by J. M. Synge
NAISI. It is my friends will come.
AINNLE. Your friends will bind your hands, and you out of your wits. [Deirdre comes forward quickly and comes between Ainnle and Naisi.
DEIRDRE — in a low voice. — For seven years the Sons of Usna have not raised their voices in a quarrel.
AINNLE. We will not take you to Emain.
ARDAN. It is Conchubor has broken our peace.
AINNLE — to Deirdre. — Stop Naisi going. What way would we live if Conchubor should take you from us?
DEIRDRE. There is no one could take me from you. I have chosen to go back with Fergus. Will you quarrel with me, Ainnle, though I have been your queen these seven years in Alban?
AINNLE — subsiding suddenly. — Naisi has no call to take you.
ARDAN. Why are you going?
DEIRDRE — to both of them and the others. — It is my wish. . . . It may be I will not have Naisi growing an old man in Alban with an old woman at his side, and young girls pointing out and saying, “that is Deirdre and Naisi had great beauty in their youth.” It may be we do well putting a sharp end to the day is brave and glorious, as our fathers put a sharp end to the days of the kings of Ireland; or that I’m wishing to set my foot on Slieve Fuadh, where I was running one time and leaping the streams, (to Lavarcham) and that I’d be well pleased to see our little appletrees, Lavarcham, behind our cabin on the hill; or that I’ve learned, Fergus, it’s a lonesome thing to be away from Ireland always.
AINNLE — giving in. — There is no place but will be lonesome to us from this out, and we thinking on our seven years in Alban.
DEIRDRE — to Naisi. — It’s in this place we’d be lonesome in the end. . . . Take down Fergus to the sea. He has been a guest had a hard welcome and he bringing messages of peace.
FERGUS. We will make your curagh ready and it fitted for the voyage of a king. [He goes with Naisi.
DEIRDRE. Take your spears, Ainnle and Ardan, and go down before me, and take your horse-boys to be carrying my cloaks are on the threshold.
AINNLE — obeying. — It’s with a poor heart we’ll carry your things this day we have carried merrily so often, and we hungry and cold. [They gather up things and go out.
DEIRDRE — to Lavarcham. — Go you, too, Lavarcham. You are old, and I will follow quickly.
LAVARCHAM. I’m old, surely, and the hopes I had my pride in are broken and torn. [She goes out, with a look of awe at Deirdre.
DEIRDRE — clasping her hands. — Woods of Cuan, woods of Cuan, dear country of the east! It’s seven years we’ve had a life was joy only, and this day we’re going west, this day we’re facing death, maybe, and death should be a poor, untidy thing, though it’s a queen that dies. [She goes out slowly.
CURTAIN
ACT III.
[PAGE INTENTIONALLY BLANK]
Tent below Emain, with shabby skins and benches. There is an opening at each side and at back, the latter closed. Old Woman comes in with food and fruits and arranges them on table. Conchubor comes in on right.
CONCHUBOR — sharply. — Has no one come with news for me?
OLD WOMAN. I’ve seen no one at all, Conchubor.
CONCHUBOR — watches her working for a moment, then makes sure opening at back is closed. — Go up then to Emain, you’re not wanting here. (A noise heard left.) Who is that?
OLD WOMAN — going left. — It’s Lavarcham coming again. She’s a great wonder for jogging back and forward through the world, and I made certain she’d be off to meet them; but she’s coming alone, Conchubor, my dear child Deirdre isn’t with her at all.
CONCHUBOR. Go up so and leave us.
OLD WOMAN — pleadingly. — I’d be well pleased to set my eyes on Deirdre if she’s coming this night, as we’re told.
CONCHUBOR — impatiently. — It’s not long till you’ll see her. But I’ve matters with Lavarcham, and let you go now, I’m saying. [He shows her out right, as Lavarcham comes in on the left.
LAVARCHAM — looking round her with suspicion. — This is a queer place to find you, and it’s a queer place to be lodging Naisi and his brothers, and Deirdre with them, and the lot of us tired out with the long way we have been walking.
CONCHUBOR. You’ve come along with them the whole journey?
LAVARCHAM. I have, then, though I’ve no call now to be wandering that length to a wedding or a burial, or the two together. (She sits down wearily.) It’s a poor thing the way me and you is getting old, Conchubor, and I’m thinking you yourself have no call to be loitering this place getting your death, maybe, in the cold of night.
CONCHUBOR. I’m waiting only to know is Fergus stopped in the north.
LAVARCHAM — more sharply. — He’s stopped, surely, and that’s a trick has me thinking you have it in mind to bring trouble this night on Emain and Ireland and the big world’s east beyond them. (She goes to him.)
And yet you’d do well to be going to your dun, and not putting shame on her meeting the High King, and she seamed and sweaty and in great disorder from the dust of many roads. (Laughing derisively.) Ah, Conchubor, my lad, beauty goes quickly in the woods, and you’d let a great gasp, I tell you, if you set your eyes this night on Deirdre.
CONCHUBOR — fiercely. — It’s little I care if she’s white and worn, for it’s I did rear her from a child. I should have a good right to meet and see her always.
LAVARCHAM. A good right is it? Haven’t the blind a good right to be seeing, and the lame to be dancing, and the dummies singing tunes? It’s that right you have to be looking for gaiety on Deirdre’s lips. (Coaxingly.) Come on to your dun, I’m saying, and leave her quiet for one night itself.
CONCHUBOR — with sudden anger. — I’ll not go, when it’s long enough I am above in my dun stretching east and west without a comrade, and I more needy, maybe, than the thieves of Meath. . . . You think I’m old and wise, but I tell you the wise know the old must die, and they’ll leave no chance for a thing slipping from them they’ve set their blood to win.
LAVARCHAM — nodding her head. — If you’re old and wise, it’s I’m the same, Conchubor, and I’m telling you you’ll not have her though you’re ready to destroy mankind and skin the gods to win her. There’s things a king can’t have, Conchubor, and if you go rampaging this night you’ll be apt to win nothing but death for many, and a sloppy face of trouble on your own self before the day will come.
CONCHUBOR. It’s too much talk you have. (Goes right.) Where is Owen? Did you see him no place and you coming the road?
LAVARCHAM. I seen him surely. He went spying on Naisi, and now the worms is spying on his own inside.
CONCHUBOR — exultingly. — Naisi killed him?
LAVARCHAM. He did not, then. It was Owen destroyed himself running mad because of Deirdre. Fools and kings and scholars are all one in a story with her like, and Owen thought he’d be a great man, being the first corpse in the game you’ll play this night in Emain.
CONCHUBOR. It’s yourself should be the first corpse, but my other messengers are coming, men from the clans that hated Usna.
LAVARCHAM — drawing back hopelessly. — Then the gods have pity on us all! [Men with weapons come in.
CONCHUBOR — to Soldiers. — Are Ainnle and Ardan separate from Naisi?
MEN. They are, Conchubor. We’ve got them off, saying they were needed to make ready Deirdre’s house.
CONCHUBOR. And Naisi and Deirdre are coming?
SOLDIER. Naisi’s coming, surely, and a woman with him is putting out the glory of the moon is rising and the sun is going down.
CONCHUBOR — looking at Lavarcham. — That’s your story that she’s seamed and ugly?
SOLDIER. I have more news. (Pointing to Lavarcham.) When that woman heard you were bringing Naisi this place, she sent a horse-boy to call Fergus from the north.
CONCHUBOR — to Lavarcham. — It’s for that you’ve been playing your tricks, but what you’ve won is a nearer death for Naisi. (To Soldiers.) Go up and call my fighters, and take that woman up to E
main.
LAVARCHAM. I’d liefer stay this place. I’ve done my best, but if a bad end is coming, surely it would be a good thing maybe I was here to tend her.
CONCHUBOR — fiercely. — Take her to Emain; it’s too many tricks she’s tried this day already. (A Soldier goes to her.)
LAVARCHAM. Don’t touch me. (She puts her cloak round her and catches Conchubor’s arm.) I thought to stay your hand with my stories till Fergus would come to be beside them, the way I’d save yourself, Conchubor, and Naisi and Emain Macha; but I’ll walk up now into your halls, and I’ll say (with a gesture) it’s here nettles will be growing, and beyond thistles and docks. I’ll go into your high chambers, where you’ve been figuring yourself stretching out your neck for the kisses of a queen of women; and I’ll say it’s here there’ll be deer stirring and goats scratching, and sheep waking and coughing when there is a great wind from the north. (Shaking herself loose. Conchubor makes a sign to Soldiers.) I’m going, surely. In a short space I’ll be sitting up with many listening to the flames crackling, and the beams breaking, and I looking on the great blaze will be the end of Emain. [She goes out.
CONCHUBOR — looking out. — I see two people in the trees; it should be Naisi and
Deirdre. (To Soldier.) Let you tell them they’ll lodge here tonight. [Conchubor goes out right. Naisi and Deirdre come in on left, very weary.
NAISI — to Soldiers. — Is it this place he’s made ready for myself and Deirdre?
SOLDIER. The Red Branch House is being aired and swept and you’ll be called there when a space is by; till then you’d find fruits and drink on this table, and so the gods be with you. [Goes out right.
NAISI — looking round. — It’s a strange place he’s put us camping and we come back as his friends.
DEIRDRE. He’s likely making up a welcome for us, having curtains shaken out and rich rooms put in order; and it’s right he’d have great state to meet us, and you his sister’s son.
NAISI — gloomily. — It’s little we want with state or rich rooms or curtains, when we’re used to the ferns only and cold streams and they making a stir.
DEIRDRE — roaming round room. — We want what is our right in Emain (looking at hangings), and though he’s riches in store for us it’s a shabby, ragged place he’s put us waiting, with frayed rugs and skins are eaten by the moths.
NAISI — a little impatiently. — There are few would worry over skins and moths on this first night that we’ve come back to Emain.
DEIRDRE — brightly. — You should be well pleased it’s for that I’d worry all times, when it’s I have kept your tent these seven years as tidy as a bee-hive or a linnet’s nest. If Conchubor’d a queen like me in Emain he’d not have stretched these rags to meet us. (She pulls hanging, and it opens.) There’s new earth on the ground and a trench dug. . . . It’s a grave, Naisi, that is wide and deep.
NAISI — goes over and pulls back curtain showing grave. — And that’ll be our home in Emain. . . . He’s dug it wisely at the butt of a hill, with fallen trees to hide it. He’ll want to have us killed and buried before Fergus comes.
DEIRDRE. Take me away. . . . Take me to hide in the rocks, for the night is coming quickly.
NAISI — pulling himself together. — I will not leave my brothers.
DEIRDRE — vehemently. — It’s of us two he’s jealous. Come away to the places where we’re used to have our company. . . .
Wouldn’t it be a good thing to lie hid in the high ferns together? (She pulls him left.) I hear strange words in the trees.
NAISI. It should be the strange fighters of Conchubor. I saw them passing as we came.
DEIRDRE — pulling him towards the right. — Come to this side. Listen, Naisi!
NAISI. There are more of them. . . . We are shut in, and I have not Ainnle and Ardan to stand near me. Isn’t it a hard thing that we three who have conquered many may not die together?
DEIRDRE — sinking down. — And isn’t it a hard thing that you and I are in this place by our opened grave; though none have lived had happiness like ours those days in Alban that went by so quick.
NAISI. It’s a hard thing, surely, we’ve lost those days for ever; and yet it’s a good thing, maybe, that all goes quick, for when I’m in that grave it’s soon a day’ll come you’ll be too wearied to be crying out, and that day’ll bring you ease.
DEIRDRE. I’ll not be here to know if that is true.
NAISI. It’s our three selves he’ll kill tonight, and then in two months or three you’ll see him walking down for courtship with yourself.
DEIRDRE. I’ll not be here.
NAISI — hard. — You’d best keep him off, maybe, and then, when the time comes, make your way to some place west in Donegal, and it’s there you’ll get used to stretching out lonesome at the fall of night, and waking lonesome for the day.
DEIRDRE. Let you not be saying things are worse than death.
NAISI — a little recklessly. — I’ve one word left. If a day comes in the west that the larks are cocking their crests on the edge of the clouds, and the cuckoos making a stir, and there’s a man you’d fancy, let you not be thinking that day I’d be well pleased you’d go on keening always.
DEIRDRE — turning to look at him. — And if it was I that died, Naisi, would you take another woman to fill up my place?
NAISI — very mournfully. — It’s little I know, saving only that it’s a hard and bitter thing leaving the earth, and a worse and harder thing leaving yourself alone and desolate to be making lamentation on its face always.
DEIRDRE. I’ll die when you do, Naisi.
I’d not have come here from Alban but I knew I’d be along with you in Emain, and you living or dead. . . . Yet this night it’s strange and distant talk you’re making only.
NAISI. There’s nothing, surely, the like of a new grave of open earth for putting a great space between two friends that love.
DEIRDRE. If there isn’t, it’s that grave when it’s closed will make us one for ever, and we two lovers have had great space without weariness or growing old or any sadness of the mind.
CONCHUBOR — coming in on right. — I’d bid you welcome, Naisi.
NAISI — standing up. — You’re welcome, Conchubor. I’m well pleased you’ve come.
CONCHUBOR — blandly. — Let you not think bad of this place where I’ve put you till other rooms are readied.
NAISI — breaking out. — We know the room you’ve readied. We know what stirred you to send your seals and Fergus into Alban and stop him in the north, (opening curtain and pointing to the grave) and dig that grave before us. Now I ask what brought you here?
CONCHUBOR. I’ve come to look on Deirdre.
NAISI. Look on her. You’re a knacky fancier, and it’s well you chose the one you’d lure from Alban. Look on her, I tell you, and when you’ve looked I’ve got ten fingers will squeeze your mottled goose neck, though you’re king itself.
DEIRDRE — coming between them. — Hush, Naisi! Maybe Conchubor’ll make peace. . . . Do not mind him, Conchubor; he has cause to rage.
CONCHUBOR. It’s little I heed his raging, when a call would bring my fighters from the trees. . . . But what do you say, Deirdre?
DEIRDRE. I’ll say so near that grave we seem three lonesome people, and by a new made grave there’s no man will keep brooding on a woman’s lips, or on the man he hates. It’s not long till your own grave will be dug in Emain, and you’d go down to it more easy if you’d let call Ainnle and Ardan, the way we’d have a supper all together, and fill that grave, and you’ll be well pleased from this out, having four new friends the like of us in Emain.
CONCHUBOR — looking at her for a moment. — That’s the first friendly word I’ve heard you speaking, Deirdre. A game the like of yours should be the proper thing for softening the heart and putting sweetness in the tongue; and yet this night when I hear you I’ve small blame left for Naisi that he stole you off from Ulster.
DEIRDRE — to Naisi. — Now, Naisi, answe
r gently, and we’ll be friends to-night.
NAISI — doggedly. — I have no call but to be friendly. I’ll answer what you will.
DEIRDRE — taking Naisi’s hand. — Then you’ll call Conchubor your friend and king, the man who reared me up upon Slieve Fuadh. [As Conchubor is going to clasp Naisi’s hand cries are heard behind.
CONCHUBOR. What noise is that?
AINNLE — behind. — Naisi. . . . . Naisi. Come to us; we are betrayed and broken.
NAISI. It’s Ainnle crying out in a battle.
CONCHUBOR. I was near won this night, but death’s between us now. [He goes out.
DEIRDRE — clinging to Naisi. — There is no battle. . . . Do not leave me, Naisi.
NAISI. I must go to them.
DEIRDRE — beseechingly. — Do not leave me, Naisi. Let us creep up in the darkness behind the grave. If there’s a battle, maybe the strange fighters will be destroyed, when Ainnle and Ardan are against them. [Cries heard.
NAISI — wildly. — I hear Ardan crying out. Do not hold me from my brothers.
DEIRDRE. Do not leave me, Naisi. Do not leave me broken and alone.
NAISI. I cannot leave my brothers when it is I who have defied the king.
DEIRDRE. I will go with you.
NAISI. You cannot come. Do not hold me from the fight. [He throws her aside almost roughly.
DEIRDRE — with restraint. — Go to your brothers. For seven years you have been kindly, but the hardness of death has come between us.
NAISI — looking at her aghast. — And you’ll have me meet death with a hard word from your lips in my ear?
DEIRDRE. We’ve had a dream, but this night has waked us surely. In a little while we’ve lived too long, Naisi, and isn’t it a poor thing we should miss the safety of the grave, and we trampling its edge?
AINNLE — behind. — Naisi, Naisi, we are attacked and ruined!
DEIRDRE. Let you go where they are calling. (She looks at him for an instant coldly.) Have you no shame loitering and talking, and a cruel death facing Ainnle and Ardan in the woods?
NAISI — frantic. — They’ll not get a death that’s cruel, and they with men alone. It’s women that have loved are cruel only; and if I went on living from this day I’d be putting a curse on the lot of them I’d meet walking in the east or west, putting a curse on the sun that gave them beauty, and on the madder and the stone-crop put red upon their cloaks.
