j_NBLF . W^^ * GIFT or DEIRDRE A QUESTION OF MEMORY RAS BYZANCE OTHER WORKS BY MICHAEL FIELD CALLIRRHOE 1884 FAIR ROSAMUND 1884 & 1897 THE TRAGIC MARY 1890 UNDERNEATH THE BOUGH 1893 THE WORLD AT AUCTION 1898 THE RACE OF LEAVES 1901 JULIA DOMNA 1903 BORGIA 1905 WILD HONEY 1908 QUEEN MARIAMNE 1908 THE ACCUSER 191 1 THE TRAGEDY OF PARDON 191 1 POEMS OF ADORATION 1912 MYSTIC TREES , 1913 DEDICATED 1914 DEIRDRE A QUESTION OF MEMORY AND RAS BYZANCE BY MICHAEL J FIELD ^vc.^-^. THE POETRY BOOKSHOP 35 DEVONSHIRE ST. THEOBALDS RD. LONDON W.C. MCMXVIII irn^(.\'•-••" ••• CONCHOBAR . King of Ulster (Ulla). Naisi. AiNNLE . V the Sons of Uisnech. Ardan . 1 Cathfach . the Druid. Eogan . Prince of Fernmagh. Fergus . Son of Ross. Fedlimid . Son of Dall, Conchobar's Tale-teller Fergna . Conchobar^s Charioteer. Deirdre . . Daughter of Fedlimid. Lebarcham . a female satirist or wise woman. Medv . . . Nurse to Deirdre. DEIRDRE A SORROW OF STORY-TELLING Scene : Emain, Ireland. — ^In Act IL Loch Etive, Scotland. PROLOGUE The chief room of Fedlimid's house : at the hack a zvall pierced by windows through which gloomy night and trees can be seen ; below the windows a table running the whole length of the zvall and continued down the right side. In the left wall a closed door. The tables are lighted cheerfully and servants move about serving the guests. Fedlimid sits over against the wall at the right-hand table, CoNCHOBAR nearly opposite, his back to the centre of the room. Cathfach at the cross-table also sits with his back to the room, facins; the windows. FEDLIMID. [Rising^ O high king, welcome ! Mighty Conchobar, Most valiant, most victorious over-king. Whose deeds my harp has fed, who deigns to honour His story-teller's feast of flesh and wine ; All that I have I give you, all is yours That you can claim for pleasure or I off^er, Here in your smooth Emain, O Light of Valour, To you who love my songs, my chaunts, my knowledge Of far-off wars, of genealogies. And be my witness, all who drink and banquet, How there is nothing I reserve my own That this enjoyer of my harp desires : For they who hear our music, they possess Our very selves, our substance, all we are And all we have. . . . A tumult at the portal i 2 DEIRDRE But yet the wind is down. . . . [Enter Medv.] A woman ? — Medv, News of my lady ? Is she labouring still ? MEDV. Labour is over and a girl is born. FEDLIMID, The mother ? MEDV. She has fallen asleep. FEDLIMID. The child ? CATHFACH. [Risin:^, yet still facing the windozvs.] O voiceful dark, webbing the sky, Thick web about the earth and ash-tree boughs, And walls of this abode of men — What is your voice ? The burthen, O the burthen, O the night ! An impulse from the midnight comes upon me, Through the close silence from, a far off silence, That sounds against my ears. x\gainst my heart, A pain, a strength, and out of these a terror Until it cease to sound against my ears, To sound against my heart, Until it break on all men's hearing, Throb in their blood, Escape, as if by birth, escape a prophecy. [Calling aloud.] Woe, woe ! [Facijig the 70om.] The Woe — this child, this nev^r-born girl, This sorrow of the name of Deirdre. FEDLIMID. I have not named my daughter. Wizard, CONCHOBAR [Turning on his stool and fixing his eyes on Cathfach.] Deirdre ? DEIRDRE CATHFACH. Yea ! Ruin is born to-night : O Conchobar, thy madness and thy dying ; O Ulla, loss of thee, Emain, of thee — Proud, white Emain, Emain, my city. A fire is Hghted that will catch the hills. And spread from home to home, from hill to hill, From forest spread to forest, from the islands Of Ara to the ocean-stream of Moyle, And shores of far Manannan's ocean-streams. My wisdom has the voice Ye hear when in the forest's moon-filled clifts The Hidden People harp and sorcery Leads its own pulse through stillness : for my singing Is of the birth of Beauty. Ruin's flame Breaks from a silver form. And Ruin comes by glances of such eyes As charm with agony of ancient charms, Known first to sun and dew, to star and day spring ; Yea, Ruin comes by golden, golden hair, Great net of fate ; Comes by a thin, slow lip, A rose unfolding, First of all roses ; It comes by laughter. Creeps on in smiles. . . . O lovely, dimpling silences of joy ! It comes by loveliest speech. Soft in bright cadence — comes By heaving breasts of unbraved peerlessness, Swans on a silver that they own and heave. Fell Ruin passes, And Beauty passes. . . . Woe, woe, but Ulla Passes as they ! CONCHOBAR. [To Cathfach.] Ruin — a flame ! Thy face is but a dream ; And we are dreaming as thy voice hath bidden. Do not yet break the sleep ! FEDLIMIDi. You praise my child ? 4 DEIRDRE AN OLD LORD OF THE RED BRANCH. More, wizard, for we drink. THK YOUNCRST LORD. O life, the singing I CATHFACH. Lords of our proud Red Branch, I see no more This Wonder of long hair of June-cloud whiteness, Whose eyelids dazzle and whose eyes undo. Robbing the souls of men as from the sea The brilliant sun above the sea drinks rain : No more presageful midnight Is blanched bv her, nor loveable its doom — Behold, it swells and moves, Red it becomes, ah, red ! A river washing Over Emain, over the fields, hills valleys, Over the dwellings of our people, doom Blood- red, that from a river grows to flood. And ends a blood-red ocean. Faugh, the lives That make the carnage, make the lamentation. Woe to Emain, And woe to Ulla, And woe to Conchobar, the son of Fachtna, Woe to the proud Red Branch that perishes ; To all who listen round me at this hour Mad fondness, hurt and harm, The smooth way lost, gloom and, where now the living Drink deep and take delight, the host of dead. AN OLD LORD. Avert the bloodshed, O avert the terror, The devastating doom ; for if the child Of Fedlimid, new-born to-night, is destined To ruin all our pride and joy, our city, Our province and our king, our Knightly Order, Our fortune and our feasting, let to-night Suck up the life it renders. ALL. Slay the child ! ECHO. Slay, slay the child ! DEIRDRE FEDLIMID. O Conchobar, my king, O listener to my music, whom my stories Have raised to greatness from thy early years, Am I to be thy ruin ? As a father, Am I, thy bard, to cherish in this earth What will undo the man I fire to glory By all the fires of verse born from my blood ? Never believe it ! Let my daughter die On her first breath, and let the beautiful, Soft flesh I have begotten grow as clay, For the dear sake of Conchobar, my idol, The lover of old music and great deeds. ALL. Minstrel, well said and bravely ! FEDLIMID. For Emain Let my seed perish ! CONCHOBAR. [Rising.] All that loveliness In tender shoot, ye gods, a moment's distance From yonder doorway and these weapons drawn Sharp pointed for its death ! . . .Ye warriors, listen. O Fedlimid, O Father of the child ! FEDLIMID. Our royal soldier lifts his loud king's voice. ALL. Peace, peace, attend ! CONCHOBAR. And Cathfach — let him listen ! Steel cannot slaughter destiny, transfixing The wide, inevitable wings that haunt The future with dark breezes. Son of Dall, Thy verse hath swept my heart, hath swept and passed The offspring of thy loins within my heart 6 Dl-IRDRE Possesses life's endurance as her own ; She stays where she is come, from out ot the darkness, Of night and birth, a promise to desire, A habitant of vision. Song mav thrill, Then wander from our pulses like a breath ; But Beauty shall not leave us while we are : Its fiery being owns us, and our ashes Fall gray when it departs. FEDLIMID. Alas, my king, I shrivel, 1 grow shadowy. You requite My songs with this despair ; a mortal creature, Begotten of my body for your ruin. Is valued as your life, and all the glory Of living that my music brought as liealth And sweet, abiding honour to your blood, Is cast away as hollow air, forgotten, And finds its end. CONCHOBAR. O Fedlimid, not so I Because I love your songs I am endowed To love your daughter in the prophecy That glows white with her dawn. I need no seeing, No touch and no mortality of sense To apprehend her. FEDLIMID. Of my song and music You are not taught this day of days. Emain ! Ulla ! The land ! A VOICE. ANOTHER VOICE. ANOTHER VOICE. Your people 1 CONCHOBAR. Dear is Ulla, Most dear Emain, O warriors ; and their safety Dear to their king. DEIRDRE I free you from all doom, Ye, my green-sided hills, ye glens and harbours, And lonely places 'mid the idle swamps : I free you from all doom, fair-built Emain ; And ye, my knights of the Red Branch, I free you, With my loved Ulla and Emain, from doom. The penalty be mine ; upon my head I take it ; to myself I take this child Of sorrow — for my sorrow ; and her doom Be on me as my doom. THE OLD LORD. You heard the wizard ! Will you be mad and perish ? O relent And save yourself with us ! Our swords are ready, And Fedlimid our friend. [Enter Lebarcham with the infant Deirdre.] See, Lebarcham, The wise-lipped, comely satirist herself Has brought the babe for slaughter. She is wise ; She smiles. LEBARCHAM. Thy new-born, Fedlimid. ALL. Our foe ! Quench the fresh curse ; CONCHOBAR. [Parting their szvords.] Amid your vassal-weapons I pass unheedful, minding but my promise, My troth plight to the child of Fedlimid — That she shall be my one own wife, her fate Be mine, my fate the current of her days, The waxing of her beauty. Lebarcham, Wisest of women, you and Medv the nurse Shall rear this babe to womanhood within A silent, strict enclosure, near my house, Fenced high with crimson planks of loftiest tirs Making forbidden ground to any footstep Save yours, the nurse's, and, when hope becomes Too vernal-quick for patience, mine. 8 DEIRDRE The mother may but tarry for a month To milk her young ; the father nevermore May look upon this bride that he hath yielded His king, till she is throned. [Bending over Dhirdre] Small, gazing creature Amid thy covers, I have bidden a morrow Of sixteen years to rest from operation, Till thou art formed a loveliness to join me In doom, in joy superlative, imagined Against all words of woe. ALL. Alas, the frenzy ! Alas, our fear ! CONCHOBAR. But, by the law of Erin, I of free-will have sworn : the loss and sorrow Shall be on me, not you . . the flame and madness And bloodshed and the end that now begins. O Cathfach ! \He boivs his head within his hands.] CATHFACH. O uncompassable Law. . . What is to come, that cometh, and shall come I ACT I Scene : Sixteen years later. The enclosure where Deirdre lives. Outside the fir-palings, that cross the background, fir trees in a snow whitened ridge stretch along without break of line or substance. On each side are fir-palings. The enclosure is covered by snow, and a dead calf bleeds near the frozen well. Medv and Lebarcham are talking together. Deirdre stands apart, where the ground rises a little, and watches the sky gradually quicken with the light of the early year. MEDV. But look at her ! LEBARCHAM. Ay, Medv, it is not for our eyes to look. The beauty ! MEDV. She is dreaming. LEBARCHAM. She sees true ; Therefore she is no poet. Gentle Medv, My sister with the mother-eyes that rest But when they rest on her, she is not ours. Nor fate's, nor any man's ; for she will choose, Close prisoner as she is, her destiny. Choose for herself the havoc she will make, The tears that she will draw from other eyes, The tears that will burn through her, the delights That she will ravish from the world. She knows So definitely all she wants : such souls Attain. She is not dreaming ; look at her ! MEDV. She does not sigh as other maids kept close ; She is soft as a wood-pigeon, but no crooning — And when I speak of love — King Conchobar To be her lord — she laughs. lo DEIRDRE LEBARCHAM . A wanton laugh ! MEDV. No, no ! Dear heart, she has no wantonness ; And yet I am afraid to hear her laughter, It is so low and sure. My maid, my maid ! What shall 1 do that bitter day the King Tears her away from me ? LEBARCHAM. Be comforted. She loves you, she will bless you all her years : But if she hate — ^I would not be the creature To cross her path, not if I were the chieftain Of Ulla, or of Alba, or the world. MEDV. She has no malice. Would you slander her } LEBARCHAM. I praise her ! She can hate as only those Of highest race, without remorse, for ever. MEDV. Through generations ? LEBARCHAM. She will hate but one With the hate of hate. A woman's enmity Is not a blood-feud : she may love her foe ; But love the man who thwarts her who undoes The soft web of her nature ! — Look again, Look at the thin, tight lips. MEDV. It is her doom Told her in every portent of the flame And crackle of the faggots, 'tis her lot To wed our Overlord. DEIRDRE 11 LEBARCHAM. Those starry eyes Are firm and quiet : all that they decree Will come to pass, however Erin murmur^ Or you, or I, or Conchobar. MEDV. How fearful ; Then she will suffer. LEBARCHAM. She will have her way. Therefore you shall not pity her, not pity Even the great, lone king, who gives me burthen Of all his passion, who refrains himself. And will not look on her ; but asks me questions, Fast as a woman, of her body's fairness. The silver of her skin, her shape, her height. I do not pity him ; he has his dream, He knows what he desires, his feet are sure. Such on the dizzy mountain-steps of life Will not be dashed to atoms. Look at her ! I must report her fully grown and sm.iling With the May-sunshine's smile. Fie, Dierdre ! Child, What is it you are staring at, as if There were a magic rune spelled on the floor ? That foster-father should have killed a calf Is nothing wonderful DEIRDRE. But come and see How the blood pours a draught upon the snow. LEBARCHAM. Ay, child ! DEIRDRE. And pours and pours : the soak of rose Is wonderful . . . A raven stoops to drink. Oh, look at him ! The lustre of his feathers Is dull against the dazzle of the snow. 12 DEIRDRE Now listen, Lebarcham, For when I marry I will have a husband Of iust these colours, scarlet on his cheek, His hair black as this plumage, and his forehead — There 1 shall kiss— pure crystal. Fetch him me ! LEBARCHAM. Colour, child — it is the colour of a creature is its destiny and its lure. The dead are as white as you will. But this husband — The colour of the snow upon his skin, The calf's blood on his cheek, the raven's bloom On his black locks. . . . MEDV. Hush, hush ' DEIRDRE. But fetch him me LEBARCHAM. I have seen such in the house of Conchobar. Medv, vou remember Naisi. MEDV. But the King Will wed my darling. DEIRDRE. Has he any blood Or change of skin like sunrise ? I shall marry This piercing scarlet, and this black, not dull, But crisp and shining : I shall wed this snow. I will ; it is my choice. LEB.\RCHAM. If you could see him, Our Naisi ! MEDV. Hush, it is forbidden. Hush ! O Deirdre, O my darling, would you look On the snow's whiteness, loose your bodice, child. There in the warmth ! . . . You have a cheek that glows Clear as the embers : vou are beautiful. DEIRDRE DEIRDRE. Sweet foster-mother ! Ah, I think indeed You are the child : we shall change places soon. [Caressing her.] Get me the broth I love. MEDV. These hands are cold. Come in. DEIRDRE. No, not till dinner-time. [Exit Medv.] You said . . . Say it again to me, for I am born To hear the story ! 'tis about myself. O Lebarcham, I have heard many stories That have so tired me I have dropped to sleep ; Of how one day I shall be made a queen, But by what means ? — Not that some royal prince Shall win me by his sword ; but Conchobar Shall marry me ; and then they speak of joys And pomp and of my happiness. I knew It was their story of me, not my own. That we will make to-day. Stoop down to me. . . Lebarcham, all I have learned 1 learned of you. LEBARCHAM. I have not married, child ; I am a lonely satyrist. DEIRDRE. This body. You told me, is for love — a gift, and all My lover will have thought of in the world. I have remembered ; I have cherished it ; I have grown very beautiful. I kept My beauty close in hood and veil. . . but, sec ! I am white, not like the colour of the snow, But something warmer — not like Naisi's white ; And then no rose at all, and golden hair ; Nothing but very tender white and gold. But if you think that one so marvellous H DEIRDRE As Naisi is will take me as a cup To drink from, just a gold and silver cup, 'I'hen ... I will pour him wine ; he will forget All else in drinking, if he stoop to drink. LEBARCHAM. You trouble me, my maid ; I spoke too rashly, I am indeed a fool. For all the knights Of the Red Branch are comely. DEIRDRE. Not their king. LEBARCHAM. Yes, child ; men say he is the goodliest man In Erin's Isle. DEIRDRE. But he is like the evening. He falls about me like a chill. 'Tis said I shall bring doom and ruin on his land. LEBARCHAM. No, child ; you are his star. DEIRDRE. I softly laugh To hear these things decreed ; for I am Deirdre. And I will wed no other in the world But this most bright one you have sung. LEBARCHAM. My maiden, I did but give his name. DEIRDRE. You sang of him ; You set my breast afire. I cannot check The tide, nor stir these fences, nor remove The will that crushes me ; I cannot climb, A bird, up in the air ; but yet I feel Like a winged creature. I am so impatient . . . DEIRDRE LEBARCHAM. My child ! My child ! DEIRDRE. No more a child ! How often you have told me I was a treasure wasted in the darkness, A jewel and unworn : fetch me the sunlight, And I will shine. My Naisi, give him me, And I will hang about his neck, till all The knights shall envy him. [She kneels.] [Lebarcham turns away and goes out.] She is not gone ? It is this little space before, this torment, This agony, as all one's hopes danced down Like the sparkles on the waves to kiss one's feet. This waiting . . . But he is not far away — No ; he is close as springtide. I will sing Since when he comes I shall be mute for shame And terror of my longing. It is noon ; The sun is breaking forth, blessed augury ! Over the snow-clouds Softness of light. Outbreak of breezes. Magic of heaven ! Wider^ O sun-cleft, Open the sky ! Never before Have I read the rune : Birth-song of springtide Now I discover. Sung of mute voices High in the clouds. Trembles the fir-bough Above the pale . . . Glorious inrush ! Magic of meeting ! Mute in my bosom The name I hear. 1 6 DEIRDRE [Enter Co: