by J. M. Synge
DEIRDRE — bitterly. — I’m well pleased there’s no one in this place to make a story that Naisi was a laughing-stock the night he died.
NAISI. There’d not be many’d make a story, for that mockery is in your eyes this night will spot the face of Emain with a plague of pitted graves. [He goes out.
CONCHUBOR — outside. — That is Naisi. Strike him! (Tumult. Deirdre crouches down on Naisi’s cloak. Conchubor comes in hurriedly.) They’ve met their death — the three that stole you, Deirdre, and from this out you’ll be my queen in Emain. [A keen of men’s voices is heard behind.
DEIRDRE — bewildered and terrified. — It is not I will be a queen.
CONCHUBOR. Make your lamentation a short while if you will, but it isn’t long till a day’ll come when you begin pitying a man is old and desolate, and High King also. . . . Let you not fear me, for it’s I’m well pleased you have a store of pity for the three that were your friends in Alban.
DEIRDRE. I have pity, surely. . . . It’s the way pity has me this night, when I think of Naisi, that I could set my teeth into the heart of a king.
CONCHUBOR. I know well pity’s cruel, when it was my pity for my own self destroyed Naisi.
DEIRDRE — more wildly. — It was my words without pity gave Naisi a death will have no match until the ends of life and time. (Breaking out into a keen.) But who’ll pity Deirdre has lost the lips of Naisi from her neck and from her cheek for ever? Who’ll pity Deirdre has lost the twilight in the woods with Naisi, when beech-trees were silver and copper, and ash-trees were fine gold?
CONCHUBOR — bewildered. — It’s I’ll know the way to pity and care you, and I with a share of troubles has me thinking this night it would be a good bargain if it was I was in the grave, and Deirdre crying over me, and it was Naisi who was old and desolate. [Keen heard.
DEIRDRE — wild with sorrow. — It is I who am desolate; I, Deirdre, that will not live till I am old.
CONCHUBOR. It’s not long you’ll be desolate, and I seven years saying, “It’s a bright day for Deirdre in the woods of Alban”; or saying again, “What way will Deirdre be sleeping this night, and wet leaves and branches driving from the north?” Let you not break the thing I’ve set my life on, and you giving yourself up to your sorrow when it’s joy and sorrow do burn out like straw blazing in an east wind.
DEIRDRE — turning on him. — Was it that way with your sorrow, when I and Naisi went northward from Slieve Fuadh and let raise our sails for Alban?
CONCHUBOR. There’s one sorrow has no end surely — that’s being old and lonesome. (With extraordinary pleading.) But you and I will have a little peace in Emain, with harps playing, and old men telling stories at the fall of night. I’ve let build rooms for our two selves, Deirdre, with red gold upon the walls and ceilings that are set with bronze. There was never a queen in the east had a house the like of your house, that’s waiting for yourself in Emain.
SOLDIER — running in. — Emain is in flames. Fergus has come back and is setting fire to the world. Come up, Conchubor, or your state will be destroyed!
CONCHUBOR — angry and regal again. — Are the Sons of Usna buried?
SOLDIER. They are in their grave, but no earth is thrown.
CONCHUBOR. Let me see them. Open the tent! (Soldier opens back of tent and shows grave.) Where are my fighters?
SOLDIER. They are gone to Emain.
CONCHUBOR — to Deirdre. — There are none to harm you. Stay here until I come again. [Goes out with Soldier. Deirdre looks round for a moment, then goes up slowly and looks into grave. She crouches down and begins swaying herself backwards and forwards, keening softly. At first her words are not heard, then they become clear.
DEIRDRE. It’s you three will not see age or death coming — you that were my company when the fires on the hill-tops were put out and the stars were our friends only. I’ll turn my thoughts back from this night, that’s pitiful for want of pity, to the time it was your rods and cloaks made a little tent for me where there’d be a birch tree making shelter and a dry stone; though from this day my own fingers will be making a tent for me, spreading out my hairs and they knotted with the rain. [Lavarcham and Old Woman come in stealthily on right.
DEIRDRE — not seeing them. — It is I, Deirdre, will be crouching in a dark place; I, Deirdre, that was young with Naisi, and brought sorrow to his grave in Emain.
OLD WOMAN. Is that Deirdre broken down that was so light and airy?
LAVARCHAM. It is, surely, crying out over their grave. [She goes to Deirdre.
DEIRDRE. It will be my share from this out to be making lamentation on his stone always, and I crying for a love will be the like of a star shining on a little harbour by the sea.
LAVARCHAM — coming forward. — Let you rise up, Deirdre, and come off while there are none to heed us, the way I’ll find you shelter and some friend to guard you.
DEIRDRE. To what place would I go away from Naisi? What are the woods without Naisi or the sea shore?
LAVARCHAM — very coaxingly. — If it is that way you’d be, come till I find you a sunny place where you’ll be a great wonder they’ll call the queen of sorrows; and you’ll begin taking a pride to be sitting up pausing and dreaming when the summer comes.
DEIRDRE. It was the voice of Naisi that was strong in summer — the voice of Naisi that was sweeter than pipes playing, but from this day will be dumb always.
LAVARCHAM — to Old Woman. — She doesn’t heed us at all. We’ll be hard set to rouse her.
OLD WOMAN. If we don’t the High King will rouse her, coming down beside her with the rage of battle in his blood, for how could Fergus stand against him?
LAVARCHAM — touching Deirdre with her hand. — There’s a score of woman’s years in store for you, and you’d best choose will you start living them beside the man you hate, or being your own mistress in the west or south?
DEIRDRE. It is not I will go on living after Ainnle and after Ardan. After Naisi I will not have a lifetime in the world.
OLD WOMAN — with excitement. — Look, Lavarcham! There’s a light leaving the Red
Branch. Conchubor and his lot will be coming quickly with a torch of bog-deal for her marriage, throwing a light on her three comrades.
DEIRDRE — startled. — Let us throw down clay on my three comrades. Let us cover up Naisi along with Ainnle and Ardan, they that were the pride of Emain. (Throwing in clay.) There is Naisi was the best of three, the choicest of the choice of many. It was a clean death was your share, Naisi; and it is not I will quit your head, when it’s many a dark night among the snipe and plover that you and I were whispering together. It is not I will quit your head, Naisi, when it’s many a night we saw the stars among the clear trees of Glen da Ruadh, or the moon pausing to rest her on the edges of the hills.
OLD WOMAN. Conchubor is coming, surely. I see the glare of flames throwing a light upon his cloak.
LAVARCHAM — eagerly. — Rise up, Deirdre, and come to Fergus, or be the High King’s slave for ever!
DEIRDRE — imperiously. — I will not leave Naisi, who has left the whole world scorched and desolate. I will not go away when there is no light in the heavens, and no flower in the earth under them, but is saying to me that it is Naisi who is gone for ever.
CONCHUBOR — behind. — She is here. Stay a little back. (Lavarcham and Old Woman go into the shadow on left as Conchubor comes in. With excitement, to Deirdre.) Come forward and leave Naisi the way I’ve left charred timber and a smell of burning in Emain Macha, and a heap of rubbish in the storehouse of many crowns.
DEIRDRE — more awake to what is round her. — What are crowns and Emain Macha, when the head that gave them glory is this place, Conchubor, and it stretched upon the gravel will be my bed to-night?
CONCHUBOR. Make an end of talk of Naisi, for I’ve come to bring you to Dundealgan since Emain is destroyed. [Conchubor makes a movement towards her.
DEIRDRE — with a tone that stops him. — Draw a little back from Naisi, who is young
for ever. Draw a little back from the white bodies I am putting under a mound of clay and grasses that are withered — a mound will have a nook for my own self when the end is come.
CONCHUBOR — roughly. — Let you rise up and come along with me in place of growing crazy with your wailings here.
DEIRDRE. It’s yourself has made a crazy story, and let you go back to your arms, Conchubor, and to councils where your name is great, for in this place you are an old man and a fool only.
CONCHUBOR. If I’ve folly, I’ve sense left not to lose the thing I’ve bought with sorrow and the deaths of many. [He moves towards her.
DEIRDRE. Do not raise a hand to touch me.
CONCHUBOR. There are other hands to touch you. My fighters are set round in among the trees.
DEIRDRE. Who’ll fight the grave, Conchubor, and it opened on a dark night?
LAVARCHAM — eagerly. — There are steps in the wood. I hear the call of Fergus and his men.
CONCHUBOR — furiously. — Fergus cannot stop me. I am more powerful than he is, though I am defeated and old.
FERGUS — comes in to Deirdre; a red glow is seen behind the grove. — I have destroyed Emain, and now I’ll guard you all times, Deirdre, though it was I, without knowledge, brought Naisi to his grave.
CONCHUBOR. It’s not you will guard her, for my whole armies are gathering. Rise up, Deirdre, for you are mine surely.
FERGUS — coming between them. — I am come between you.
CONCHUBOR — wildly. — When I’ve killed Naisi and his brothers, is there any man that I will spare? And is it you will stand against me, Fergus, when it’s seven years you’ve seen me getting my death with rage in Emain?
FERGUS. It’s I, surely, will stand against a thief and a traitor.
DEIRDRE — stands up and sees the light from Emain. — Draw a little back with the squabbling of fools when I am broken up with misery. (She turns round.) I see the flames of Emain starting upward in the dark night; and because of me there will be weasels and wild cats crying on a lonely wall where there were queens and armies and red gold, the way there will be a story told of a ruined city and a raving king and a woman will be young for ever. (She looks round.) I see the trees naked and bare, and the moon shining. Little moon, little moon of Alban, it’s lonesome you’ll be this night, and tomorrow night, and long nights after, and you pacing the woods beyond Glen Laoi, looking every place for Deirdre and Naisi, the two lovers who slept so sweetly with each other.
FERGUS — going to Conchubor’s right and whispering. — Keep back, or you will have the shame of pushing a bolt on a queen who is out of her wits.
CONCHUBOR. It is I who am out of my wits, with Emain in flames, and Deirdre raving, and my own heart gone within me.
DEIRDRE — in a high and quiet tone. — I have put away sorrow like a shoe that is worn out and muddy, for it is I have had a life that will be envied by great companies. It was not by a low birth I made kings uneasy, and they sitting in the halls of Emain. It was not a low thing to be chosen by Conchubor, who was wise, and Naisi had no match for bravery. It is not a small thing to be rid of grey hairs, and the loosening of the teeth. (With a sort of triumph.) It was the choice of lives we had in the clear woods, and in the grave, we’re safe, surely. . . .
CONCHUBOR. She will do herself harm.
DEIRDRE — showing Naisi’s knife. — I have a little key to unlock the prison of Naisi you’d shut upon his youth for ever. Keep back, Conchubor; for the High King who is your master has put his hands between us. (She half turns to the grave.) It was sorrows were foretold, but great joys were my share always; yet it is a cold place I must go to be with you, Naisi; and it’s cold your arms will be this night that were warm about my neck so often. . . . It’s a pitiful thing to be talking out when your ears are shut to me. It’s a pitiful thing, Conchubor, you have done this night in Emain; yet a thing will be a joy and triumph to the ends of life and time. [She presses knife into her heart and sinks into the grave. Conchubor and Fergus go forward. The red glow fades, leaving stage very dark.
FERGUS. Four white bodies are laid down together; four clear lights are quenched in Ireland. (He throws his sword into the grave.) There is my sword that could not shield you — my four friends that were the dearest always. The flames of Emain have gone out: Deirdre is dead and there is none to keen her. That is the fate of Deirdre and the children of Usna, and for this night, Conchubor, our war is ended. [He goes out.
LAVARCHAM. I have a little hut where you can rest, Conchubor; there is a great dew falling.
CONCHUBOR — with the voice of an old man. — Take me with you. I’m hard set to see the way before me.
OLD WOMAN. This way, Conchubor. [They go out.
LAVARCHAM — beside the grave. — Deirdre is dead, and Naisi is dead; and if the oaks and stars could die for sorrow, it’s a dark sky and a hard and naked earth we’d have this night in Emain.
CURTAIN
APPENDIX
DEIRDRE OF THE SORROWS was first produced at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, on Thursday, January 13th, 1910, with the following cast:
Lavarcham SARA ALLGOOD
Old Woman EILEEN O’DOHERTY
Owen J. A. O’ROURKE
Conchubor ARTHUR SINCLAIR
Fergus SYDNEY J. MORGAN
Deirdre MAIRE O’NEILL
Naisi FRED O’DONOVAN
Ainnle J. M. KERRIGAN
Ardan JOHN CARRICK
{AMBROSE POWER Two Soldiers { {HARRY YOUNG
The Poetry Collections
River Dodder, Rathgar — Synge’s father contracted smallpox and died in 1872 at the age of 49, a year after the playwright’s birth. Synge’s mother moved the family to the house next door to her mother’s house in Rathgar, County Dublin. Though often ill, Synge had a happy childhood there. He developed an interest in bird-watching along the banks of the River Dodder.
Collected Poems
CONTENTS
GLENCULLEN
A MOUNTAIN CREED
THE CREED
IN A NEW DIARY
BALLAD OF A PAUPER
HIS FATE
AT A FUNERAL MASS
IN A DREAM
IN REBELLION
EXECRATION
THE FUGITIVE
IN THE CITY AGAIN
THE VISITATION
IN DREAM
THE CONVICTION
THE PARTING
RENDEZ-VOUS MANQUÉ DANS LA RUE RACINE
L’ÉCHANGE
QUATRAIN
AT DAWN
THE OMISSION
THREE SIGHS
IN SPRING
NOTRE DAME DES CHAMPS
THE SERVING GIRL
TO RONSARD
EPITAPH
PRELUDE
ON AN ANNIVERSARY
QUEENS
ON AN ISLAND
PATCH-SHANEEN
BEG-INNISH
THE PASSING OF THE SHEE
EPITAPH
DREAD
THE ALTERATION
SAMHAIN
THE MEETING
IN GLENASAMOLE
AND A THIRD, ENTITLED TIR-NA-OG:
TO THE OAKS OF GLENCREE
IN GLENCULLEN
THE CURSE
A WISH
IS IT A MONTH
IN MAY
THE MASQUE OF MAY
IN KERRY
DANNY
THE MERGENCY MAN
I’VE THIRTY MONTHS
ON A BIRTHDAY
AT COBLENZ
ABROAD
WINTER
A QUESTION
A WORD ON THE LIFE-FORCE
END OF THE BOOK
Translations
PRAYER OF THE OLD WOMAN, VILLON’S MOTHER
LEOPARDI
COLIN MUSET, AN OLD POET, COMPLAINS TO HIS PATRON I
AN OLD POET, COLIN MUSET, COMPLAINS TO HIS PATRON II
WALTER VON DER VOGELWEIDE
JUDASLIED 14TH CENTURY
PETRARCH
HE A
SKS HIS HEART TO RAISE ITSELF UP TO GOD
HE WISHES HE MIGHT DIE AND FOLLOW LAURA
LAURA IS EVER PRESENT TO HIM
HE CEASES TO SPEAK OF HER GRACES AND HER VIRTUES WHICH ARE NO MORE
HE IS JEALOUS OF THE HEAVENS AND THE EARTH
THE FINE TIME OF THE YEAR INCREASES PETRARCH’S SORROW
HE UNDERSTANDS THE GREAT CRUELTY OF DEATH
THE SIGHT OF LAURA’S HOUSE REMINDS HIM OF THE GREAT HAPPINESS HE HAS LOST
HE SENDS HIS RHYMES TO THE TOMB OF LAURA TO PRAY HER TO CALL HIM TO HER
ONLY HE WHO MOURNS HER AND HEAVEN THAT POSSESSES HER KNEW HER WHILE SHE LIVED
LAURA WAITS FOR HIM IN HEAVEN
SONNET 12
SONNET 13
SONNET 14
SONNET 25
SONNET 72
GLENCULLEN
O RIVER could’st thou make response in words
What questions I should ask of olden time!
What stories hear of daring deed and crime,
Of those who dwelt out here among their herds,
Feasting on plenteous beef, with milk and curds,
And then, beside thy softly mellowed chime,
Shouting exhultingly a martial rhyme
That rose spontaneous as a charm of birds,
But changes since have crept o’er all thy glen
And now a thrifty nation needs must strive
To grow rich wheat where nought then lived but game
Yet on the bank still sings the merry wren
And in thy stream the frolic ousels dive
While old traditions linger in thy name.
A MOUNTAIN CREED
A MOUNTAIN flower once I spied,
A lonely height its dwelling,
Where winds around it wailed and sighed
Sad stories sadly telling.
‘Fair flower,’ said I, ‘thou all alone
‘Thy days up here art spending,
