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Deirdre of the Sorrows

by J. M. Synge

October, 1999 [Etext #1922]

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Note: I have omitted running heads, have inserted

a blank space between the "." and the "--" following

stage directions immediately following the name of

the speaker, and have made the following additional

changes to the text:

PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO

16 26 its it's

29 23 DEIRDRE DEIRDRE.

33 17 old Woman. Old Woman.

45 18 his brother his brothers

79 14 Naisi Naisi.

87 5 startled startled.

DEIRDRE OF THE SORROWS

By J. M. SYNGE

PERSONS IN THE PLAY

LAVARCHAM, Deirdre's nurse

OLD WOMAN, Lavarcham's servant

OWEN, Conchubor's attendant and spy

CONCHUBOR, High King of Ulster

FERGUS, Conchubor's friend

DEIRDRE

NAISI, Deirdre's lover

AINNLE, Naisi's brother

ARDAN, Naisi's brother

TWO SOLDIERS

ACT I.

Lavarcham's house

on Slieve Fuadh.

DEIRDRE OF THE SORROWS

ACT I

Lavarcham's house on Slieve Fuadh. There

is a door to inner room on the left, and a door

to open air on the right. Window at back

and a frame with a half-finished piece of

tapestry. There are also a large press and

heavy oak chest near the back wall. The place

is neat and clean but bare. Lavarcham, woman

of fifty, is working at tapestry frame. Old

Woman comes in from left.

OLD WOMAN. She hasn't come yet,

is it, and it falling to the night?

LAVARCHAM. She has not. . . (Con-

cealing her anxiety.) It's dark with the

clouds are coming from the west and south,

but it isn't later than the common.

OLD WOMAN. It's later, surely, and I

hear tell the Sons of Usna, Naisi and his

brothers, are above chasing hares for two days

or three, and the same awhile since when the

moon was full.

LAVARCHAM -- more anxiously. -- The

gods send they don't set eyes on her -- (with

a sign of helplessness) yet if they do itself,

it wasn't my wish brought them or could send

them away.

OLD WOMAN -- reprovingly. -- If it

wasn't, you'd do well to keep a check on her,

and she turning a woman that was meant to

be a queen.

LAVARCHAM. Who'd check her like

was meant to have her pleasure only, the way

if there were no warnings told about her you'd

see troubles coming when an old king is taking

her, and she without a thought but for her

beauty and to be straying the hills.

OLD WOMAN. The gods help the lot of

us. . . . Shouldn't she be well pleased getting

the like of Conchubor, and he middling settled

in his years itself? I don't know what he

wanted putting her this wild place to be

breaking her in, or putting myself to be roast-

ing her supper and she with no patience for

her food at all. [She looks out.

LAVARCHAM. Is she coming from the

glen?

OLD WOMAN. She is not. But whisht

there's two men leaving the furze --

(crying out) it's Conchubor and Fergus along

with him. Conchubor'll be in a blue stew this

night and herself abroad.

LAVARCHAM -- settling room hastily. --

Are they close by?

OLD WOMAN. Crossing the stream, and

there's herself on the hillside with a load of

twigs. Will I run out and put her in order

before they'll set eyes on her at all?

LAVARCHAM. You will not. Would

you have him see you, and he a man would

be jealous of a hawk would fly between her

and the rising sun. (She looks out.) Go up

to the hearth and be as busy as if you hadn't

seen them at all.

OLD WOMAN -- sitting down to polish

vessel. -- There'll be trouble this night, for he

should be in his tempers from the way he's

stepping out, and he swinging his hands.

LAVARCHAM -- wearied with the whole

matter. -- It'd be best of all, maybe, if he got

in tempers with herself, and made an end

quickly, for I'm in a poor way between the

pair of them (going back to tapestry frame.)

There they are now at the door.

[Conchubor and Fergus come in.

CONCHUBOR AND FERGUS. The

gods save you.

LAVARCHAM -- getting up and courtesy-

ing. -- The gods save and keep you kindly, and

stand between you and all harm for ever.

CONCHUBOR -- looking around. -- Where

is Deirdre?

LAVARCHAM -- trying to speak with in-

difference. -- Abroad upon Slieve Fuadh. She

does be all times straying around picking

flowers or nuts, or sticks itself; but so long

as she's gathering new life I've a right not to

heed her, I'm thinking, and she taking her will.

[Fergus talks to Old Woman.

CONCHUBOR -- stiffly. -- A night with

thunder coming is no night to be abroad.

LAVARCHAM -- more uneasily. -- She's

used to every track and pathway, and the

lightning itself wouldn't let down its flame to

singe the beauty of her like.

FERGUS -- cheerfully. -- She's right, Con-

chubor, and let you sit down and take your

ease, (he takes a wallet from under his cloak)

and I'll count out what we've brought, and

put it in the presses within.

[He goes into the inner room with the

Old Woman.

CONCHUBOR -- sitting down and look-

ing about. -- Where are the mats and hangings

and the silver skillets I sent up for Deirdre?

LAVARCHAM. The mats and hangings

are in this press, Conchubor. She wouldn't

wish to be soiling them, she said, running out

and in with mud and grasses on her feet, and

it raining since the night of Samhain. The

silver skillets and the golden cups we have

beyond locked in the chest.

CONCHUBOR. Bring them out and use

them from this day.

LAVARCHAM. We'll do it, Conchubor.

CONCHUBOR -- getting up and going to

frame. -- Is this hers?

LAVARCHAM -- pleased to speak of it. --

It is, Conchubor. All say there isn't her match

at fancying figures and throwing purple upon

crimson, and she edging them all times with

her greens and gold.

CONCHUBOR -- a little uneasily. -- Is she

keeping wise and busy since I passed before,

and growing ready for her life in Emain?

LAVARCHAM -- dryly. -- That is a ques-

tion will give small pleasure to yourself or me.

(Making up her mind to speak out.) If it's

the truth I'll tell you, she's growing too wise

to marry a big king and she a score only. Let

you not be taking it bad, Conchubor, but you'll

get little good seeing her this night, for with

all my talking it's wilfuller she's growing these

two months or three.

CONCHUBOR -- severely, but relieved

things are no worse. -- Isn't it a poor thing

you're doing so little to school her to meet

what is to come?

LAVARCHAM. I'm after serving you

two score of years, and I'll tell you this night,

Conchubor, she's little call to mind an old

woman when she has the birds to school her,

and the pools in the rivers where she goes

bathing in the sun. I'll tell you if you seen

her that time, with her white skin, and her red

lips, and the blue water and the ferns about

her, you'd know, maybe, and you greedy itself,

it wasn't for your like she was born at all.

CONCHUBOR. It's little I heed for what

she was born; she'll be my comrade, surely.

[He examines her workbox.

LAVARCHAM -- sinking into sadness

again. -- I'm in dread so they were right say-

ing she'd bring destruction on the world, for

it's a poor thing when you see a settled man

putting the love he has for a young child, and

the love he has for a full woman, on a girl the

like of her; and it's a poor thing, Conchubor,

to see a High King, the way you are this day,

prying after her needles and numbering her

lines of thread.

CONCHUBOR -- getting up. -- Let you

not be talking too far and you old itself.

(Walks across room and back.) Does she

know the troubles are foretold?

LAVARCHAM -- in the tone of the earlier

talk. -- I'm after telling her one time and

another, but I'd do as well speaking to a lamb

of ten weeks and it racing the hills. . . . It's

not the dread of death or troubles that would

tame her like.

CONCHUBOR -- he looks out. -- She's

coming now, and let you walk in and keep

Fergus till I speak with her a while.

LAVARCHAM -- going left. -- If I'm

after vexing you itself, it'd be best you weren't

taking her hasty or scolding her at all.

CONCHUBOR -- very stiffly. -- I've no

call to. I'm well pleased she's light and airy.

LAVARCHAM -- offended at his tone. --

Well pleased is it? (With a snort of irony)

It's a queer thing the way the likes of me do

be telling the truth, and the wise are lying all

times.

[She goes into room on left. Conchubor

arranges himself before a mirror for a

moment, then goes a little to the left

and waits. Deirdre comes in poorly

dressed, with a little bag and a bundle

of twigs in her arms. She is astonished

for a moment when she sees Conchu-

bor; then she makes a courtesy to him,

and goes to the hearth without any

embarrassment.

CONCHUBOR. The gods save you,

Deirdre. I have come up bringing you rings

and jewels from Emain Macha.

DEIRDRE. The gods save you.

CONCHUBOR. What have you brought

from the hills?

DEIRDRE -- quite self-possessed. -- A bag

of nuts, and twigs for our fires at the dawn

of day.

CONCHUBOR -- showing annoyance in

spite of himself. -- And it's that way you're

picking up the manners will fit you to be Queen

of Ulster?

DEIRDRE -- made a little defiant by his

tone. -- I have no wish to be a queen.

CONCHUBOR -- almost sneeringly. --

You'd wish to be dressing in your duns and

grey, and you herding your geese or driving

your calves to their shed -- like the common

lot scattered in the glens.

DEIRDRE -- very defiant. -- I would not,

Conchubor. (She goes to tapestry and begins

to work.) A girl born the way I'm born is

more likely to wish for a mate who'd be her

likeness. . . . A man with his hair like the

raven, maybe, and his skin like the snow and

his lips like blood spilt on it.

CONCHUBOR -- sees his mistake, and

after a moment takes a flattering tone, looking

at her work. -- Whatever you wish, there's no

queen but would be well pleased to have your

skill at choosing colours and making pictures

on the cloth. (Looking closely.) What is it

you're figuring?

DEIRDRE -- deliberately. -- Three young

men and they chasing in the green gap of a

wood.

CONCHUBOR -- now almost pleading. --

It's soon you'll have dogs with silver chains

to be chasing in the woods of Emain, for I

have white hounds rearing up for you, and

grey horses, that I've chosen from the finest

in Ulster and Britain and Gaul.

DEIRDRE -- unmoved as before. -- I've

heard tell, in Ulster and Britain and Gaul,

Naisi and his brothers have no match and they

chasing in the woods.

CONCHUBOR -- very gravely. -- Isn't it

a strange thing you'd be talking of Naisi and

his brothers, or figuring them either, when you

know the things that are foretold about them-

selves and you? Yet you've little knowledge,

and I'd do wrong taking it bad when it'll be

my share from this out to keep you the way

you'll have little call to trouble for knowledge,

or its want either.

DEIRDRE. Yourself should be wise,

surely.

CONCHUBOR. The like of me has a

store of knowledge that's a weight and terror.

It's for that we do choose out the like of your-

self that are young and glad only. . . . I'm

thinking you are gay and lively each day in

the year?

DEIRDRE. I don't know if that's true,

Conchubor. There are lonesome days and bad

nights in this place like another.

CONCHUBOR. You should have as few

sad days, I'm thinking, as I have glad and

good ones.

DEIRDRE. What is it has you that way

ever coming this place, when you'd hear the

old woman saying a good child's as happy as

a king?

CONCHUBOR. How would I be happy

seeing age coming on me each year, when the

dry leaves are blowing back and forward at

the gate of Emain? And yet this last while

I'm saying out, when I see the furze breaking

and the daws sitting two and two on ash-trees

by the duns of Emain, Deirdre's a year nearer

her full age when she'll be my mate and com-

rade and then I'm glad surely.

DEIRDRE -- almost to herself. -- I will

not be your mate in Emain.

CONCHUBOR -- not heeding her. -- It's

there you'll be proud and happy and you'll

learn that, if young men are great hunters, yet

it's with the like of myself you'll find a knowl-

edge of what is priceless in your own like.

What we all need is a place is safe and

splendid, and it's that you'll get in Emain in

two days or three.

DEIRDRE -- aghast. -- Two days!

CONCHUBOR. I have the rooms ready,

and in a little while you'll be brought down

there, to be my queen and queen of the five

parts of Ireland.

DEIRDRE -- standing up frightened and

pleading. -- I'd liefer stay this place, Con-

chubor. . . . Leave me this place, where I'm

well used to the tracks and pathways and the

people of the glens. . . . It's for this life I'm

born, surely.

CONCHUBOR. You'll be happier and

greater with myself in Emain. It is I will be

your comrade, and will stand between you and

the great troubles are foretold.

DEIRDRE. I will not be your queen in

Emain when it's my pleasure to be having my

freedom on the edges of the hills.

CONCHUBOR. It's my wish to have you

quickly; I'm sick and weary thinking of the

day you'll be brought down to me, and seeing

you walking into my big, empty halls. I've

made all sure to have you, and yet all said

there's a fear in the back of my mind I'd miss

you and have great troubles in the end. It's

for that, Deirdre, I'm praying that you'll

come quickly; and you may take the word of

a man has no lies, you'll not find, with any

other, the like of what I'm bringing you in

wildness and confusion in my own mind.

DEIRDRE. I cannot go, Conchubor.

CONCHUBOR -- taking a triumphant

tone. -- It is my pleasure to have you, and I

a man is waiting a long while on the throne

of Ulster. Wouldn't you liefer be my com-

rade, growing up the like of Emer and Maeve,

than to be in this place and you a child always?

DEIRDRE. You don't know me and

you'd have little joy taking me, Conchubor.

. . . I'm a long while watching the days

getting a great speed passing me by. I'm too

long taking my will, and it's that way I'll be

living always.

CONCHUBOR -- dryly. -- Call Fergus to

come with me. This is your last night upon

Slieve Fuadh.

DEIRDRE -- now pleadingly. -- Leave me

a short space longer, Conchubor. Isn't it a

poor thing I should be hastened away, when

all these troubles are foretold? Leave me a

year, Conchubor; it isn't much I'm asking.

CONCHUBOR. It's much to have me

two score and two weeks waiting for your

voice in Emain, and you in this place growing

lonesome and shy. I'm a ripe man and in

great love, and yet, Deirdre, I'm the King of

Ulster. (He gets up.) I'll call Fergus, and

we'll make Emain ready in the morning.

[He goes towards door on left.

DEIRDRE -- clinging to him. -- Do not

call him, Conchubor. . . . Promise me a year

of quiet. . . . It's one year I'm asking only.

CONCHUBOR. You'd be asking a year

next year, and the years that follow. (Call-

ing.) Fergus! Fergus! (To Deirdre.)

Young girls are slow always; it is their lovers

that must say the word. (Calling.) Fergus!

[Deirdre springs away from him as

Fergus comes in with Lavarcham and

the Old Woman.

CONCHUBOR -- to Fergus. -- There is a

storm coming, and we'd best be going to our

people when the night is young.

FERGUS -- cheerfully. -- The gods shield

you, Deirdre. (To Conchubor.) We're late

already, and it's no work the High King to

be slipping on stepping-stones and hilly path-

ways when the floods are rising with the rain.

[He helps Conchubor into his cloak.

CONCHUBOR -- glad that he has made

his decision -- to Lavarcham. -- Keep your

rules a few days longer, and you'll be brought

down to Emain, you and Deirdre with you.

LAVARCHAM -- obediently. -- Your rules

are kept always.

CONCHUBOR. The gods shield you.

[He goes out with Fergus. Old Woman

bolts door.

LAVARCHAM -- looking at Deirdre, who

has covered her face. -- Wasn't I saying you'd

do it? You've brought your marriage a sight

nearer not heeding those are wiser than your-

self.

DEIRDRE -- with agitation. -- It wasn't I

did it. Will you take me from this place,

Lavarcham, and keep me safe in the hills?

LAVARCHAM. He'd have us tracked in

the half of a day, and then you'd be his queen

in spite of you, and I and mine would be

destroyed for ever.

DEIRDRE -- terrified with the reality that

is before her. -- Are there none can go against

Conchubor?

LAVARCHAM. Maeve of Connaught

only, and those that are her like.

DEIRDRE. Would Fergus go against

him?

LAVARCHAM. He would, maybe, and

his temper roused.

DEIRDRE -- in a lower voice with sudden

excitement. -- Would Naisi and his brothers?

LAVARCHAM -- impatiently. -- Let you

not be dwelling on Naisi and his brothers. . . .

In the end of all there is none can go against

Conchubor, and it's folly that we're talking,

for if any went against Conchubor it's sorrow

he'd earn and the shortening of his day of life.

[She turns away, and Deirdre stands up

stiff with excitement and goes and

looks out of the window.

DEIRDRE. Are the stepping-stones flood-

ing, Lavarcham? Will the night be stormy in

the hills?

LAVARCHAM -- looking at her curiously.

The stepping-stones are flooding, surely, and

the night will be the worst, I'm thinking, we've

seen these years gone by.

DEIRDRE -- tearing open the press and

pulling out clothes and tapestries. -- Lay these

mats and hangings by the windows, and at the

tables for our feet, and take out the skillets

of silver, and the golden cups we have, and

our two flasks of wine.

LAVARCHAM. What ails you?

DEIRDRE -- gathering up a dress. -- Lay

them out quickly, Lavarcham, we've no call

dawdling this night. Lay them out quickly;

I'm going into the room to put on the rich

dresses and jewels have been sent from Emain.

LAVARCHAM. Putting on dresses at

this hour, and it dark and drenching with the

weight of rain! Are you away in your head?

DEIRDRE -- gathering her things to-

gether with an outburst of excitement. -- I will

dress like Emer in Dundealgan, or Maeve in

her house in Connaught. If Conchubor'll

make me a queen, I'll have the right of a queen

who is a master, taking her own choice and

making a stir to the edges of the seas. . . .

Lay out your mats and hangings where I can

stand this night and look about me. Lay out

the skins of the rams of Connaught and of the

goats of the west. I will not be a child or

plaything; I'll put on my robes that are the

richest, for I will not be brought down to

Emain as Cuchulain brings his horse to the

yoke, or Conall Cearneach puts his shield

upon his arm; and maybe from this day I will

turn the men of Ireland like a wind blowing

on the heath.

[She goes into room. Lavarcham and

Old Woman look at each other, then

the Old Woman goes over, looks in at

Deirdre through chink of the door, and

then closes it carefully.

OLD WOMAN -- in a frightened whisper.

She's thrown off the rags she had about

her, and there she is in her skin; she's putting

her hair in shiny twists. Is she raving,

Lavarcham, or has she a good right turning

to a queen like Maeve?

LAVARCHAM -- putting up hanging very

anxiously. -- It's more than raving's in her

mind, or I'm the more astray; and yet she's

as good a right as another, maybe, having her

pleasure, though she'd spoil the world.

OLD WOMAN -- helping her. -- Be quick

before she'll come back. . . . Who'd have

thought we'd run before her, and she so quiet

till to-night. Will the High King get the

better of her, Lavarcham? If I was Con-

chubor, I wouldn't marry with her like at all.

LAVARCHAM. Hang that by the win-

dow. That should please her, surely. When

all's said, it's her like will be the master till

the end of time.

OLD WOMAN -- at the window. -- There's

a mountain of blackness in the sky, and the

greatest rain falling has been these long years

on the earth. The gods help Conchubor. He'll

be a sorry man this night, reaching his dun,

and he with all his spirits, thinking to himself

he'll be putting his arms around her in two

days or three.

LAVARCHAM. It's more than Conchu-

bor'll be sick and sorry, I'm thinking, before

this story is told to the end.

[Loud knocking on door at the right.

LAVARCHAM -- startled. -- Who is that?

NAISI -- outside. -- Naisi and his brothers.

LAVARCHAM. We are lonely women.

What is it you're wanting in the blackness of

the night?

NAISI. We met a young girl in the woods

who told us we might shelter this place if the

rivers rose on the pathways and the floods

gathered from the butt of the hills.

[Old Woman clasps her hands in horror.

LAVARCHAM -- with great alarm. -- You

cannot come in. . . . There is no one let in

here, and no young girl with us.

NAISI. Let us in from the great storm.

Let us in and we will go further when the

cloud will rise.

LAVARCHAM. Go round east to the

shed and you'll have shelter. You cannot

come in.

NAISI -- knocking loudly. -- Open the

door or we will burst it. (The door is shaken.)

OLD WOMAN -- in a timid whisper. --

Let them in, and keep Deirdre in her room

to-night.

AINNLE AND ARDAN -- outside. --

Open! Open!

LAVARCHAM -- to Old Woman. -- Go

in and keep her.

OLD WOMAN. I couldn't keep her. I've

no hold on her. Go in yourself and I will

free the door.

LAVARCHAM. I must stay and turn

them out. (She pulls her hair and cloak over

her face.) Go in and keep her.

OLD WOMAN. The gods help us.

[She runs into the inner room.

VOICES. Open!

LAVARCHAM -- opening the door. --

Come in then and ill-luck if you'll have it so.

[Naisi and Ainnle and Ardan come in

and look round with astonishment.

NAISI. It's a rich man has this place, and

no herd at all.

LAVARCHAM -- sitting down with her

head half covered. -- It is not, and you'd best

be going quickly.

NAISI -- hilariously, shaking rain from

his clothes. -- When we've had the pick of luck

finding princely comfort in the darkness of

the night! Some rich man of Ulster should

come here and he chasing in the woods. May

we drink? (He takes up flask.) Whose

wine is this that we may drink his health?

LAVARCHAM. It's no one's that you've

call to know.

NAISI. Your own health then and length

of life. (Pouring out wine for the three.

They drink.)

LAVARCHAM -- very crossly. -- You're

great boys taking a welcome where it isn't

given, and asking questions where you've no

call to. . . . If you'd a quiet place settled

up to be playing yourself, maybe, with a gentle

queen, what'd you think of young men prying

around and carrying tales? When I was a bit

of a girl the big men of Ulster had better

manners, and they the like of your three selves,

in the top folly of youth. That'll be a story

to tell out in Tara that Naisi is a tippler and

stealer, and Ainnle the drawer of a stranger's

cork.

NAISI -- quite cheerfully, sitting down be-

side her. -- At your age you should know

there are nights when a king like Conchubor

will spit upon his arm ring, and queens will

stick their tongues out at the rising moon.

We're that way this night, and it's not wine

we're asking only. Where is the young girl

told us we might shelter here?

LAVARCHAM. Asking me you'd be?

We're decent people, and I wouldn't put you

tracking a young girl, not if you gave me the

gold clasp you have hanging on your coat.

NAISI -- giving it to her. -- Where is she?

LAVARCHAM -- in confidential whisper,

putting her hand on his arm. -- Let you walk

back into the hills and turn up by the second

cnuceen where there are three together. You'll

see a path running on the rocks and then you'll

hear the dogs barking in the houses, and their

noise will guide you till you come to a bit of

cabin at the foot of an ash-tree. It's there

there is a young and flighty girl that I'm

thinking is the one you've seen.

NAISI -- hilariously. -- Here's health, then,

to herself and you!

ARDAN. Here's to the years when you

were young as she!

AINNLE -- in a frightened whisper. --

Naisi!

[Naisi looks up and Ainnle beckons to

him. He goes over and Ainnle points

to something on the golden mug he

holds in his hand.

NAISI -- looking at it in astonishment. --

This is the High King's. . . . I see his mark

on the rim. Does Conchubor come lodging

here?

LAVARCHAM -- jumping up with ex-

treme annoyance. -- Who says it's Conchu-

bor's? How dare young fools the like of you

(speaking with vehement insolence) come

prying around, running the world into troubles

for some slip of a girl? What brings you this

place straying from Emain? (Very bitterly.)

Though you think, maybe, young men can do

their fill of foolery and there is none to blame

them.

NAISI -- very soberly. -- Is the rain easing?

ARDAN. The clouds are breaking. . . .

I can see Orion in the gap of the glen.

NAISI -- still cheerfully. -- Open the door

and we'll go forward to the little cabin between

the ash-tree and the rocks. Lift the bolt and

pull it.

[Deirdre comes in on left royally dressed

and very beautiful. She stands for a

moment, and then as the door opens

she calls softly.

DEIRDRE. Naisi! Do not leave me,

Naisi. I am Deirdre of the Sorrows.

NAISI -- transfixed with amazement. --

And it is you who go around in the woods

making the thrushes bear a grudge against the

heavens for the sweetness of your voice

singing.

DEIRDRE. It is with me you've spoken,

surely. (To Lavarcham and Old Woman.)

Take Ainnle and Ardan, these two princes,

into the little hut where we eat, and serve them

with what is best and sweetest. I have many

thing for Naisi only.

LAVARCHAM -- overawed by her tone. --

I will do it, and I ask their pardon. I have

fooled them here.

DEIRDRE -- to Ainnle and Ardan. -- Do

not take it badly that I am asking you to walk

into our hut for a little. You will have a

supper that is cooked by the cook of Conchu-

bor, and Lavarcham will tell you stories of

Maeve and Nessa and Rogh.

AINNLE. We'll ask Lavarcham to tell us

stories of yourself, and with that we'll be well

pleased to be doing your wish.

[They all go out except Deirdre and Naisi.

DEIRDRE -- sitting in the high chair in

the centre. -- Come to this stool, Naisi (point-

ing to the stool). If it's low itself the High

King would sooner be on it this night than on

the throne of Emain Macha.

NAISI -- sitting down. -- You are Fed-

limid's daughter that Conchubor has walled up

from all the men of Ulster.

DEIRDRE. Do many know what is fore-

told, that Deirdre will be the ruin of the Sons

of Usna, and have a little grave by herself,

and a story will be told for ever?

NAISI. It's a long while men have been

talking of Deirdre, the child who had all gifts,

and the beauty that has no equal; there are

many know it, and there are kings would give

a great price to be in my place this night and

you grown to a queen.

DEIRDRE. It isn't many I'd call, Naisi.

. . . I was in the woods at the full moon

and I heard a voice singing. Then I gathered

up my skirts, and I ran on a little path I have

to the verge of a rock, and I saw you pass by

underneath, in your crimson cloak, singing a

song, and you standing out beyond your

brothers are called the Plower of Ireland.

NAISI. It's for that you called us in the

dusk?

DEIRDRE -- in a low voice. -- Since that,

Naisi, I have been one time the like of a ewe

looking for a lamb that had been taken away

from her, and one time seeing new gold on

the stars, and a new face on the moon, and all

times dreading Emain.

NAISI -- pulling himself together and be-

ginning to draw back a little. -- Yet it should

be a lonesome thing to be in this place and you

born for great company.

DEIRDRE -- softly. -- This night I have

the best company in the whole world.

NAISI -- still a little formally. -- It is I

who have the best company, for when you're

queen in Emain you will have none to be your

match or fellow.

DEIRDRE. I will not be queen in Emain.

NAISI. Conchubor has made an oath you

will, surely.

DEIRDRE. It's for that maybe I'm called

Deirdre, the girl of many sorrows . . . for

it's a sweet life you and I could have, Naisi.

. . . . It should be a sweet thing to have

what is best and richest, if it's for a short

space only.

NAISI -- very distressed. -- And we've a

short space only to be triumphant and brave.

DEIRDRE. You must not go, Naisi, and

leave me to the High King, a man is aging

in his dun, with his crowds round him, and

his silver and gold. (More quickly.) I will

not live to be shut up in Emain, and wouldn't

we do well paying, Naisi, with silence and a

near death. (She stands up and walks away

from him.) I'm a long while in the woods

with my own self, and I'm in little dread of

death, and it earned with riches would make

the sun red with envy, and he going up the

heavens; and the moon pale and lonesome, and

she wasting away. (She comes to him and

puts her hands on his shoulders.) Isn't it a

small thing is foretold about the ruin of our-

selves, Naisi, when all men have age coming

and great ruin in the end?

NAISI. Yet it's a poor thing it's I should

bring you to a tale of blood and broken bodies,

and the filth of the grave. . . . Wouldn't we

do well to wait, Deirdre, and I each twilight

meeting you on the sides of the hills?

DEIRDRE -- despondently. -- His mes-

sengers are coming.

NAISI. Messengers are coming?

DEIRDRE. To-morrow morning or the

next, surely.

NAISI. Then we'll go away. It isn't I

will give your like to Conchubor, not if the

grave was dug to be my lodging when a week

was by. (He looks out.) The stars are out,

Deirdre, and let you come with me quickly,

for it is the stars will be our lamps many nights

and we abroad in Alban, and taking our

journeys among the little islands in the sea.

There has never been the like of the joy we'll

have, Deirdre, you and I, having our fill of

love at the evening and the morning till the

sun is high.

DEIRDRE. And yet I'm in dread leaving

this place, where I have lived always. Won't

I be lonesome and I thinking on the little hill

beyond, and the apple-trees do be budding in

the spring-time by the post of the door? (A

little shaken by what has passed.) Won't I

be in great dread to bring you to destruction,

Naisi, and you so happy and young?

NAISI. Are you thinking I'd go on living

after this night, Deirdre, and you with Con-

chubor in Emain? Are you thinking I'd go

out after hares when I've had your lips in my

sight?

[Lavarcham comes in as they cling to

each other.

LAVARCHAM. Are you raving,

Deirdre? Are you choosing this night to

destroy the world?

DEIRDRE -- very deliberately. -- It's Con-

chubor has chosen this night calling me to

Emain. (To Naisi.) Bring in Ainnle and

Ardan, and take me from this place, where

I'm in dread from this out of the footsteps of

a hare passing. [He goes.

DEIRDRE -- clinging to Lavarcham. --

Do not take it bad I'm going, Lavarcham. It's

you have been a good friend and given me

great freedom and joy, and I living on Slieve

Fuadh; and maybe you'll be well pleased one

day saying you have nursed Deirdre.

LAVARCHAM -- moved. -- It isn't I'll be

well pleased and I far away from you. Isn't

it a hard thing you're doing, but who can help

it? Birds go mating in the spring of the year,

and ewes at the leaves falling, but a young

girl must have her lover in all the courses of

the sun and moon.

DEIRDRE. Will you go to Emain in the

morning?

LAVARCHAM. I will not. I'll go to

Brandon in the south; and in the course of a

piece, maybe, I'll be sailing back and forward

on the seas to be looking on your face and the

little ways you have that none can equal.

[Naisi comes back with Ainnle and Ardan

and Old Woman.

DEIRDRE -- taking Naisi's hand. -- My

two brothers, I am going with Naisi to Alban

and the north to face the troubles are foretold.

Will you take word to Conchubor in Emain?

AINNLE. We will go with you.

ARDAN. We will be your servants and

your huntsmen, Deirdre.

DEIRDRE. It isn't one brother only of

you three is brave and courteous. Will you

wed us, Lavarcham? You have the words and

customs.

LAVARCHAM. I will not, then. What

would I want meddling in the ruin you will

earn?

NAISI. Let Ainnle wed us. . . . He has

been with wise men and he knows their ways.

AINNLE -- joining their hands. -- By the

sun and moon and the whole earth, I wed

Deirdre to Naisi. (He steps back and holds

up his hands.) May the air bless you, and

water and the wind, the sea, and all the hours

of the sun and moon.

CURTAIN

ACT II.

Alban. Early morning in the

beginning of winter. Outside

the tent of Deirdre and Naisi.

[page intentionally blank]

ACT II

Alban. Early morning in the beginning of

winter. A wood outside the tent of Deirdre

and Naisi. Lavarcham comes in muffled in a

cloak.

LAVARCHAM -- calling. -- Deirdre. . . .

Deirdre. . . .

DEIRDRE -- coming from tent. -- My

welcome, Lavarcham. . . . Whose curagh is

rowing from Ulster? I saw the oars through

the tops of the trees, and I thought it was you

were coming towards us.

LAVARCHAM. I came in the shower

was before dawn.

DEIRDRE. And who is coming?

LAVARCHAM -- mournfully. -- Let you

not be startled or taking it bad, Deirdre. It's

Fergus bringing messages of peace from

Conchubor to take Naisi and his brothers

back to Emain. [Sitting down.

DEIRDRE -- lightly. -- Naisi and his

brothers are well pleased with this place; and

what would take them back to Conchubor in

Ulster?

LAVARCHAM. Their like would go any

place where they'd see death standing. (With

more agitation.) I'm in dread Conchubor

wants to have yourself and to kill Naisi, and

that that'll be the ruin of the Sons of Usna.

I'm silly, maybe, to be dreading the like, but

those have a great love for yourself have a

right to be in dread always.

DEIRDRE -- more anxiously. -- Emain

should be no safe place for myself and Naisi.

And isn't it a hard thing they'll leave us no

peace, Lavarcham, and we so quiet in the

woods?

LAVARCHAM -- impressively. -- It's a

hard thing, surely; but let you take my word

and swear Naisi, by the earth, and the sun

over it, and the four quarters of the moon, he'll

not go back to Emain -- for good faith or bad

faith -- the time Conchubor's keeping the high

throne of Ireland. . . . It's that would save

you, surely.

DEIRDRE -- without hope. -- There's lit-

tle power in oaths to stop what's coming, and

little power in what I'd do, Lavarcham, to

change the story of Conchubor and Naisi and

the things old men foretold.

LAVARCHAM -- aggressively. -- Was

there little power in what you did the night

you dressed in your finery and ran Naisi off

along with you, in spite of Conchubor and the

big nobles did dread the blackness of your

luck? It was power enough you had that

night to bring distress and anguish; and now

I'm pointing you a way to save Naisi, you'll

not stir stick or straw to aid me.

DEIRDRE -- a little haughtily. -- Let you

not raise your voice against me, Lavarcham,

if you have will itself to guard Naisi.

LAVARCHAM -- breaking out in anger.

Naisi is it? I didn't care if the crows were

stripping his thigh-bones at the dawn of day.

It's to stop your own despair and wailing, and

you waking up in a cold bed, without the man

you have your heart on, I am raging now.

(Starting up with temper.) Yet there is more

men than Naisi in it; and maybe I was a big

fool thinking his dangers, and this day, would

fill you up with dread.

DEIRDRE -- sharply. -- Let you end; such

talking is a fool's only, when it's well you know

if a thing harmed Naisi it isn't I would live

after him. (With distress.) It's well you

know it's this day I'm dreading seven years,

and I fine nights watching the heifers walking

to the haggard with long shadows on the

grass; (with emotion) or the time I've been

stretched in the sunshine, when I've heard

Ainnle and Ardan stepping lightly, and they

saying: Was there ever the like of Deirdre for

a happy and sleepy queen?

LAVARCHAM -- not fully pacified. --

And yet you'll go, and welcome is it, if Naisi

chooses?

DEIRDRE. I've dread going or staying,

Lavarcham. It's lonesome this place, having

happiness like ours, till I'm asking each day

will this day match yesterday, and will to-

morrow take a good place beside the same day

in the year that's gone, and wondering all

times is it a game worth playing, living on

until you're dried and old, and our joy is gone

for ever.

LAVARCHAM. If it's that ails you, I

tell you there's little hurt getting old, though

young girls and poets do be storming at the

shapes of age. (Passionately.) There's little

hurt getting old, saving when you're looking

back, the way I'm looking this day, and seeing

the young you have a love for breaking up

their hearts with folly. (Going to Deirdre.)

Take my word and stop Naisi, and the day'll

come you'll have more joy having the senses

of an old woman and you with your little

grandsons shrieking round you, than I'd have

this night putting on the red mouth and the

white arms you have, to go walking lonesome

byways with a gamey king.

DEIRDRE. It's little joy of a young

woman, or an old woman, I'll have from this

day, surely. But what use is in our talking

when there's Naisi on the foreshore, and

Fergus with him?

LAVARCHAM -- despairingly. -- I'm late

so with my warnings, for Fergus'd talk the

moon over to take a new path in the sky.

(With reproach.) You'll not stop him this

day, and isn't it a strange story you were a

plague and torment, since you were that

height, to those did hang their lifetimes on

your voice. (Overcome with trouble; gather-

ing her cloak about her.) Don't think bad of

my crying. I'm not the like of many and I'd

see a score of naked corpses and not heed

them at all, but I'm destroyed seeing yourself

in your hour of joy when the end is coming

surely.

[Owen comes in quickly, rather ragged,

bows to Deirdre.

OWEN -- to Lavarcham. -- Fergus's men

are calling you. You were seen on the path,

and he and Naisi want you for their talk below.

LAVARCHAM -- looking at him with dis-

like. -- Yourself's an ill-lucky thing to meet a

morning is the like of this. Yet if you are a

spy itself I'll go and give my word that's

wanting surely. [Goes out.

OWEN -- to Deirdre. -- So I've found you

alone, and I after waiting three weeks getting

ague and asthma in the chill of the bogs, till

I saw Naisi caught with Fergus.

DEIRDRE. I've heard news of Fergus;

what brought you from Ulster?

OWEN -- who has been searching, finds

a loaf and sits down eating greedily, and cut-

ting it with a large knife. -- The full moon,

I'm thinking, and it squeezing the crack in my

skull. Was there ever a man crossed nine

waves after a fool's wife and he not away in

his head?

DEIRDRE -- absently. -- It should be a

long time since you left Emain, where there's

civility in speech with queens.

OWEN. It's a long while, surely. It's

three weeks I am losing my manners beside

the Saxon bull-frogs at the head of the bog.

Three weeks is a long space, and yet you're

seven years spancelled with Naisi and the pair.

DEIRDRE -- beginning to fold up her silks

and jewels. -- Three weeks of your days might

be long, surely, yet seven years are a short

space for the like of Naisi and myself.

OWEN -- derisively. -- If they're a short

space there aren't many the like of you.

Wasn't there a queen in Tara had to walk out

every morning till she'd meet a stranger and

see the flame of courtship leaping up within

his eye? Tell me now, (leaning towards her)

are you well pleased that length with the same

man snorting next you at the dawn of day?

DEIRDRE -- very quietly. -- Am I well

pleased seven years seeing the same sun throw-

ing light across the branches at the dawn of

day? It's a heartbreak to the wise that it's for

a short space we have the same things only.

(With contempt.) Yet the earth itself is a

silly place, maybe, when a man's a fool and

talker.

OWEN -- sharply. -- Well, go, take your

choice. Stay here and rot with Naisi or go to

Conchubor in Emain. Conchubor's a wrinkled

fool with a swelling belly on him, and eyes

falling downward from his shining crown;

Naisi should be stale and weary. Yet there

are many roads, Deirdre, and I tell you I'd

liefer be bleaching in a bog-hole than living

on without a touch of kindness from your eyes

and voice. It's a poor thing to be so lonesome

you'd squeeze kisses on a cur dog's nose.

DEIRDRE. Are there no women like

yourself could be your friends in Emain?

OWEN -- vehemently. -- There are none

like you, Deirdre. It's for that I'm asking are

you going back this night with Fergus?

DEIRDRE. I will go where Naisi chooses.

OWEN -- with a burst of rage. -- It's

Naisi, Naisi, is it? Then, I tell you, you'll

have great sport one day seeing Naisi getting

a harshness in his two sheep's eyes and he

looking on yourself. Would you credit it, my

father used to be in the broom and heather

kissing Lavarcham, with a little bird chirping

out above their heads, and now she'd scare a

raven from a carcase on a hill. (With a sad

cry that brings dignity into his voice.) Queens

get old, Deirdre, with their white and long

arms going from them, and their backs hoop-

ing. I tell you it's a poor thing to see a queen's

nose reaching down to scrape her chin.

DEIRDRE -- looking out, a little uneasy.

Naisi and Fergus are coming on the path.

OWEN. I'll go so, for if I had you seven

years I'd be jealous of the midges and the dust

is in the air. (Muffles himself in his cloak;

with a sort of warning in his voice.) I'll give

you a riddle, Deirdre: Why isn't my father as

ugly and old as Conchubor? You've no

answer? . . . . It's because Naisi killed him.

(With curious expression.) Think of that

and you awake at night, hearing Naisi snor-

ing, or the night you hear strange stories of

the things I'm doing in Alban or in Ulster

either.

[He goes out, and in a moment Naisi and

Fergus come in on the other side.

NAISI -- gaily. -- Fergus has brought mes-

sages of peace from Conchubor.

DEIRDRE -- greeting Fergus. -- He is

welcome. Let you rest, Fergus, you should be

hot and thirsty after mounting the rocks.

FERGUS. It's a sunny nook you've found

in Alban; yet any man would be well pleased

mounting higher rocks to fetch yourself and

Naisi back to Emain.

DEIRDRE -- with keenness. -- They've

answered? They would go?

FERGUS -- benignly. -- They have not,

but when I was a young man we'd have given

a lifetime to be in Ireland a score of weeks;

and to this day the old men have nothing so

heavy as knowing it's in a short while they'll

lose the high skies are over Ireland, and the

lonesome mornings with birds crying on the

bogs. Let you come this day, for there's no

place but Ireland where the Gael can have

peace always.

NAISI -- gruffly. -- It's true, surely. Yet

we're better this place while Conchubor's in

Emain Macha.

FERGUS -- giving him parchments. --

There are your sureties and Conchubor's seal.

(To Deirdre.) I am your surety with Con-

chubor. You'll not be young always, and it's

time you were making yourselves ready for

the years will come, building up a homely dun

beside the seas of Ireland, and getting in your

children from the princes' wives. It's little

joy wandering till age is on you and your

youth is gone away, so you'd best come this

night, for you'd have great pleasure putting

out your foot and saying, "I am in Ireland,

surely."

DEIRDRE. It isn't pleasure I'd have

while Conchubor is king in Emain.

FERGUS -- almost annoyed. -- Would you

doubt the seals of Conall Cearneach and the

kings of Meath? (He gets parchments from

his cloak and gives them to Naisi. More

gently.) It's easy being fearful and you alone

in the woods, yet it would be a poor thing if

a timid woman (taunting her a little) could

turn away the Sons of Usna from the life of

kings. Let you be thinking on the years to

come, Deirdre, and the way you'd have a right

to see Naisi a high and white-haired justice

beside some king of Emain. Wouldn't it be a

poor story if a queen the like of you should

have no thought but to be scraping up her

hours dallying in the sunshine with the sons of

kings?

DEIRDRE -- turning away a little haught-

ily. -- I leave the choice to Naisi. (Turning

back towards Fergus.) Yet you'd do well,

Fergus, to go on your own way, for the sake

of your own years, so you'll not be saying till

your hour of death, maybe, it was yourself

brought Naisi and his brothers to a grave was

scooped by treachery. [Goes into tent.

FERGUS. It is a poor thing to see a

queen so lonesome and afraid. (He watches

till he is sure Deirdre cannot hear him.)

Listen now to what I'm saying. You'd do well

to come back to men and women are your

match and comrades, and not be lingering

until the day that you'll grow weary, and hurt

Deirdre showing her the hardness will grow

up within your eyes. . . . You're here years

and plenty to know it's truth I'm saying.

[Deirdre comes out of tent with a horn

of wine, she catches the beginning of

Naisi's speech and stops with stony

wonder.

NAISI -- very thoughtfully. -- I'll not tell

you a lie. There have been days a while past

when I've been throwing a line for salmon or

watching for the run of hares, that I've a dread

upon me a day'd come I'd weary of her voice,

(very slowly) and Deirdre'd see I'd wearied.

FERGUS -- sympathetic but triumphant. --

I knew it, Naisi. . . . And take my word,

Deirdre's seen your dread and she'll have no

peace from this out in the woods.

NAISI -- with confidence. -- She's not seen

it. . . . Deirdre's no thought of getting old

or wearied; it's that puts wonder in her days,

and she with spirits would keep bravery and

laughter in a town with plague.

[Deirdre drops the horn of wine and

crouches down where she is.

FERGUS. That humour'll leave her. But

we've no call going too far, with one word

borrowing another. Will you come this night

to Emain Macha?

NAISI. I'll not go, Fergus. I've had

dreams of getting old and weary, and losing

my delight in Deirdre; but my dreams were

dreams only. What are Conchubor's seals

and all your talk of Emain and the fools of

Meath beside one evening in Glen Masain?

We'll stay this place till our lives and time are

worn out. It's that word you may take in

your curagh to Conchubor in Emain.

FERGUS -- gathering up his parchments.

And you won't go, surely.

NAISI. I will not. . . . I've had dread,

I tell you, dread winter and summer, and the

autumn and the springtime, even when there's

a bird in every bush making his own stir till

the fall of night; but this talk's brought me

ease, and I see we're as happy as the leaves on

the young trees, and we'll be so ever and

always, though we'd live the age of the eagle

and the salmon and the crow of Britain.

FERGUS -- with anger. -- Where are your

brothers? My message is for them also.

NAISI. You'll see them above chasing

otters by the stream.

FERGUS -- bitterly. -- It isn't much I was

mistaken, thinking you were hunters only.

[He goes, Naisi turns towards tent

and sees Deirdre crouching down with

her cloak round her face. Deirdre

comes out.

NAISI. You've heard my words to

Fergus? (She does not answer. A pause. He

puts his arm round her.) Leave troubling,

and we'll go this night to Glen da Ruadh,

where the salmon will be running with the

tide. [Crosses and sits down.

DEIRDRE -- in a very low voice. -- With

the tide in a little while we will be journeying

again, or it is our own blood maybe will be

running away. (She turns and clings to him.)

The dawn and evening are a little while, the

winter and the summer pass quickly, and what

way would you and I, Naisi, have joy for

ever?

NAISI. We'll have the joy is highest till

our age is come, for it isn't Fergus's talk of

great deeds could take us back to Emain.

DEIRDRE. It isn't to great deeds you're

going but to near troubles, and the shortening

of your days the time that they are bright and

sunny; and isn't it a poor thing that I, Deirdre,

could not hold you away?

NAISI. I've said we'd stay in Alban

always.

DEIRDRE. There's no place to stay al-

ways. . . . It's a long time we've had,

pressing the lips together, going up and down,

resting in our arms, Naisi, waking with the

smell of June in the tops of the grasses, and

listening to the birds in the branches that are

highest. . . . It's a long time we've had, but

the end has come, surely.

NAISI. Would you have us go to Emain,

though if any ask the reason we do not know

it, and we journeying as the thrushes come

from the north, or young birds fly out on a

dark sea?

DEIRDRE. There's reason all times for

an end that's come. And I'm well pleased,

Naisi, we're going forward in the winter the

time the sun has a low place, and the moon

has her mastery in a dark sky, for it's you

and I are well lodged our last day, where there

is a light behind the clear trees, and the

berries on the thorns are a red wall.

NAISI. If our time in this place is ended,

come away without Ainnle and Ardan to the

woods of the east, for it's right to be away

from all people when two lovers have their

love only. Come away and we'll be safe

always.

DEIRDRE -- broken-hearted. -- There's no

safe place, Naisi, on the ridge of the world.

. . . . And it's in the quiet woods I've seen

them digging our grave, throwing out the clay

on leaves are bright and withered.

NAISI -- still more eagerly. -- Come away,

Deirdre, and it's little we'll think of safety or

the grave beyond it, and we resting in a little

corner between the daytime and the long night.

DEIRDRE -- clearly and gravely. -- It's

this hour we're between the daytime and a

night where there is sleep for ever, and isn't

it a better thing to be following on to a near

death, than to be bending the head down, and

dragging with the feet, and seeing one day

a blight showing upon love where it is sweet

and tender.

NAISI -- his voice broken with distraction.

If a near death is coming what will be my

trouble losing the earth and the stars over it,

and you, Deirdre, are their flame and bright

crown? Come away into the safety of the

woods.

DEIRDRE -- shaking her head slowly. --

There are as many ways to wither love as there

are stars in a night of Samhain; but there is

no way to keep life, or love with it, a short

space only. . . . It's for that there's nothing

lonesome like a love is watching out the time

most lovers do be sleeping. . . . It's for that

we're setting out for Emain Macha when the

tide turns on the sand.

NAISI -- giving in. -- You're right, maybe.

It should be a poor thing to see great lovers

and they sleepy and old.

DEIRDRE -- with a more tender intensity.

We're seven years without roughness or

growing weary; seven years so sweet and

shining, the gods would be hard set to give

us seven days the like of them. It's for that

we're going to Emain, where there'll be a rest

for ever, or a place for forgetting, in great

crowds and they making a stir.

NAISI -- very softly. -- We'll go, surely,

in place of keeping a watch on a love had no

match and it wasting away. (They cling to

each other for a moment, then Naisi looks up.)

There are Fergus and Lavarcham and my two

brothers.

[Deirdre goes. Naisi sits with his head

bowed. Owen runs in stealthily, comes

behind Naisi and seizes him round the

arms. Naisi shakes him off and whips

out his sword.

OWEN -- screaming with derisive laughter

and showing his empty hands. -- Ah, Naisi,

wasn't it well I didn't kill you that time?

There was a fright you got! I've been watch-

ing Fergus above -- don't be frightened --

and I've come down to see him getting the

cold shoulder, and going off alone.

[Fergus and others come in. They are

all subdued like men at a queen's wake.

NAISI -- putting up his sword. -- There

he is. (Goes to Fergus.) We are going back

when the tide turns, I and Deirdre with your-

self.

ALL. Going back!

AINNLE. And you'll end your life with

Deirdre, though she has no match for keeping

spirits in a little company is far away by itself?

ARDAN. It's seven years myself and

Ainnle have been servants and bachelors for

yourself and Deirdre. Why will you take her

back to Conchubor?

NAISI. I have done what Deirdre wishes

and has chosen.

FERGUS. You've made a choice wise men

will be glad of in the five ends of Ireland.

OWEN. Wise men is it, and they going

back to Conchubor? I could stop them only

Naisi put in his sword among my father's ribs,

and when a man's done that he'll not credit

your oath. Going to Conchubor! I could tell

of plots and tricks, and spies were well paid

for their play. (He throws up a bag of gold.)

Are you paid, Fergus?

[He scatters gold pieces over Fergus.

FERGUS. He is raving. . . . Seize him.

OWEN -- flying between them. -- You

won't. Let the lot of you be off to Emain, but

I'll be off before you. . . . Dead men, dead

men! Men who'll die for Deirdre's beauty;

I'll be before you in the grave!

[Runs out with his knife in his hand.

They all run after him except Lavar-

cham, who looks out and then clasps

her hands. Deirdre comes out to her

in a dark cloak.

DEIRDRE. What has happened?

LAVARCHAM. It's Owen's gone raging

mad, and he's after splitting his gullet beyond

at the butt of the stone. There was ill luck

this day in his eye. And he knew a power if

he'd said it all.

[Naisi comes back quickly, followed by

the others.

AINNLE -- coming in very excited. --

That man knew plots of Conchubor's. We'll

not go to Emain, where Conchubor may love

her and have hatred for yourself.

FERGUS. Would you mind a fool and

raver?

AINNLE. It's many times there's more

sense in madmen than the wise. We will not

obey Conchubor.

NAISI. I and Deirdre have chosen; we

will go back with Fergus.

ARDAN. We will not go back. We will

burn your curaghs by the sea.

FERGUS. My sons and I will guard

them.

AINNLE. We will blow the horn of Usna

and our friends will come to aid us.

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 go-

ing. 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 Ire-

land; 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 apple-

trees, 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.

Tent below Emain Macha.

[page intentionally blank]

ACT III

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 Lavar-

cham 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, may-

be, 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, Conchu-

bor, 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. (Coax-

ingly.) 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, Conchu-

bor, 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 be-

cause 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 hopeless-

ly. -- Then the gods have pity on us all!

[Men with weapons come in.

CONCHUBOR -- to Soldiers. -- Are Ain-

nle 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. (Point-

ing 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 Emain.

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 Con-

chubor'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, Con-

chubor, 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 figur-

ing 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 scratch-

ing, and sheep waking and coughing when

there is a great wind from the north. (Shak-

ing 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 wel-

come 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 wait-

ing, 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 to-

night, 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 lone-

some 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 deso-

late 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