipping her gold circlet as she does so, and loosens her hair.)
Unless I may be hooded delicately
And use the adornment noble women use
I'll mock you with my flown young widowhood,
Letting my hair go loose past either cheek
In two bright clouds and drop beyond my bosom,
Turning the waving ends under my girdle
As young glad widows do, and as I did
Ere ever you saw me—ay, and when you found me
And met me as a king meets a queen
In the undying light of a summer night
With burning robes and glances—stirring the heart with scarlet.