Play · 1904 · The King's Threshold
The King’s Threshold
Characters
King Guaire
The Chamberlain of King Guaire
A Soldier
A Monk
The Mayor of Kinvara
A Cripple
Another Cripple
Ladies of the Court: Aileen, Essa
Princess Buan
Princess Finnhua, her Sister
Fedelm, Seanchan’s Sweetheart
Servants of Seanchan: Cian, Brian
Pupils of Seanchan: Senias, Arias
Seanchan (pronounced Shanahan), Chief Poet of Ireland
Pupils, Courtiers
Scene: Steps before the Palace of King Guaire at Gort. A table in front of steps to right with food on it. Seanchan lying on steps to left. Pupils before steps. King on top of steps at centre.
King
I welcome you that have the masteryOf the two kinds of music; the one kindBeing like a woman, the other like a man;Both you that understand stringed instruments,And how to mingle words and notes togetherSo artfully, that all the art is but speechDelighted with its own music; and you that carryThe long twisted horn and understandThe heady notes that being without wordsCan hurry beyond time and fate and change;For the high angels that drive the horse of time,The golden one by day, by night the silver,Are not more welcome to one that loves the worldFor some fair woman’s sake.
I have called you hitherTo save the life of your great master, Seanchan,For all day long it has flamed up or flickeredTo the fast-cooling hearth.
Senias
When did he sicken?Is it a fever that is wasting him?
King
He did not sicken, but three days agoHe said he would not eat, and lay down thereAnd has not eaten since. Till yesterdayI thought that hunger and weakness had been enough,But finding them too trifling and too lightTo hold his mouth from biting at the graveI called you hither, and have called others yet.The girl he is to wed at harvest-time,That should be of all living the most dear,Is coming from the South, and had I knownOf any other neighbours or good friendsThat might persuade him, I had brought them hither,Even though I’d to ransack the world for them.
Senias
What was it put him to this work, High King?
King
You will call it no great matter. Three days agoI yielded to the outcry of my courtiers,Bishops, soldiers, and makers of the law,Who long had thought it against their dignityFor a mere man of words to sit among themAt my own table; and when the meal was spreadI ordered Seanchan to good company,But to a lower table; and when he pleadedThe poet’s right, established when the worldWas first established, I said that I was KingAnd made and unmade rights at my own pleasure.And that it was the men who ruled the world,And not the men who sang to it, who should sitWhere there was the most honour. My courtiers,Bishops, soldiers, and makers of the lawShouted approval, and amid that noiseSeanchan went out, and from that hour to this,Although there is good food and drink beside him,Has eaten nothing. If a man is wronged,Or thinks that he is wronged, and will lie downUpon another’s threshold until he dies,The common people for all time to comeWill raise a heavy cry against that threshold,Even though it is the King’s. He lies there nowPerishing; he is calling against my majesty,That old custom that has no meaning in it,And as he perishes, my name in the worldIs perishing also. I cannot give wayBecause I am King, because if I give wayMy nobles would call me a weakling, and it may beThe very throne be shaken; but should youThat are his friends speak to him and persuade himTo turn his mouth from the ill-savouring graveAnd eat good food, he shall not lack my favour;For I will give plough-land and grazing-land,Or all but anything he has set his heart on.It is not all because of my good nameI’d have him live, for I have found him a manThat might well hit the fancy of a kingBanished out of his country, or a woman’s,Or any other’s that can judge a manFor what he is. But I that sit a throne,And take my measure from the needs of the state,Call his wild thought that over-runs the measure,Making words more than deeds, and his proud willThat would unsettle all, most mischievous,And he himself a most mischievous man.
Senias
King, whether you did right or wrong in thisLet the King say, for all that I need sayIs that there’s nothing that cries out for deathIn the withholding of that ancient right,And that I will persuade him. Your own wordsHad been enough persuasion were it notThat he is lost in dreams that hunger makes,And therefore heedless, or lost in heedless sleep.
King
I leave him to your love, that it may promisePlough-lands and grass-lands, jewels and silken wear,Or anything but that old right of the poets.
He goes out. The Pupils, who have been standing perfectly quiet, all turn towards Seanchan, and move a step nearer.
Senias
The King did wrong to abrogate our right,But Seanchan, who talks of dying for it,Talks foolishly. Look at us, Seanchan,Waken out of your dream and look at us,Who have ridden under the moon and all the day,Until the moon has all but come again,That we might be beside you.
Seanchan turns half round leaning on his elbow, and speaks as if in a dream.
Seanchan
I was but nowAt Almhuin, in a great high-raftered house,With Finn and Osgar. Odours of roast fleshRose round me and I saw the roasting spits,And then the dream was broken, and I sawGrania dividing salmon by a pool,And then I was awakened by your voice.
Senias
It is your hunger that makes you dream of fleshRoasting, and for your hunger I could weep;And yet the hunger of the crane that starvesBecause the moonlight glittering on the poolAnd flinging a pale shadow has made it shy,Seems to me little more fantasticalThan this that’s blown into so great a trouble.
Seanchan
Who has turned away again.
There is much truth in that, for all things changeAt times, as if the moonlight altered them,And my mind alters as if it were the crane’s;For when the heavy body has grown weakThere’s nothing that can tether the wild mindThat being moonstruck and fantasticalGoes where it fancies. I had even thoughtI knew your voice and face, but now the wordsAre so unlikely that I needs must askWho is it that bids me put my hunger by?
Senias
I am your oldest pupil, Seanchan;The one that has been with you many years,So many that you said at CandlemasThat I had almost done with school, and knewAll but all that poets understand.
Seanchan
My oldest pupil. No, that cannot be;For it is someone of the courtly crowdsThat have been round about me from sunriseAnd I am tricked by dreams, but I’ll refute them.I asked the pupil that I loved the best,At Candlemas, why poetry is honoured,Wishing to know how he’d defend our craftIn distant lands among strange churlish Kings.And he’d an answer.
Senias
I said the poets hungImages of the life that was in EdenAbout the childbed of the world, that it,Looking upon those images, might bearTriumphant children; but why must I stand hereRepeating an old lesson while you starve?
Seanchan
Tell on, for I begin to know the voice;What evil thing will come upon the worldIf the arts perish?
Senias
If the arts should perishThe world that lacked them would be like a womanThat looking on the cloven lips of a hareBrings forth a hare-lipped child.
Seanchan
But that’s not all.For when I asked you how a man should guardThose images you had an answer also,If you’re the man that you have claimed to be,Comparing them to venerable thingsGod gave to men before he gave them wheat.
Senias
I answered, and the word was half your own,That he should guard them, as the men of DeaGuard their four treasures, as the Grail King guardsHis holy cup, or the pale righteous horseThe jewel that is underneath his horn,Pouring out life for it, as one pours outSweet heady wine—but now I understandYou would refute me out of my own mouth;And yet a place at table near the KingIs nothing of great moment, Seanchan.How does so light a thing touch poetry?
Seanchan is now sitting up. He still looks dreamily in front of him.
Seanchan
At Candlemas you called this poetryOne of the fragile mighty things of GodThat die at an insult.
Senias
To other Pupils. Give me some true answer.For on that day we spoke about the courtAnd said that all that was insulted thereThe world insulted, for the courtly life,Being the first comely child of the world,Is the world’s model. How shall I answer him?Can you not give me some true argument?I will not tempt him with a lying one.
Arias
Throwing himself at Seanchan’s feet.
Why did you take me from my father’s fields?If you would leave me now, what shall I love?Where shall I go, what shall I set my hand to?And why have you put music in my earsIf you would send me to the clattering houses?I will throw down the trumpet and the harp,For how could I sing verses or make musicWith none to praise me and a broken heart?
Seanchan
What was it that the poets promised youIf it was not their sorrow? Do not speak.Have I not opened school on these bare steps,And are not you the youngest of my scholars?And I would have all know that when all fallsIn ruin, poetry calls out in joy,Being the scattering hand, the bursting pod,The victim’s joy among the holy flame,God’s laughter at the shattering of the world,And now that joy laughs out and weeps and burnsOn these bare steps.
Arias
O Master, do not die.
Three men come in. Cian and Brian, old men carrying basket with food, and Mayor of Kinvara. They stand at the side listening.
Senias
Trouble him with no useless argument.Be silent; there is nothing we can doExcept find out the King and kneel to himAnd beg our ancient right. These three have comeTo say whatever we could say and more,And fare as badly. Come, boy, that’s no use;
He lifts the Boy up.
If it seem well that we beseech the King,Lay down your harps and trumpets on the stonesIn silence and come with me silently.Come with slow footfalls and bow all your heads,For a bowed head becomes a mourner best.
They lay the harps and trumpets down one by one and then go out very solemnly and slowly, following one another.
Cian
Let’s show the food that’s in the basket.
Mayor
Who carries an Ogham stick. No,I must get through my speech or I’ll forget it;Besides, there is no reason why he’d eatTill he has heard my reasons.
Cian
It were betterTo show what we have brought him in the basket,For we have nothing that he has not likedFrom boyhood.
Brian
For we have not brought kings’ foodThat’s cooked for everybody and nobody.
Mayor
You are not showing right respect to me,Or to the people of Kinvara, when you wishThat something else should come before my message.
Seanchan
What brings you here? I never sent for you.
Cian
He must be famishing, he looks so pale.We had better get the food out first. I tell you,That we have brought the things he likes the best.
Mayor
No, no; I lost a word at every cross roadAnd maybe if I do not speak it nowI’ll have forgot it.
Cian
Well, out with it quickly.
Seanchan
Why, what’s this foolery?
Mayor
No foolery;A message from the richest, best born townsmanOf your own town, and from your aged father.
Cian
Run through it while I am getting out the food.
Mayor
How was I to begin? What was the wordThat was to keep it in my memory?Wait, I have notched it on this Ogham stick.“Chief poet,” “Ireland,” “Townsman”; that is it.Chief poet of Ireland, when we heard that troubleHad come between you and the King of IrelandIt plunged us in deep sorrow, part for you,Our honoured townsman, part for our good town.The King was said to be most friendly to us,And we had reasons, as you’ll recollect,For thinking that he was about to giveThose grazing lands inland we so much need,Being pinched between the water and the rocks.But now his friendliness being ill repaidWill be turned from us and our town get nothing.But there was something else—I’ll find the wordThat was to keep it in my memory.“Pride”—that’s the word,—we would not have you think,Weighty as these considerations are,That they have been as weighty in our mindsAs our desire that one we take much pride in,A man who has been an honour to our town,Should live and prosper, therefore we beseech youTo give way in a matter of no moment,A matter of mere sentiment, a trifle,That we may always keep our pride in you.
Seanchan
Their pride, their pride, what do they know of pride?My pupils do not know it, for they begFrom the King’s favour what is theirs by right,And how can men, that God has made so weakThey need a rich man’s favour every day,Know anything of pride?
Cian
To Mayor. You have spoken it wrongly.You have forgotten something out of it about the cattle dying.
Mayor
Maybe you do not know, being much away,How many of our cattle died last winterFrom lacking grass, and that there was much sicknessBecause the poor had nothing but salt fishTo live upon. The people all came outAnd stood about the doors as I went by.
Seanchan
What would you have of me?For there are men that shall be born at lastAnd find sweet nurture that they may have voicesEven in anger like the strings of harps.Yet how could they be born to majestyIf I had never made the golden cradle?
Mayor
What is it? “Father”—“Mother”; that is it;Your father sends this message.
Cian
He is listening.
Mayor
He says that he is old and that he needs you,And that the people will be pointing at himAnd he not able to lift up his headIf you should turn the King’s favour away.And he adds to it, that he cared you well,And you in your young age, and that it’s rightThat you should care him now.
Cian
And when he spokeHe cried because the stiffness of his bonesPrevented him from coming.
Mayor
But your motherHas sent no message, for when they had told herThe way it is between you and the KingShe said, “No message can do any good,He will not send the answer that you want;We cannot change him,” and she went indoors,Lay down upon her bed and turned her faceOut of the light. And thereupon your fatherSaid, “Tell him how she is, and that she sendsNo message.” I have nothing more to say.Cian and Brian, you can set out the food.
He sits down on steps. Seanchan is silent.
Mayor
I have a horse waiting outside the townTo bring me home, and all the neighbours waitYour answer. What answer am I to bring?
Seanchan
Give them my answer—no, I have no answer:My mother knew it.
Mayor
Maybe you have forgottenThat all our fields are so heaped up with stonesThat the goats famish, and the mowers mowWith knives, and that the King half promised us——
Seanchan
Thrust that old cloak of yours into your mouthTill it’s done gabbling.
Mayor
But——
Cian
You have said enough;I knew that you would never speak it right.
Seanchan
Our mothers know us, they know us to the bone,They knew us before birth, and that is whyThey know us even better than the sweetheartsUpon whose breasts we have lain.
Brian
We have brought your honourThe food that you have always liked the best,Young pigeons from Kinvara, and watercressOut of the stream that’s by the blessed well,And dulse from Duras. Here is the dulse, your honour,It is wholesome, and has the good taste of the sea.
Seanchan
O Brian, you would spread the table for meAs you would spread it when I was in my childhood;But all that’s finished.
Mayor
I knew he would not careFor country things now that he’s grown accustomedTo the King’s dishes. I told Brian tooHe’d have his pains for nothing. But he’s old.
Goes over to table at right. While he is speaking Cian and Brian are in vain offering Seanchan food.
And what dishes! Venison from Slieve EchtgeFattened with poor men’s crops; flesh of wild pig;Not fat nor lean, but streaky and right well cured;Bread that’s the whitest that I’ve ever seen.
Cian
You’re in the right, you’re in the right, he will not eat.
Pouring wine into cup.
Mayor
Bring him some wine, it will give him strength to eat.
Brian brings wine over towards Seanchan.
No wonder if the King is proud and merry,And keeps all day in the saddle, when even IAm well-nigh drunken with the odour of it,And if I dared—I dare not.
Cian
Drink it, sir.
Brian
Drink a few drops.
Seanchan
Drink it yourself, old man,For you have come a journey, and I daresayYou did not eat or drink upon the road.
Cian
How can I drink it when your honour’s thirsty?
He offers cup again. The King’s Household comes in. Chamberlain with long staff, a Soldier, a Monk, two Ladies, followed by Cripples who beg from the ladies, who keep close together at right, talking to each other at intervals. Soldier goes over to Mayor, and talks to him.
Chamberlain
Well, have you it in imagination stillTo overthrow the dignity of the King,Or is the game finished?
A pause.
How many daysWill you keep up this quarrel with the King,With the King’s nobles and myself and allWho’d gladly be your friends if you would let them?
Soldier
Who has been speaking to Mayor and Servants.
Was it you that sent his servants and the MayorOf his own town to wheedle him into life?
Chamberlain
It was the King himself.
Soldier
Was it worth our whileTo have got rid of him from the King’s tableIf he is to be humoured and made much of?
Chamberlain
It seems that he has not eaten yet, althoughHe’s had another dozen hours of hunger.
Soldier
If he’s so proud and obstinate a neckI’d let him starve.
Monk
Persuade him to eat, my lord.His death would make a scandal, and stir upThe common people.
Chamberlain
And I have a fancyThat if it brought misfortune on the King,Or the King’s house, we’d be as little thought ofAs summer linen when the winter’s come.
Aileen
To Cian. You’ve had no luck, old man.
Cian
We have not, lady.
Aileen
Maybe he’s out of humour with your ways,Having grown used to sprightlier service.
Cian
Maybe.But the King’s messengers have gone for oneThat will persuade him. To Brian. Come, let us go;For she might lose her way in this fine place.Come, we have been too long upon the tree,
Plucking sleeve of Mayor.
And there are little golden pippins here.
Soldier
Give me the dish, I’ll hand it him myself.
Aileen
I wonder if she is pretty.
Mayor and Servants have gone out.
Soldier
Eat this, old hedgehog.Sniff up the savour and unroll yourself.But if I were the King I’d make you do itWith wisps of lighted straw.
Seanchan
You have rightly named me,I lie rolled up under the ragged thornsThat are upon the edge of those great watersWhere all things vanish away, and I have heardMurmurs that are the ending of all sound.I am out of life, I am rolled up, and yet,Hedgehog although I am, I’ll not unrollFor you, King’s dog. Go to the King, your master,Crouch down and wag your tail, for it may beHe has nothing now against you, and I thinkThe stripes of your last beating are all healed.
Chamberlain
Don’t answer, you were never to his mind.And now you have angered him to no good purpose.But put the dish down and I will speak to him.
Seanchan
You must needs keep your patience yet awhile,For I have some few mouthfuls of sweet airTo swallow before I have grown to be as civilAs any other dust.
Chamberlain
You wrong us, Seanchan,There is none here but holds you in respect,And if you would only eat out of this dishThe King would show how much he honours you.
Aileen
Giving Cripple money.
You are always discontented. Look at this cripple,He has had to cover up his eyes with ragsBecause they are too weak to look at the sun,And has a crooked body, and yet he is cheerful.Stand there where he can see you.
Cripple goes over and stands in front of Seanchan, bowing and smiling.
Chamberlain
We have come to youBecause we wish you a long, prosperous life;Who could imagine you’d so take to heartBeing put from the high table.
Seanchan
It was not IThat you have driven away from the high table,But the images of them that weave a dance,By the four rivers in the mountain garden.
Monk
He means we have driven poetry away.
Chamberlain
It is the men who are learned in the laws,Or have led the King’s armies that should sitAt the King’s table. Nor has poetryBeen altogether driven away, for I,As you should know, have written poetry,And often when the table has been clearedAnd candles lighted, the King calls for meAnd I repeat it him. My poetryIs not to be compared with yours, but stillWhere I am honoured, poetry is honouredIn some measure.
Seanchan
If you are a poet,Cry out that the King’s money would not buy,Nor the high circle consecrate his head,If poets had never christened gold, and evenThe moon’s poor daughter, that most whey-faced metal,Precious; and cry out that none aliveWould ride among the arrows with high heartOr scatter with an open hand, had notOur heady craft commended wasteful virtues.And when that story’s finished, shake your coatWhere the little jewels gleam on it, and sayA herdsman sitting where the pigs had trampledMade up a song about enchanted kings,Who were so finely dressed one fancied themAll fiery, and women by the churnAnd children by the hearth caught up the songAnd murmured it until the tailors heard it.
Monk
How proud these poets are! It was full timeTo break their pride.
Seanchan
And I would have you sayThat when we are driven out we come againLike a great wind that runs out of the wasteTo blow the tables flat.
Chamberlain
If you’d eat somethingYou’d find you have these thoughts because you are hungry.
Seanchan
And when you have told them all these things, lie downOn this bare threshold and starve until the KingRestore to us the ancient right of the poets.
Aileen
Let’s come away. There’s no use talking to him,For he’s resolved to die, and that’s no loss:We will go watch the hurley.
Monk
You should obeyThe King’s commandment and not question it,For it is God himself who has made him king.
Essa
Let’s hear his answer to the monk.
Seanchan
Stoop down,For there is something I would say to you.Has that wild God of yours that was so wildWhen you’d but lately taken the King’s pay,Grown any tamer? He gave you all much troubleBeing so unruly and inconsiderate.
Aileen
What does he mean?
Monk
Let go my habit, Seanchan.
Seanchan
Or it may be you have persuaded himTo chirp between two dishes when the KingSits down to table.
Monk
Let go my habit, sir.What do I care about your insolent dreams.
Seanchan
And maybe he has learnt to sing quite softlyBecause loud singing would disturb the KingWho is sitting drowsily among his friendsAfter the table has been cleared——
Monk
Let go.
Seanchan has been dragged some feet, clinging to the Monk’s habit.
Seanchan
Not yet; you did not think that hungry handsCould be so strong. They are not civil yet—I’d know if you have taught him to eat breadFrom the King’s hand, and perch upon his finger.I think he perches on the King’s strong hand,But it may be that he is still too wild.You must not weary in your work; a KingIs often weary and he needs a GodTo be a comfort to him.
The Monk plucks his habit away. Seanchan holds up his hand as if a bird perched upon it. He pretends to stroke the bird.
A little god,With soft well-coloured feathers, and bright eyes.
Aileen
We have listened long enough.
Essa
Let us away,Where we can watch the young men at the hurley.
Seanchan
Yes, yes, go to the hurley, go to the hurley,Go to the hurley, gather up your skirts,Run quickly. You can remember many love songs;I know it by the light that’s in your eyes,But you’ll forget them. You’re fair to look on,Your feet delight in dancing, and your mouthsIn the slow smiling that awakens love.The mothers that have borne you mated rightly,For they had little ears as thirsty as are yoursFor many love-songs. Go to the young men:Are not the ruddy flesh and the thin flanksAnd the broad shoulders worthy of desire?Go from me. Here is nothing for your eyes,But it is I that am singing you away,Singing you to the young men.
The two young Princesses Buan and Finnhua come in. While he has been speaking Aileen and Essa have shrunk back holding each others hands.
Aileen
Be quiet;Look who it is that has come out of the house.Princesses, we are for the hurling field.Will you come too?
Princess Buan
We will go with you, Aileen,But we must have some words with Seanchan,For we have come to make him eat and drink.
Chamberlain
I will hold out the dish and cup for himWhile you are speaking to him of his folly,If you desire it, Princess.
He has taken up dish and cup.
Princess Buan
Give me the cup.My sister there will carry the dish of meat:We’ll offer them ourselves.
Aileen
They are so gracious,The dear little princesses are so gracious.
Princess Buan holds out her hand for Seanchan to kiss it; he does not move.
Although she is holding out her hand to himHe will not kiss it.
Princess Buan
My father bids us sayThat though he cannot have you at his table,You may ask any other thing you likeAnd he will give it you. We carry youA dish and a cup of wine, with our own hands,To show in what great honour you are held.Will you not drink a little? Does he not showEvery befitting honour to the poets?
Aileen
O look, he has taken it, he has taken it!The dear princesses, I have always saidThat nobody could refuse them anything.
Seanchan takes the cup in one hand, in the other he holds for a moment the hand of the Princess.
Seanchan
O long soft fingers and pale finger-tipsWell worthy to be laid in a king’s hand;O you have fair white hands, for it is certainThere is uncommon whiteness in these hands.But there is something comes into my mind,Princess. A little while before your birthI saw your mother sitting by the roadIn a high chair, and when a leper passedShe pointed him the way into the town,And he lifted his hand and blessed her hand;I saw it with my own eyes. Hold out your hands,I will find out if they are contaminated;For it has come into my thoughts that may beThe King has sent me food and drink by handsThat are contaminated. I would see all your hands,You’ve eyes of dancers, but hold out your hands,For it may be there are none sound among you——
The Princesses have shrunk back in terror.
Princess Buan
He has called us lepers.
Chamberlain
He’s out of his mind,And does not know the meaning of what he said.
Seanchan
Standing up. There are no sound hands among you. No sound hands.Away with you, away with all of you,You are all lepers. There is leprosyAmong the plates and dishes that you have brought me.I would know why you have brought me leper’s wine?
He flings the wine in their faces.
There, there, I have given it to you again, and nowBegone or I will give my curse to you.You have the leper’s blessing, but you thinkMaybe the bread will something lack in savourUnless you mix my curse into the dough.
They go out to L., all except the Cripples. Seanchan is staggering in the middle of the stage.
Seanchan
Where did I say the leprosy came from?I said it came out of a leper’s handAnd that he walked the highway; but that’s folly,For he was walking up there in the skyAnd there he is even now with his white handThrust out of the blue air and blessing themWith leprosy.
A Cripple
He’s pointing at the moonThat’s coming out up yonder, and he calls itLeprous, because the daylight whitens it.
Seanchan
He’s holding up his hand above them allKing, Noblemen, Princesses, blessing all.Who could imagine he’d have so much patience.
First Cripple
Come out of this.
Clutching other Cripple.
Second Cripple
If you don’t need it, sir,May we not carry some of it away?
He points to food.
Seanchan
Who’s speaking? Who are you?
First Cripple
Come out of this.
Second Cripple
Have pity on us, that must beg our breadFrom table to table throughout the entire worldAnd yet be hungry.
Seanchan
But why were you born crooked?What bad poet did your mothers listen toThat you were born so crooked?
First Cripple
Come away.Maybe he’s cursed the food and it might kill us.
Second Cripple
Yes, better come away.
They go out.
Seanchan
Staggering and speaking wearily.
He has great strengthAnd great patience to hold his right hand thereUplifted and not wavering about;He is much stronger than I am, much stronger.
He sinks down on steps.
Enter from R. Fedelm, Cian and Brian.
Brian
There he is lying. Go over to him nowAnd bid him eat.
Fedelm
I’ll get him out of thisBefore I have said a word of food and drink;For while he is on this threshold and can hear,It may be, the voices that made mock of him,He would not listen.
Brian
That is a good plan.But there is little time, for he is weakening.
Fedelm
Crying. I cannot think of any other planAlthough it breaks my heart.
Cian
Let’s leave them now,For she will press the honey from her bagWhen we are gone.
Brian
It will be hard to move himIf hunger and thirst have got into his bones.
They go out leaving Fedelm and Seanchan alone. Fedelm runs over to Seanchan and kneels down before him.
Fedelm
Seanchan! Seanchan!
He remains looking into the sky.
Can you not see me, Seanchan?It is myself.
Seanchan looks at her dreamily at first, then takes her hand.
Seanchan
Is this your hand, Fedelm?I have been looking at another handThat is up yonder.
Fedelm
I have come for you.
Seanchan
Fedelm, I did not know that you were here.
Fedelm
And can you not remember that I promisedThat I would come and take you home with meWhen I’d the harvest in? and now I’ve come,And you must come away, and come on the instant.
Seanchan
Yes, I will come; but is the harvest in?This air has got a summer taste in it.
Fedelm
But is not the wild middle of the summerA better time to marry? Come with me now.
Seanchan
Seizing her by both wrists.
Who taught you that, for it’s a certainty,Although I never knew it till last night,That marriage, because it is the height of life,Can only be accomplished to the fullIn the high days of the year. I lay awake,There had come a frenzy into the light of the starsAnd they were coming nearer and I knewAll in a minute they were about to marryClods out upon the plough-lands, to begetA mightier race than any that has been;But some that are within there made a noiseAnd frighted them away.
Fedelm
Come with me now;We have far to go, and daylight’s running out.
Seanchan
The stars had come so near me that I caughtTheir singing; it was praise of that great raceThat would be haughty, mirthful, and white-bodiedWith a high head, and open hand, and howLaughing, it would take the mastery of the world.
Fedelm
But you will tell me all about their songsWhen we’re at home. You have need of rest and care,And I can give them you when we’re at home,And therefore let us hurry and get us home.
Seanchan
That’s true; and there’s some trouble here, althoughI cannot now remember what it is,And I would get away from it. Give me your help.But why are not my pupils here to help me?Go, call my pupils, for I need their help.
Fedelm
Come with me now, and I will send for them,For I have a great room that’s full of bedsI can make ready, and there is a smooth lawnWhere they can play at hurley and sing poemsUnder an apple-tree.
Seanchan
I know that place,An apple tree and a smooth level lawn,Where the young men can sway their hurley sticks.
Sings.
The four rivers that run there,Through well-mown level ground,Have come out of a blessed wellThat is all bound and woundBy the great roots of an apple,And all fowls of the airHave gathered in the wide branchesAnd keep singing there.
Fedelm, troubled, has covered her eyes with her hands.
Fedelm
No, there are not four rivers, and those rhymesPraise Adam’s Paradise.
Seanchan
I can remember now.It’s out of a poem I made long agoAbout the garden in the east of the world,And how spirits in the images of birdsCrowd in the branches of old Adam’s crab-tree;They come before me now and dig in the fruitWith so much gluttony, and are so drunkWith that harsh, wholesome savour that their feathersAre clinging one to another with the juice.But you would take me to some friendly place,And I would go there quickly.
Fedelm
Come with me.
She helps him to rise. He walks slowly, supported by her till he comes to the table at R.
Seanchan
But why am I so weak? Have I been ill?Sweetheart, why is it that I am so weak?
He sinks on to the seat.
Fedelm
I’ll dip this piece of bread into the wine,For that will make you stronger for the journey.
Seanchan
Yes, give me bread and wine, that’s what I want,For it is hunger that is gnawing me.
He takes bread from Fedelm, hesitates, and then thrusts it back into her hand.
But no, I must not eat it.
Fedelm
Eat, Seanchan,For if you do not eat it you will die.
Seanchan
Why did you give me food?Why did you come?For had I not enough to fight againstWithout your coming?
Fedelm
Eat this little crust,Seanchan, if you have any love for me.
Seanchan
I must not eat it: but that’s beyond your wit;Child, child, I must not eat it though I die.
Fedelm
You do not know what love is, for if you lovedYou would put every other thought awayBut you have never loved me.
Seanchan
Seizing her by the wrist. You, a child,Who have but seen a man out of the window,Tell me that I know nothing about love,And that I do not love you. Did I not sayThere was a frenzy in the light of the starsAll through the livelong night, and that the nightWas full of marriages? But that fight’s over.And all that’s done with, and I have to die.
Fedelm
Throwing her arms about him.
I will not be put from you, although I thinkI had not grudged it you if some great lady,If the King’s daughter, had set out your bed.I will not give you up to death; no, no,And are not these white arms and this soft neckBetter than the brown earth?
Seanchan
I swear an oathUpon the holy tree that I’ll not eatUntil the King restore the right of the poets.O Sun and Moon, and all things that have strength,Become my strength that I may put a curseOn all things that would have me break this oath.
Fedelm has sunk down on the ground while he says this, and crouches at his feet.
Fedelm
Seanchan, do not curse me; from this outI will obey like any married wife.Let me but lie before your feet.
Seanchan
Come nearer.
He kisses her.
If I had eaten when you bid me, sweetheart,The kiss of multitudes in times to comeHad been the poorer.
King
Entering from house. Has he eaten yet?
Fedelm
No, King, and will not till you have restoredThe right of the poets.
King
Coming down and standing before Seanchan.
Seanchan, you have refusedEverybody that I have sent, and nowI come to you myself, and I have comeTo bid you put your pride as far awayAs I have put my pride. I had your loveNot a great while ago, and now you have plannedTo put a voice by every cottage fireAnd in the night when no one sees who criesTo cry against me till my throne has crumbled.And yet if I give way I must offendMy courtiers and nobles till they tooStrike at the crown. What would you have of me?
Seanchan
When did the poets promise safety, King?
King
Seanchan, I bring you bread in my own hands,And bid you eat it because of all these reasons,And for this further reason that I love you.
Seanchan pushes bread away with Fedelm’s hand.
You have refused it, Seanchan.
Seanchan
We have refused it.
King
I have been patient though I am a king,And have the means to force you—but that’s ended,And I am but a king and you a subject.
He goes up steps.
Nobles and courtiers, bring the poets hitherFor you can have your way: I that was manWith a man’s heart am now all king again,Remembering that the seed I come of, althoughA hundred kings have sown it and re-sown it,Has neither trembled nor shrunk backward yetBecause of the hard business of a king.
Princesses, Ladies, and Courtiers have come in with Pupils, who have halters round their necks.
Speak to your master, beg your life of him,Show him the halters that are round your necks;If his heart’s set upon it he may die,But you shall all die with him; beg your lives;Begin, for you have little time to lose;Begin it you that are the oldest pupil.
Senias
Going up to Seanchan.
Die, Seanchan, and proclaim the right of the poets.
King
Silence, you are as crazy as your master.But that young boy that seems the youngest of you,I’d have him speak. Kneel down before him, boy,Hold up your hands to him that he may pluckThat milky coloured neck out of the noose.
Arias
Die, Seanchan, and proclaim the right of the poets.
All the Pupils turn towards the King, holding out the ends of their halters.
Senias
Gather the halters up into your handsAnd lead us where you will, for in all thingsBut in our art we are obedient.
The King comes slowly down the steps.
King
Kneeling down before Seanchan.
Kneel down, kneel down, he has the greater power.I give my crown to you.
All kneel except Seanchan, Fedelm and Pupils. Seanchan rises slowly, supported by one of the Pupils and by Fedelm.
Seanchan
O crown, O crown,It is but right if hands that made the crownIn the old time should give it when they will.O silver trumpets be you lifted up
He lays the crown on the King’s head.
And cry to the great race that is to come.Long-throated swans among the waves of timeSing loudly, for beyond the wall of the worldIt waits and it may hear and come to us.
Some of the Pupils blow a blast upon their horns.
Curtain
Text: The King's Threshold: and On Baile's Strand (A. H. Bullen, London, 1904). Public domain.