No More Learning

Gather the halters up into your hands
And drive us where you will, for in all things,
But in our Art, we are obedient.

[_They hold the ends of the halter towards the KING.
The KING comes slowly down steps. _

KING.

Kneel down, kneel down; he has the greater power.
There is no power but has its root in his--
I understand it now. There is no power
But his that can withhold the crown or give it,
Or make it reverend in the eyes of men,
And therefore I have laid it in his hands,
And I will do his will.

[_He has put the crown into SEANCHAN'S hands. _

SEANCHAN.

[_Who has been assisted to rise by his pupils. _]

O crown! O crown!
It is but right the hands that made the crown
In the old time should give it where they please.

[_He places the crown on the KING'S head. _

O silver trumpets! Be you lifted up,
And cry to the great race that is to come.
Long-throated swans, amid the waves of Time,
Sing loudly, for beyond the wall of the world
It waits, and it may hear and come to us.

[_The PUPILS blow a trumpet blast. _




ON BAILE'S STRAND




TO WILLIAM FAY

BECAUSE OF THE BEAUTIFUL PHANTASY OF HIS
PLAYING IN THE CHARACTER OF
THE FOOL




_PERSONS IN THE PLAY_


A FOOL
A BLIND MAN
CUCHULAIN, _King of Muirthemne_
CONCHUBAR, _High King of Ulad_
A YOUNG MAN, _Son of Cuchulain_
KINGS AND SINGING WOMEN




ON BAILE'S STRAND


_A great hall at Dundealgan, not 'Cuchulain's great
ancient house' but an assembly house nearer to the
sea. A big door at the back, and through the door
misty light as of sea mist. There are many chairs and
one long bench. One of these chairs, which is towards
the front of the stage, is bigger than the others.
Somewhere at the back there is a table with flagons of
ale upon it and drinking-horns. There is a small door
at one side of the hall. A FOOL and BLIND MAN, both
ragged, come in through the door at the back. The BLIND
MAN leans upon a staff. _

FOOL.

WHAT a clever man you are though you are blind! There's nobody with two
eyes in his head that is as clever as you are. Who but you could have
thought that the henwife sleeps every day a little at noon? I would
never be able to steal anything if you didn't tell me where to look
for it. And what a good cook you are! You take the fowl out of my hands
after I have stolen it and plucked it, and you put it into the big pot
at the fire there, and I can go out and run races with the witches
at the edge of the waves and get an appetite, and when I've got it,
there's the hen waiting inside for me, done to the turn.

BLIND MAN.

[_Who is feeling about with his stick. _]

Done to the turn.

FOOL.

[_Putting his arm round_ BLIND MAN'S _neck. _]

Come now, I'll have a leg and you'll have a leg, and we'll draw lots
for the wish-bone. I'll be praising you, I'll be praising you, while
we're eating it, for your good plans and for your good cooking. There's
nobody in the world like you, Blind Man. Come, come. Wait a minute. I
shouldn't have closed the door. There are some that look for me, and I
wouldn't like them not to find me. Don't tell it to anybody, Blind Man.
There are some that follow me. Boann herself out of the river and Fand
out of the deep sea. Witches they are, and they come by in the wind,
and they cry, 'Give a kiss, Fool, give a kiss,' that's what they cry.
That's wide enough. All the witches can come in now. I wouldn't have
them beat at the door and say: 'Where is the Fool? Why has he put a
lock on the door? ' Maybe they'll hear the bubbling of the pot and come
in and sit on the ground. But we won't give them any of the fowl. Let
them go back to the sea, let them go back to the sea.

BLIND MAN.

[_Feeling legs of big chair with his hands. _]

Ah! [_Then, in a louder voice as he feels the back of it. _] Ah--ah--

FOOL.

Why do you say 'Ah-ah'?

BLIND MAN.

I know the big chair. It is to-day the High King Conchubar is coming.
They have brought out his chair. He is going to be Cuchulain's master
in earnest from this day out. It is that he's coming for.

FOOL.

He must be a great man to be Cuchulain's master.

BLIND MAN.

So he is. He is a great man. He is over all the rest of the kings of
Ireland.

FOOL.

Cuchulain's master! I thought Cuchulain could do anything he liked.

BLIND MAN.

So he did, so he did. But he ran too wild, and Conchubar is coming
to-day to put an oath upon him that will stop his rambling and make him
as biddable as a house-dog and keep him always at his hand. He will sit
in this chair and put the oath upon him.

FOOL.

How will he do that?

BLIND MAN.

You have no wits to understand such things. [_The BLIND MAN has got
into the chair. _] He will sit up in this chair and he'll say: 'Take the
oath, Cuchulain. I bid you take the oath. Do as I tell you. What are
your wits compared with mine, and what are your riches compared with
mine? And what sons have you to pay your debts and to put a stone over
you when you die? Take the oath, I tell you. Take a strong oath. '

FOOL.

[_Crumpling himself up and whining. _]

I will not. I'll take no oath. I want my dinner.

BLIND MAN.

Hush, hush! It is not done yet.

FOOL.

You said it was done to a turn.

BLIND MAN.

Did I, now? Well, it might be done, and not done. The wings might be
white, but the legs might be red. The flesh might stick hard to the
bones and not come away in the teeth. But, believe me, Fool, it will be
well done before you put your teeth in it.

FOOL.

My teeth are growing long with the hunger.

BLIND MAN.

I'll tell you a story--the kings have story-tellers while they are
waiting for their dinner--I will tell you a story with a fight in it, a
story with a champion in it, and a ship and a queen's son that has his
mind set on killing somebody that you and I know.

FOOL.

Who is that? Who is he coming to kill?

BLIND MAN.

Wait, now, till you hear. When you were stealing the fowl, I was lying
in a hole in the sand, and I heard three men coming with a shuffling
sort of noise. They were wounded and groaning.

FOOL.

Go on. Tell me about the fight.

BLIND MAN.

There had been a fight, a great fight, a tremendous great fight. A
young man had landed on the shore, the guardians of the shore had asked
his name, and he had refused to tell it, and he had killed one, and
others had run away.

FOOL.

That's enough. Come on now to the fowl. I wish it was bigger. I wish it
was as big as a goose.

BLIND MAN.

Hush! I haven't told you all. I know who that young man is. I heard the
men who were running away say he had red hair, that he had come from
Aoife's country, that he was coming to kill Cuchulain.

FOOL.

Nobody can do that.

[_To a tune. _]

Cuchulain has killed kings,
Kings and sons of kings,
Dragons out of the water,
And witches out of the air,
Banachas and Bonachas and people of the woods.

BLIND MAN.

Hush! hush!

FOOL.

[_Still singing. _]

Witches that steal the milk,
Fomor that steal the children,
Hags that have heads like hares,
Hares that have claws like witches,
All riding a-cockhorse

[_Spoken. _]

Out of the very bottom of the bitter black north.

BLIND MAN.

Hush, I say!

FOOL.

Does Cuchulain know that he is coming to kill him?

BLIND MAN.

How would he know that with his head in the clouds? He doesn't care for
common fighting. Why would he put himself out, and nobody in it but
that young man? Now, if it were a white fawn that might turn into a
queen before morning--

FOOL.

Come to the fowl. I wish it was as big as a pig; a fowl with goose
grease and pig's crackling.

BLIND MAN.

No hurry, no hurry. I know whose son it is. I wouldn't tell anybody
else, but I will tell you,--a secret is better to you than your dinner.
You like being told secrets.

FOOL.

Tell me the secret.

BLIND MAN.

That young man is Aoife's son. I am sure it is Aoife's son, it flows
in upon me that it is Aoife's son. You have often heard me talking of
Aoife, the great woman-fighter Cuchulain got the mastery over in the
north?

FOOL.

I know, I know. She is one of those cross queens that live in hungry
Scotland.

BLIND MAN.

I am sure it is her son. I was in Aoife's country for a long time.

FOOL.

That was before you were blinded for putting a curse upon the wind.

BLIND MAN.

There was a boy in her house that had her own red colour on him
and everybody said he was to be brought up to kill Cuchulain, that
she hated Cuchulain. She used to put a helmet on a pillar-stone
and call it Cuchulain and set him casting at it. There is a step
outside--Cuchulain's step.

[_CUCHULAIN passes by in the mist outside the big door. _

FOOL.

Where is Cuchulain going?

BLIND MAN.

He is going to meet Conchubar that has bidden him to take the oath.

FOOL.

Ah, an oath, Blind Man. How can I remember so many things at once? Who
is going to take an oath?

BLIND MAN.

Cuchulain is going to take an oath to Conchubar who is High King.

FOOL.

What a mix-up you make of everything, Blind Man. You were telling me
one story, and now you are telling me another story. . . . How can I get
the hang of it at the end if you mix everything at the beginning?
Wait till I settle it out.
There now, there's Cuchulain [_he points
to one foot_], and there is the young man [_he points to the other
foot_] that is coming to kill him, and Cuchulain doesn't know. But
where's Conchubar? [_Takes bag from side. _] That's Conchubar with all
his riches--Cuchulain, young man, Conchubar--And where's Aoife? [_Throws
up cap. _] There is Aoife, high up on the mountains in high hungry
Scotland. Maybe it is not true after all. Maybe it was your own making
up. It's many a time you cheated me before with your lies. Come to the
cooking-pot, my stomach is pinched and rusty. Would you have it to be
creaking like a gate?

BLIND MAN.

I tell you it's true. And more than that is true. If you listen to what
I say, you'll forget your stomach.

FOOL.

I won't.

BLIND MAN.

Listen. I know who the young man's father is, but I won't say. I would
be afraid to say. Ah, Fool, you would forget everything if you could
know who the young man's father is.

FOOL.

Who is it? Tell me now quick, or I'll shake you. Come, out with it, or
I'll shake you.

[A murmur of voices in the distance.

BLIND MAN.

Wait, wait. There's somebody coming. . . . It is Cuchulain is coming.
He's coming back with the High King. Go and ask Cuchulain. He'll tell
you. It's little you'll care about the cooking-pot when you have asked
Cuchulain that. . . .

[_BLIND MAN goes out by side door. _

FOOL.

I'll ask him. Cuchulain will know. He was in Aoife's country. [_Goes
up stage. _] I'll ask him. [_Turns and goes down stage. _] But, no. I
won't ask him, I would be afraid. [_Going up again. _] Yes, I will ask
him. What harm in asking? The Blind Man said I was to ask him. [_Going
down. _] No, no. I'll not ask him. He might kill me. I have but killed
hens and geese and pigs. He has killed kings. [_Goes up again almost to
big door. _] Who says I'm afraid? I'm not afraid. I'm no coward. I'll
ask him. No, no, Cuchulain, I'm not going to ask you.

He has killed kings,
Kings and the sons of kings,
Dragons out of the water,
And witches out of the air,
Banachas and Bonachas and people of the woods.

[FOOL goes out by side door, the last words being heard
outside. CUCHULAIN and CONCHUBAR enter through the
big door at the back. While they are still outside,
CUCHULAIN'S voice is heard raised in anger. He is a
dark man, something over forty years of age. CONCHUBAR
is much older and carries a long staff, elaborately
carved, or with an elaborate gold handle.

CUCHULAIN.

Because I have killed men without your bidding
And have rewarded others at my own pleasure,
Because of half a score of trifling things
You'd lay this oath upon me, and now--and now
You add another pebble to the heap.
And I must be your man, well-nigh your bondsman,
Because a youngster out of Aoife's country
Has found the shore ill-guarded.

CONCHUBAR.

He came to land
While you were somewhere out of sight and hearing,
Hunting or dancing with your wild companions.

CUCHULAIN.

He can be driven out. I'll not be bound.
I'll dance or hunt, or quarrel or make love,
Wherever and whenever I've a mind to.
If time had not put water in your blood,
You never would have thought it.

CONCHUBAR.

I would leave
A strong and settled country to my children.

CUCHULAIN.

And I must be obedient in all things;
Give up my will to yours; go where you please;
Come when you call; sit at the council-board
Among the unshapely bodies of old men.
I whose mere name has kept this country safe,
I that in early days have driven out
Maeve of Cruachan and the northern pirates,
The hundred kings of Sorcha, and the kings
Out of the Garden in the East of the World.
Must I, that held you on the throne when all
Had pulled you from it, swear obedience
As if I were some cattle-raising king?
Are my shins speckled with the heat of the fire,
Or have my hands no skill but to make figures
Upon the ashes with a stick? Am I
So slack and idle that I need a whip
Before I serve you?

CONCHUBAR.

No, no whip, Cuchulain,
But every day my children come and say:
'This man is growing harder to endure.
How can we be at safety with this man
That nobody can buy or bid or bind?
We shall be at his mercy when you are gone;
He burns the earth as if he were a fire,
And time can never touch him. '

CUCHULAIN.

And so the tale
Grows finer yet; and I am to obey
Whatever child you set upon the throne,
As if it were yourself!

CONCHUBAR.

Most certainly.
I am High King, my son shall be High King;
And you for all the wildness of your blood,
And though your father came out of the sun,
Are but a little king and weigh but light
In anything that touches government,
If put into the balance with my children.

CUCHULAIN.

It's well that we should speak our minds out plainly,
For when we die we shall be spoken of
In many countries. We in our young days
Have seen the heavens like a burning cloud
Brooding upon the world, and being more
Than men can be now that cloud's lifted up,
We should be the more truthful. Conchubar,
I do not like your children--they have no pith,
No marrow in their bones, and will lie soft
Where you and I lie hard.

CONCHUBAR.

You rail at them
Because you have no children of your own.

CUCHULAIN.

I think myself most lucky that I leave
No pallid ghost or mockery of a man
To drift and mutter in the corridors,
Where I have laughed and sung.

CONCHUBAR.

That is not true,
For all your boasting of the truth between us;
For, there is no man having house and lands,
That have been in the one family
And called by the one name for centuries,
But is made miserable if he know
They are to pass into a stranger's keeping,
As yours will pass.

CUCHULAIN.

The most of men feel that,
But you and I leave names upon the harp.

CONCHUBAR.

You play with arguments as lawyers do,
And put no heart in them. I know your thoughts,
For we have slept under the one cloak and drunk
From the one wine cup. I know you to the bone.
I have heard you cry, aye in your very sleep,
'I have no son,' and with such bitterness
That I have gone upon my knees and prayed
That it might be amended.

CUCHULAIN.

For you thought
That I should be as biddable as others
Had I their reason for it; but that's not true,
For I would need a weightier argument
Than one that marred me in the copying,
As I have that clean hawk out of the air
That, as men say, begot this body of mine
Upon a mortal woman.

CONCHUBAR.

Now as ever
You mock at every reasonable hope,
And would have nothing, or impossible things.
What eye has ever looked upon the child
Would satisfy a mind like that?

CUCHULAIN.

I would leave
My house and name to none that would not face
Even myself in battle.

CONCHUBAR.

Being swift of foot,
And making light of every common chance,
You should have overtaken on the hills
Some daughter of the air, or on the shore
A daughter of the Country-under-Wave.

CUCHULAIN.

I am not blasphemous.

CONCHUBAR.

Yet you despise
Our queens, and would not call a child your own,
If one of them had borne him.

CUCHULAIN.

I have not said it.

CONCHUBAR.

Ah! I remember I have heard you boast,
When the ale was in your blood, that there was one
In Scotland, where you had learnt the trade of war,
That had a stone-pale cheek and red-brown hair.
And that although you had loved other women,
You'd sooner that fierce woman of the camp
Bore you a son than any queen among them.

CUCHULAIN.

You call her a 'fierce woman of the camp,'
For having lived among the spinning-wheels,
You'd have no woman near that would not say,
'Ah! how wise! ' 'What will you have for supper? '
'What shall I wear that I may please you, sir? '
And keep that humming through the day and night
Forever. A fierce woman of the camp!
But I am getting angry about nothing.
You have never seen her. Ah! Conchubar, had you seen her
With that high, laughing, turbulent head of hers
Thrown backward, and the bow-string at her ear,
Or sitting at the fire with those grave eyes
Full of good counsel as it were with wine,
Or when love ran through all the lineaments
Of her wild body--although she had no child,
None other had all beauty, queen, or lover,
Or was so fitted to give birth to kings.

CONCHUBAR.

There's nothing I can say but drifts you farther
From the one weighty matter. That very woman--
For I know well that you are praising Aoife--
Now hates you and will leave no subtilty
Unknotted that might run into a noose
About your throat, no army in idleness
That might bring ruin on this land you serve.

CUCHULAIN.

No wonder in that, no wonder at all in that.
I never have known love but as a kiss
In the mid-battle, and a difficult truce
Of oil and water, candles and dark night,
Hillside and hollow, the hot-footed sun,
And the cold, sliding, slippery-footed moon--
A brief forgiveness between opposites
That have been hatreds for three times the age
Of this long-'stablished ground.

CONCHUBAR.

Listen to me.
Aoife makes war on us, and every day
Our enemies grow greater and beat the walls
More bitterly, and you within the walls
Are every day more turbulent; and yet,
When I would speak about these things, your fancy
Runs as it were a swallow on the wind.

[_Outside the door in the blue light of the sea mist
are many old and young KINGS; amongst them are three
WOMEN, two of whom carry a bowl full of fire. The
third, in what follows, puts from time to time fragrant
herbs into the fire so that it flickers up into
brighter flame. _

Look at the door and what men gather there--
Old counsellors that steer the land with me,
And younger kings, the dancers and harp-players
That follow in your tumults, and all these
Are held there by the one anxiety.
Will you be bound into obedience
And so make this land safe for them and theirs?
You are but half a king and I but half;
I need your might of hand and burning heart,
And you my wisdom.

CUCHULAIN.

[_Going near to door. _]

Nestlings of a high nest,
Hawks that have followed me into the air
And looked upon the sun, we'll out of this
And sail upon the wind once more. This king
Would have me take an oath to do his will,
And having listened to his tune from morning,
I will no more of it. Run to the stable
And set the horses to the chariot-pole,
And send a messenger to the harp-players.
We'll find a level place among the woods,
And dance awhile.

A YOUNG KING.

Cuchulain, take the oath.
There is none here that would not have you take it.

CUCHULAIN.

You'd have me take it? Are you of one mind?

THE KINGS.

All, all, all, all!

A YOUNG KING.

Do what the High King bids you.

CONCHUBAR.

There is not one but dreads this turbulence
Now that they're settled men.

CUCHULAIN.

Are you so changed,
Or have I grown more dangerous of late?
But that's not it. I understand it all.
It's you that have changed. You've wives and children now,
And for that reason cannot follow one
That lives like a bird's flight from tree to tree. --
It's time the years put water in my blood
And drowned the wildness of it, for all's changed,
But that unchanged. --I'll take what oath you will:
The moon, the sun, the water, light, or air,
I do not care how binding.

CONCHUBAR.

On this fire
That has been lighted from your hearth and mine;
The older men shall be my witnesses,
The younger, yours. The holders of the fire
Shall purify the thresholds of the house
With waving fire, and shut the outer door,
According to the custom; and sing rhyme
That has come down from the old law-makers
To blow the witches out. Considering
That the wild will of man could be oath-bound,
But that a woman's could not, they bid us sing
Against the will of woman at its wildest
In the shape-changers that run upon the wind.

[_CONCHUBAR has gone on to his throne. _]

THE WOMEN.

[_They sing in a very low voice after the first few
words so that the others all but drown their words. _

May this fire have driven out
The shape-changers that can put
Ruin on a great king's house
Until all be ruinous.
Names whereby a man has known
The threshold and the hearthstone,
Gather on the wind and drive
The women, none can kiss and thrive,
For they are but whirling wind,
Out of memory and mind.
They would make a prince decay
With light images of clay,
Planted in the running wave;
Or, for many shapes they have,
They would change them into hounds,
Until he had died of his wounds,
Though the change were but a whim;
Or they'd hurl a spell at him,
That he follow with desire
Bodies that can never tire,
Or grow kind, for they anoint
All their bodies, joint by joint,
With a miracle-working juice
That is made out of the grease
Of the ungoverned unicorn.
But the man is thrice forlorn,
Emptied, ruined, wracked, and lost,
That they follow, for at most
They will give him kiss for kiss;
While they murmur, 'After this
Hatred may be sweet to the taste. '
Those wild hands that have embraced
All his body can but shove
At the burning wheel of love,
Till the side of hate comes up.
Therefore in this ancient cup
May the sword-blades drink their fill
Of the homebrew there, until
They will have for masters none
But the threshold and hearthstone.

CUCHULAIN.