No More Learning

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.

[_Speaking, while they are singing. _]

I'll take and keep this oath, and from this day
I shall be what you please, my chicks, my nestlings.
Yet I had thought you were of those that praised
Whatever life could make the pulse run quickly,
Even though it were brief, and that you held
That a free gift was better than a forced. --
But that's all over. --I will keep it, too.
I never gave a gift and took it again.
If the wild horse should break the chariot-pole,
It would be punished. Should that be in the oath?

[_Two of the WOMEN, still singing, crouch in front of
him holding the bowl over their heads. He spreads his
hands over the flame. _

I swear to be obedient in all things
To Conchubar, and to uphold his children.

CONCHUBAR.

We are one being, as these flames are one:
I give my wisdom, and I take your strength.
Now thrust the swords into the flame, and pray
That they may serve the threshold and the hearthstone
With faithful service.

[_The KINGS kneel in a semicircle before the two WOMEN
and CUCHULAIN, who thrusts his sword into the flame.
They all put the points of their swords into the flame.
The third WOMAN is at the back near the big door. _

CUCHULAIN.

O pure, glittering ones
That should be more than wife or friend or mistress,
Give us the enduring will, the unquenchable hope,
The friendliness of the sword! --

[_The song grows louder, and the last words ring out
clearly. There is a loud knocking at the door, and a
cry of_ 'Open! open! '

CONCHUBAR.

Some king that has been loitering on the way.
Open the door, for I would have all know
That the oath's finished and Cuchulain bound,
And that the swords are drinking up the flame.

[_The door is opened by the third WOMAN, and a YOUNG
MAN with a drawn sword enters. _

YOUNG MAN.

I am of Aoife's army.

[_The KINGS rush towards him. CUCHULAIN throws himself
between. _

CUCHULAIN.

Put up your swords.
He is but one. Aoife is far away.

YOUNG MAN.

I have come alone into the midst of you
To weigh this sword against Cuchulain's sword.

CONCHUBAR.

And are you noble? for if of common seed,
You cannot weigh your sword against his sword
But in mixed battle.

YOUNG MAN.

I am under bonds
To tell my name to no man; but it's noble.

CONCHUBAR.

But I would know your name and not your bonds.
You cannot speak in the Assembly House,
If you are not noble.

FIRST OLD KING.

Answer the High King!

YOUNG MAN.

I will give no other proof than the hawk gives--
That it's no sparrow!

[_He is silent for a moment, then speaks to all. _]

Yet look upon me, kings.
I, too, am of that ancient seed, and carry
The signs about this body and in these bones.

CUCHULAIN.

To have shown the hawk's grey feather is enough,
And you speak highly, too. Give me that helmet.
I'd thought they had grown weary sending champions.
That sword and belt will do. This fighting's welcome.
The High King there has promised me his wisdom;
But the hawk's sleepy till its well-beloved
Cries out amid the acorns, or it has seen
Its enemy like a speck upon the sun.
What's wisdom to the hawk, when that clear eye
Is burning nearer up in the high air?

[_Looks hard at YOUNG MAN; then comes down steps and
grasps YOUNG MAN by shoulder. _

Hither into the light.

[_To_ CONCHUBAR. ]

The very tint
Of her that I was speaking of but now.
Not a pin's difference.

[_To_ YOUNG MAN. ]

You are from the North
Where there are many that have that tint of hair--
Red-brown, the light red-brown. Come nearer, boy,
For I would have another look at you.
There's more likeness--a pale, a stone-pale cheek.
What brought you, boy? Have you no fear of death?

YOUNG MAN.

Whether I live or die is in the gods' hands.

CUCHULAIN.

That is all words, all words; a young man's talk.
I am their plough, their harrow, their very strength;
For he that's in the sun begot this body
Upon a mortal woman, and I have heard tell
It seemed as if he had outrun the moon;
That he must follow always through waste heaven,
He loved so happily. He'll be but slow
To break a tree that was so sweetly planted.
Let's see that arm. I'll see it if I choose.
That arm had a good father and a good mother,
But it is not like this.

YOUNG MAN.

You are mocking me;
You think I am not worthy to be fought.
But I'll not wrangle but with this talkative knife.

CUCHULAIN.

Put up your sword; I am not mocking you.
I'd have you for my friend, but if it's not
Because you have a hot heart and a cold eye,
I cannot tell the reason.
[_To CONCHUBAR. _] He has got her fierceness,
And nobody is as fierce as those pale women.
But I will keep him with me, Conchubar,
That he may set my memory upon her
When the day's fading. --You will stop with us,
And we will hunt the deer and the wild bulls;
And, when we have grown weary, light our fires
Between the wood and water, or on some mountain
Where the shape-changers of the morning come.
The High King there would make a mock of me
Because I did not take a wife among them.
Why do you hang your head? It's a good life:
The head grows prouder in the light of the dawn,
And friendship thickens in the murmuring dark
Where the spare hazels meet the wool-white foam.
But I can see there's no more need for words
And that you'll be my friend from this day out.

CONCHUBAR.

He has come hither not in his own name
But in Queen Aoife's, and has challenged us
In challenging the foremost man of us all.

CUCHULAIN.

Well, well, what matter?

CONCHUBAR.

You think it does not matter;
And that a fancy lighter than the air,
A whim of the moment has more matter in it.
For having none that shall reign after you,
You cannot think as I do, who would leave
A throne too high for insult.

CUCHULAIN.

Let your children
Re-mortar their inheritance, as we have,
And put more muscle on. --I'll give you gifts,
But I'd have something too--that arm-ring, boy.
We'll have this quarrel out when you are older.

YOUNG MAN.

There is no man I'd sooner have my friend
Than you, whose name has gone about the world
As if it had been the wind; but Aoife'd say
I had turned coward.

CUCHULAIN.

I will give you gifts
That Aoife'll know, and all her people know,
To have come from me. [_Showing cloak. _
My father gave me this.
He came to try me, rising up at dawn
Out of the cold dark of the rich sea.
He challenged me to battle, but before
My sword had touched his sword, told me his name,
Gave me this cloak, and vanished. It was woven
By women of the Country-under-Wave
Out of the fleeces of the sea. O! tell her
I was afraid, or tell her what you will.
No; tell her that I heard a raven croak
On the north side of the house, and was afraid.

CONCHUBAR.

Some witch of the air has troubled Cuchulain's mind.

CUCHULAIN.

No witchcraft. His head is like a woman's head
I had a fancy for.

CONCHUBAR.

A witch of the air
Can make a leaf confound us with memories.
They run upon the wind and hurl the spells
That make us nothing, out of the invisible wind.
They have gone to school to learn the trick of it.

CUCHULAIN.

No, no--there's nothing out of common here;
The winds are innocent. --That arm-ring, boy.

A KING.

If I've your leave I'll take this challenge up.

ANOTHER KING.

No, give it me, High King, for this wild Aoife
Has carried off my slaves.

ANOTHER KING.

No, give it me,
For she has harried me in house and herd.

ANOTHER KING.

I claim this fight.

OTHER KINGS [_together_].

And I! And I! And I!

CUCHULAIN.

Back! back! Put up your swords! Put up your swords!
There's none alive that shall accept a challenge
I have refused. Laegaire, put up your sword!

YOUNG MAN.

No, let them come. If they've a mind for it,
I'll try it out with any two together.

CUCHULAIN.

That's spoken as I'd have spoken it at your age.
But you are in my house. Whatever man
Would fight with you shall fight it out with me.
They're dumb, they're dumb. How many of you would meet
[_Draws sword. _
This mutterer, this old whistler, this sandpiper,
This edge that's greyer than the tide, this mouse
That's gnawing at the timbers of the world,
This, this---- Boy, I would meet them all in arms
If I'd a son like you.