Gore-Booth, Eva. The Death of Fionavar from The Triumph of Maeve. London: Erskine MacDonald, 1916.
"Poets, Utopians..." | An Interpretation | "I have seen Maeve of the Battles..." | The Death of Fionavar: Scene of the Vision of Pity | Scene of the Death of Fionavar | Scene of the Triumph of Maeve | Eva Gore-Booth's Notes
To the Memory of the Dead
The Many who died for Freedom and the One who died for Peace
Poets, Utopians, bravest of the brave,
Pearse and MacDonagh, Plunkett, Connolly,[a]
Dreamers turned fighters but to find a grave,
Glad for the dream’s austerity to die.
And my own sister, through wild hours of pain,
Whilst murderous bombs were blotting out the stars,
Little I thought to see you smile again
As I did yesterday, through prison bars.
Oh bitterest sorrow of that land of tears,
Utopia, Ireland of the coming time,
That thy true citizens through weary years
Can for thy sake but make their grief sublime!
Dreamers turned fighters but to find a grave–
Too great for victory, too brave for war,
Would you had dreamed the gentler dream of Maeve . . . .
Peace be with you, and love for ever-more.
As I have been accused of taking liberties with an ancient myth, I would say in defence that all myths have many meanings, perhaps as many as the minds of those who know them: and it is in the nature of things that where there is a variation of meaning there is also a variation of form. The truth of this will be seen by studying the various forms of the old Greek myths, such as the stories of Proserpine or Psyche, and comparing their deep and mystical eastern versions with the commonplace love-stories familiar to the Latin mind.
The meaning I got out of the story of Maeve is a symbol of the world-old struggle in the human mind between the forces of dominance and pity, of peace and war. The time has come, in the history of a human soul, when a newly developed and passionate sense of unity undermines the ancient ideals of savage heroism and world-power. Thus the reign of the old warlike gods is rashly broken into and threatened by the fascination of a new idea. The birth of imagination, the new god of pity, is symbolised in the outside world by the crucifixion of Christ.
A vision of this event is seen by Maeve the Warrior Queen of Connaught at the moment of its happening and becomes the turning point of her life and thought. Before she arrives at this experience she has had many victorious adventures and has even tried to conquer by force of arms that mythical faery land, the Tir-nan-ogue of the Gaelic people, the entrance to which was supposed to be in the mountain close to her palace. She is inspired to this attempt by the stories and songs of Nera, the harper, who has spent many years in the enchanted country and comes back to Ireland on a dark November eve, laden with primroses and spring flowers and singing songs of faery-land.
The first shock is given to Maeve’s military ideals when she finds herself and her army baffled by unseen powers and realises that no army can enter the ivory gate of her dreams. For force is a useless and futile weapon against the soul and its mysterious powers, and the ambitious fighter is for ever an outcast from the country of the mind, which can only be entered by a pilgrim who has cast aside anger and power and worldly possessions. The glimpse of the new ideal is at first not strong enough to make any difference in Maeve’s life, and she continues her everlasting raids and campaigns. Beyond her fighting, her great joy in life is her daughter Fionavar, a young girl of fifteen who has as yet seen nothing of war. Whilst the battle is raging, Maeve and Fionavar go to consult a Druidess as to the result of the fight. The Druidess, under the influence of the sea god Mannanaum, sees visions of the future in the stream of water that flows through her tent. She prophesies the death of Fionavar on the battlefield. At her incantation the presence of the ancient warlike gods of Ireland is felt everywhere. The spear of Ioldana rushes through the tent, the spear that has such a strange savage life of its own that it has to be kept steeped in poppy and mandragore. Mysterious voices are heard on all sides. Then suddenly the advent of the new god of pity is heralded by consternation and fear, for at the first approach of the idea of non-resistance, terror and antipathy are felt by most people, and gods and men alike shrink back from the coming of a new and terrible god, the god of war. The gentleness that is bringing new suffering in its train, the pity that is the sword that Christ said He came to bring into the world. The scene ends in a vision of the Crucifixion, that is supposed to be happening at the same moment. Fionavar falls to the ground unconscious at the sight of so much pain, struck to the heart by the force of that new and terrible Imaginative Pity that has come into the world, and the Druidess speaks sadly of the advent of the new God.
The next scene describes how Fionavar goes down in the evening after the fight to meet her mother, who is coming home victorious. She has never before seen the horrors of battle, and is full of a happy dream of glory and victory. When she suddenly stumbles on the real thing, the death and pain of the battlefield, the shock is too much for her delicate organism; she falls dead on the blood-stained grass, thus dying of pity on the battlefield, the first victim of the new and terrible god. She is carried, dead, on her shield by lamenting warriors, to the tent where her mother is waiting for her, full of gloom and foreboding.
The effect of these events on Maeve is very slow and gradual; she begins to lose her interest in fighting and her ambitions. It is not exactly sorrow that possesses her, but her ideas of the value of things slowly change, and she begins to feel it impossible to rule and lead armies, and not worth while to fight for narrow ambitious ideals. Her interest in the mystical world wakes up again, the faery land she had once hoped to take by force makes its influence felt in her dreams. She becomes unpopular as new ideas of impartial good will, instead of rewards and favours, shew themselves in her dealings with the world, whilst pity and understanding take the place of punishment.
The climax is reached when Nera, who has felt for a time also the illusion of the sword, comes to her court, singing songs and bringing with him a breath of the gentleness and peace of the other world, the Tir-nan-ogue, or country of the young, the faery land of Irish legend. He is murdered by the soldiers, who think he has thrown a spell over the Queen. And Maeve casts away her kingdom and all her many possessions and ambitions, and goes away by herself to meditate and live austerely under the hazel boughs in an island on the Shannon. Thus, without force or sovereignty, in loneliness and poverty, she finds the way into faery land, the way to her own soul.
E.G.-B.
May, 1916.
I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill,
And I know that the deed that is in my heart is her deed,
And my soul is blown about by the wild wind of her will,
For always the living must follow whither the dead would lead--
I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill.
I would dream a dream at twilight of ease and beauty and peace--
A dream of light on the mountains, and clam on the restless sea;
A dream of the gentle days of the world when battle shall cease
And the things that are in hatred and wrath no longer shall be.
I would dream a dream at twilight of ease and beauty and peace.
The foamless waves are falling soft on the sands of Lissadil
And the world is wrapped in quiet and a floating dream of gray;
But the wild winds of the twilight blow straight from the haunted hill
And the stars come out of the darkness and shine over Knocknarea--
I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill.
There is no rest for the soul that has seen the wild eyes of Maeve;
No rest for the heart once caught in the net of her yellow hair--
No quiet for the fallen wind, no peace for the broken wave,
Rising and falling, falling and rising with soft sounds everywhere;
There is no rest for the soul that has seen the wild eyes of Maeve.
I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill
And I know that the deed that is in my heart is her deed;
And my soul is blown about by the wild winds of her will,
For ever the living must follow whither the dead would lead--
I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill.
PERSONS
MAEVE, High-Queen of Connaught
FIONAVAR, her daughter; a girl of sixteen
FLEEAS, Queen of the Granaradians; a tributary queen
NERA, a Harper in Maeve’s Court, who has been a year in Faery Land
FERGUS, Chief of the Ultonian exiles, who have left the service of the King of Ulla
because of the treachery practised on the sons of Usna, and the sorrows of Deirdre
A DRUIDESS
AN OLD WOMAN
ULTONIAN EXILES, MESSENGERS, HEROES and WARRIOR WOMEN of Connaught
Interior of a tent, through which a little stream runs. A DRUIDESS is crouching in the shadow, gazing into the dark water. The tent is hung with magical symbols, triangles and other mathematical figures. There is a bronze lamp on a high pedestal; under it is a huge opalescent shell. A yew bough is hung over the entrance. MAEVE flings aside the curtain and comes in. She looks fierce and haggard; in her hand is a javelin. The DRUIDESS does not move or look up, but goes on crooning to herself and gazing into the stream.
The Death of Fionavar
DRUIDESS
Oh, wandering water fallen from thy rest,
Among the hills in many secret streams,
What dream dost thou bear away to the West,
Where the Atlantic waits for all our dreams?
Thy creeping footsteps fill the night with sound
And silence, gliding through the windless tent,
Still as deep waters that flow underground,
Dark with the vision of a fierce event.
Like children struggling on the breast of night,
The image of the slayer and the slain
Float past in trembling waves of broken light
With running water for their battle plain.Oh, Mannanan[1], call all thy streams to thee,
Be thy voice heard above the silvery din
Till restless rivers find the untroubled sea
And every little wave is gathered in.
MAEVE
Druidess!
DRUIDESS
What is thy will?
MAEVE
I have come here
Straight from the battle: I would know the end.
DRUIDESS
The end is peace.
MAEVE
Speak plainly, friend, no fear
Is in my soul. Plain words do but offend
The timid. What dost thou see in the stream?
DRUIDESS
A victory such as the poets sing
And the unbroken triumph of a dream.
MAEVE
I would break the pride of the Red Branch King.
DRUIDESS
Deirdre shall be avenged.
MAEVE
Is it even so?
Why dost thou tremble, Druidess, and turn pale?
DRUIDESS
I have seen another sight, a vision of woe.
MAEVE
A false dream surely; shall this great host fail?
DRUIDESS
I have seen the bearers carrying the dead.
MAEVE
All men must die; the battle hours hold
A short and painless death. . . .
DRUIDESS
Oh, so much bloodshed
Has dulled the vision. . . .
MAEVE
Thy tale is but half told;
What seest thou?
DRUIDESS
Oh, Maeve hold thou thy shield
Before the breast of her thou lovest most,
See to her safety on the battle-field.
May the kind gods who march beside the host
Protect her.
MAEVE (with a loud cry)
Fionavar! Fionavar!
FIONAVAR pushes aside the curtain and comes in.
FIONAVAR
What wouldst thou, Maeve? I wait here for thy will.
MAEVE
Fleeas goes with me in the battle-car:
Go thou to thy tent. . . .
FIONAVAR
What have I done?
MAEVE (speaking quickly in great agitation)
Naught. Be still.
The omens are evil: go thou to thy tent.
Wait there in peace; the battle is not for thee
To-day. Have pity, child, my soul is rent
With fear.
DRUIDESS
It is the will of the ever-blessed Sidhe.
A sudden echoing cry is heard. The DRUIDESS puts her ear to the shell and listens intently. The tent grows dark.
MAEVE
Fionavar, where art thou?
FIONAVAR
At thy side. . . .
MAEVE
A cold hand touched me. . . .
FIONAVAR
Waves of chilling air
Darken the world. . . .
MAEVE
The crowding shadows glide
About us. . . .
There is a flash of lightning. For a moment glimmering faces are seen as of a host of spirits rushing through the tent. There is a slight earthquake shock.
FIONAVAR (absently gazing into the darkness)
The faces of the gods are very fair,
The earth rocks underneath their scornful tread.
Through the dark tent there rushes a shining spear made of living and fluid particles of light. There is a hissing sound as of red-hot iron plunged into water, and the spear vanishes.
Ioldana, why hast thou hurled thy spear[2]
Into the world?
ANOTHER VOICE
The living and the dead
Have met in the crashing of a broken sphere.
FIRST VOICE
The lance should have lain among lifeless things
Made drowsy with poppies steeped in Mandragore.
A flight of white birds passes.
Red is the blood on thy birds’ wings,
Angus! [3]
A VOICE
There is one here I know not.
ANOTHER VOICE (shrieking)
A God of War,
A new and terrible god. . . .
A VOICE
Oh, stranger Lord,
Bid the spheres part and all this tumult cease. . . .
ANOTHER VOICE
Thy soul has come amongst us like a sword. . . .
Leave us in peace–leave us in peace.
The thunder grows louder and louder. There is a violent earthquake shock.
FIRST VOICE
Pass on thy way, bid the struck earth be still.
What have we to do with thee, pass on thy way.
A VOICE (in terror)
Thou hast put out the sun with thy wild will.
A SHRIEKING CRY
Where is the sunshine, give us back the day!
The earthquake shock is repeated. The tent becomes darker and darker till suddenly a little circle of light begins to grow in the midst of the blackness. Figures gradually become visible, very small and clear like a vision in a crystal ball. Three crosses stand out for a moment against a lurid sky surrounded by a confused and panic stricken multitude, then there is another earthquake crash and everything disappears in the darkness for a short time. Crash succeeds crash and all is confusion. Then the light gradually and very dimly re-appears. FIONAVAR is lying on the ground in a dead faint. MAEVE stands beside her pale and rigid.
DRUIDESS
Oh! Mannanan, call all thy streams to thee,
Be thy voice heard above their silvery din
Till restless rivers find the untroubled sea
And every little wave be lost therein.
FIONAVAR gradually comes to herself.
MAEVE
The gods have given a sign–the ground shook
And sank beneath us like a sinking wave,
I have read of such things in an ancient book.
FIONAVAR (in a voice of passionate entreaty)
May the gods pity a tortured slave!
MAEVE
Alas! alas! my soul is full of fear
And evil boding.
DRUIDESS
Hast thou no pity then
For the death of a god? Oh Queen, the crystal sphere
Is broken, and a new star gone forth. . . .
Scene of the Death of Fionavar
MAEVE’S tent. It is growing dark. FIONAVAR and an OLD WOMAN. The OLD WOMAN is spinning.
FIONAVAR
Old mother, dost think they will soon return?
THE OLD WOMAN
Have patience, child, the day is not yet done.
FIONAVAR.
See, in the distance, dost thou not discern
Their helmets flashing in the setting sun?
THE OLD WOMAN
Tis but the river glittering on the plain.
Young eyes are dazzled by a dream of strife
In every stream.
FIONAVAR (impatiently)
I strain my eyes in vain.
This is the longest day in my whole life.
She paces about impatiently. The OLD WOMAN spins. A MESSENGER enters the tent. He is dusty and travel-stained.
MESSENGER
The battle is over--the Ultonians fled.
I have seen Cuculain fly before the Queen,
He saved himself by flight--now he is dead
And Ulla has fallen.
FIONAVAR
I would I had seen
The triumph of Maeve!
MESSENGER
Lady, even now
She stands victorious in her battle-car
Lonely among the dead. Grief is on her brow--
She speaks but of thee, Princess Fionavar.
FIONAVAR
I will go forth to meet her.
THE OLD WOMAN
Nay, child, rest
A little while.
FIONAVAR
I cannot rest, my heart
Does not know peace. The sun is in the west,
I must see her ere the last gleams depart
From the world.
THE OLD WOMAN
Oh! I am old and feeble grown;
I pray thee wait awhile.
FIONAVAR
I cannot stay.
THE OLD WOMAN
Wilt thou leave me mourning here alone?
FIONAVAR
I must be with her ere the close of day.
THE OLD WOMAN
Oh! wild and passionate will, ye shall not meet
Before the daylight deepens into night.
FIONAVAR
Yet will I run to find her, with swift feet
Chasing the last rays of the fading light.
THE OLD WOMAN
Ah, do not go; a sharp and shuddering chill
Warns all my soul against this deed of thine.
FIONAVAR
My heart is on fire, and my mortal will
Is but a wine-cup for the spirit’s wine
That overflows in deeds.
THE OLD WOMAN
Oh, rash and reckless one!
The Queen feared much for thee this battle plain.
FIONAVAR
I will be with her there ere set of sun,
The battle is over and all her fears in vain–
I go to find the sweet and shining hour
I have seen mirrored in each running stream
And in the heart of every wind-blown flower–
I go to find the glory of a dream,
The triumph of Maeve!
She goes out. The OLD WOMAN begins to spin and sing to herself in a low voice.
SONG
Out of the depths of the crystal spheres
To the wind-blown world a spirit came,
And from the joy of her shining years
She brought but a little waving flame.The winds of the world blew strong to scorch
With the burning dream her crystal mind.
Alas, for the spirit that held the torch!
Alas, for a flame blown by the wind!
Alas, for the wild desire that stole
From the opal’s heart the spark divine,
For the flame has burnt through her inmost soul
And cracked and blackened its crystal shrine.
MESSENGER
Does any evil thing threaten the Queen?
THE OLD WOMAN
She will find her lonely amongst the dead.
MESSENGER
That was a strange song: surely thou hast seen
A vision or dreamed some dark dream of dread.
THE OLD WOMAN
The flame has cracked and scorched its crystal shrine. . . .
MESSENGER
Cease thou thy riddles, who may understand
These twisted dreams and subtle words of thine?
Speak thou the common speech of all the land.
THE OLD WOMAN
There is no need for words, it is too late–
MESSENGER
Dost thou see anything?
THE OLD WOMAN
On the grass outside
I hear the swift foot-fall of fate,
I know that she will find what she sought.
Another MESSENGER comes in.
SECOND MESSENGER
Where is the Princess Fionavar?
THE OLD WOMAN
She has gone forth to meet the High-Queen Maeve.
SECOND MESSENGER
The Queen drives homeward in her battle-car,
Crushing the grass where many a new-made grave
Shall soon be heaped; she bids the Princess stay
Her coming here; her soul is strangely rent
With evil dreams and bodings. Canst thou say
Where I shall find the Princess?
THE OLD WOMAN (goes to the door and points)
This way she went.
SECOND MESSENGER
How shall I know her, lady; by what signs?
THE OLD WOMAN
She is young and tall, like a tall meadow flower,
Delicate-wristed, with a sword that shines
Guiltless of blood. Stay: in an evil hour
She bound the golden cath-barr on her head
That marks for all the world her royal birth.
SECOND MESSENGER
I would know her among the living or the dead
By the gold circle of the kings of earth.
He goes out.
FIRST MESSENGER
What dost thou fear? Why is thy soul downcast?
THE OLD WOMAN
She has gone out into a world of woe
At twilight.
FIRST MESSENGER
Surely all danger is past.
THE OLD WOMAN
Danger is never past while rivers flow
Down to the sea, and white spring flowers fade
In the sharp winds, while every weary year
Autumn makes barren the green forest glade.
Thinking these thoughts my heart is full of fear.
FIRST MESSENGER
These are the foolish fancies of the old,
Their dreams are ever but a craven throng
Of fears, their hearts beat slow–their blood is cold.
THE OLD WOMAN
Oh! spirit of youth, thou doest the world wrong,
The sunny April world, where old and new,
The aged earth and the young growing flowers
Are lit by rainbow dreams the whole day through;
But the pale primrose-haunted twilight hours
Gazing at old unfathomable things,
Crowd round the threshold of the nearer stars
And beat the blue air with their weary wings--
Believe me, the old behind their prison bars
Have lit strange altar fires.
FIRST MESSENGER
I hear the sound
Of galloping horses.
THE OLD WOMAN
It is the Queen!
Grief is on me, I am bowed to the ground,
I would that all this sorrow had not been.
There is a moment’s silence–then MAEVE comes in.
MAEVE
Where is Fionavar?
THE OLD WOMAN
Oh! great Queen, blame me not
For I am old.
MAEVE
Where is Fionavar?
THE OLD WOMAN
I know not. She fled like an arrow shot
Into the twilight gray, without a star.
I am old and feeble and my sight is weak.
MAEVE
Oh fool, fool, fool, why didst thou let her go?
THE OLD WOMAN
There was her dream that she went forth to seek.
MAEVE
She has found the gates of the world’s woe
And flung them wide for me to enter in.
Did I not leave her young life to thy care?
Oh! she was better in the fury and din
Of battle. There is no safety anywhere.
Old woman, hast thou then no words to say?
THE OLD WOMAN
I thought I heard music.
MAEVE
Who are these
Who sing such strange songs? They pass on their way
In slow procession winding through the trees.
The OLD WOMAN goes to the door and looks out.
THE OLD WOMAN
It is the bearers carrying the dead,
A warrior lying on a golden shield.
MAEVE
Alas, the vision–there was much blood shed
Not hers. I kept her from the battle-field,
I kept her from the sight of my sad eyes--
I could not keep her from my dreams.
The DRUIDESS comes in.
DRUIDESS
She died
On the battle-field.
MAEVE
Oh thou most wise
Canst thou not save her?
DRUIDESS
Nay, the dead abide.
A procession of warriors comes slowly into the tent, chanting as they go. They are carrying the dead FIONAVAR on a long oval shield.
LAMENT
She is rescued from days and hours, she is lost to the years that pass,
And the broken pride of her beauty shall lie near the roots of the grass.
In vain dost thou seek to restore her, oh Queen, she was weary of war,
Let us bear her away to the peace of the lonely and dream-trodden shore.
Far away near the haunted Rosses where the sea shrinks out of the bay
And the world is a purple shadow from the green lands to Knocknarea,
Where the sky is above and about us and the sand crumbles under our tread,
And a rain-soft wind from the hills shall soothe the tired eyelids of the dead,
We will fold her round with our pity, we will lay her down in her grave,
Fionavar, fairest of women, the daughter of yellow-haired Maeve.
Oh Mother! how shall we remember, how shall we bear her in mind--
A spent lamp lost in the darkness or a flame that went forth on the wind.
Is she broken and silent and gone like the broken string of a lyre,
Or radiant, a child of the lightning, a spirit of music and fire?
Did she mock at the growing flowers, think scorn of the spring in her pride?
Though the guardian hills stood dreaming about her she would not abide.
The rain and the wind were her comrades, she left them, she went forth alone;
Now the rainbow’s circle is broken, the dreams of the wind overthrown.
She forsook the kind hearth of the world and the sweetness of things that are,
To build up the pride of her soul on some lonely and perilous star.
She is hidden away from the twilight, her secret is known to none,
She has broken her faith with the wind and the sea–she is false to the sun.
AN OLD MAN (on the outskirts of the crowd)
My sight is dim--why do these idle folk
Crowd round the Queen, what evil has come to pass?--
A WARRIOR
Men say the great heart of the Princess broke
For pity of the dead lying on the grass
After the battle.
MAEVE
Ye who have borne her hither on her shield
Tell now your tale. How did this thing befall
Fionavar?
A WARRIOR
She came at evening, running to the field,
Knowing naught of battle, or sights that appal
The strongest soul unused to the ways of war.
Thou knowest her heart was ever wont to burn
For any little grief. Therefore when she saw
The primroses all soaked in blood and the brown fern
Broken--Death that was servant to no gentle God
And everywhere pale faces wild with pain,
The blood-stained daisy cried out from the sod
Unto her soul, there on the stricken plain
For very pity she fell down and died.
NERA
Should a man die for pity of those who die?
I weep for the immortals, patient eyed,
And pale fixed stars that weary of the sky.
MAEVE
Oh ye who saw her fall, ye must have heard
Her idlest whisper, her last sobbing breath.
Did ye not rescue one half-drownèd word
From the black tides and silent gulfs of death?
WARRIOR
She shrieked--a bitter cry.
MAEVE
Is there then none of you
Will tell me the words of her whose swift end
Has broken my heart?
There is a silence.
MAEVE
Unfaithful and untrue!
Are you all slaves, have I not then one friend?
FLEEAS
She flung her arms out to the blue and cried,
‘Is this the triumph of Maeve’ and shrieked and fell,
And lay so still, none knew when she died.
Oh Queen! this is a grievous tale to tell.
MAEVE
Yea, and a grievous triumph.
FERGUS comes in.
FERGUS
Queen, I am loath to bring
Noises of battle to this quiet tent
Where all men mourn, and only the bards sing
Praises of the dead.
MAEVE rises to her feet and motions to the attendants, who go out one by one.
MAEVE
What sudden event
Has brought thee here, what dark and evil fate?
FERGUS
There are strange tidings from the fortressed hills,
The captains sit in council, and thy wait
Thy presence and crowning will.
MAEVE (gazing at FIONAVAR)
Oh, least of many ills
Is death. Child, thou wert wise beyond thy years.
FERGUS
The jealous captains wait for thee, oh Queen,
This is no time for mourning or for tears.
MAEVE (still looking at FIONAVAR)
I will go with thee.
FERGUS
'Twere well thou wert seen
In the camp, for men say the Queen is dead.
MAEVE rises slowly and goes towards the door.
MAEVE
I come.
FERGUS
They have cast covetous eyes on the throne.
MAEVE
Alas! alas! shall there be more blood shed?
FERGUS
Pity them not, they reap as they have sown.
The host is murmuring like a troubled sea;
Speak them soft words and bit this tumult cease.
MAEVE
Pass on.
FERGUS goes out. MAEVE stands for a moment near the door as if about to follow him. Suddenly she stops, drops the curtain and rushes back to where FIONAVAR is lying. She flings herself on her knees beside her.
MAEVE
Oh, wilt thou not open the gates to me?
Fionavar, Deirdre, the gates of Peace.
Great Hall at Rath Cruhane. A feast is spread on gold and silver dishes; everything is prepared for MAEVE’S home-coming. The DRUIDESS is surrounded by a group of warriors and attendants, talking eagerly.
A WARRIOR
Men say there is a great and evil change
In the High-Queen since Fionavar died.
ANOTHER
Yet she is not old. It is very strange. . . .
ANOTHER
She stands entranced for hours, vacant-eyed,
Speaking to none. It is as if a spell
Had fallen upon her. She does not hear
The voices of the world: no man can tell
Whither her soul strays. . . .
DRUIDESS
She mourns perchance
Fionavar or Ailill.
WARRIOR
Nay, men say
This is not sorrow, but a Druid trance
That dulls her sense and wraps her soul away.
For her lips murmur many a strange word
Unknown to dreams, as in the battle-song
A sudden rush of strange desire is heard
That shudders away beyond the straining throng
In a moment. . . .
DRUIDESS
It is not often in the time
Of their great victory that the stars call
To the souls of men, yet the golden chime
And thunderous procession of the spheres,
In waves of music hiding the wise dead,
Sweeps through her soul and breaks the web of years
That muffles the will, reverberant to the tread
Of dreams. . . .
WARRIOR
Surely the Queen’s heart is dead and cold.
Once she had many lovers: now no man
May please her. Men say she is growing old.
DRUIDESS
She had grown old before the world began.
WARRIOR
Strange such a woman should tire of delight.
ANOTHER
Is it to-day that she divides the spoil?
ATTENDANT
As I looked out across the plain last night,
I saw great carts laden with precious things,
And heavy burdened oxen strain and toil
Along the Eastern road.
ANOTHER ATTENDANT
Doubtless she brings
Great gifts to Connaught.
ALL
Long may the Queen reign!
Singing is heard in the distance.
Far away in the Curlew mountains, the fires of welcome flare,
For word has gone out through the country that Maeve has come home again,
Men tell of her glorious deeds and her victories everywhere,
And all the idle folk in the land are flocking to Rath Cruhane.
Oh, ye warriors weary of battle! here is an end of toil,
For the gray-necked crow has fled away with a flapping of bloodstained wings.
Far from the place of slaughter shall be the dividing of the spoil,
And the bards shall sing of the battles of Maeve in the hall of the Kings.
Procession of Dancers, Harp Players, Druids, Druidesses and Warriors.
There is a moment’s hush, then MAEVE comes in alone. She is dressed in a long gold-embroidered robe, with a gold crown on her head. She moves like one in a dream but goes straight to the throne.
Now the young tell their dreams to the old and the wise go crowned with flowers;
Weak spirits shall dwell with heroes and be comrades of the brave,
For this is the day of all days in the world, the hour of hours,
The day of the glory of Connaught, the hour of the Triumph of Maeve.
MAEVE
I have given the captains orders to divide
The spoil, each warrior shall have his part,
All shall be done in justice without pride
Or fear of men. . . .
FERGUS
Some folly is in her heart.
MAEVE
All souls shall share alike and be content.
FERGUS
Great gifts befit great names and little men
Are grateful for little.
A WARRIOR
The host will be rent
With the wrath of princes.
MAEVE
What sayest thou then,
Oh Fleeas? Many who served in the ranks
Who were not heroes or kings yet were slain.
FLEEAS
For this justice thou shalt gain little thanks.
CHORUS OF WARRIORS
The Queen is just. . . . Long may the Queen reign.
MAEVE (passionately)
Let them reign who may, Fionavar
Is dead.
She sinks down on the throne.
ATTENDANT
Queen, there is one without,
A poor man, he says he has travelled far
To find thee.
MAEVE
Let him in, without doubt
He brings news.
There is a stir in the crowd and CONAL pushes his way into the hall.
CONAL
A favour, Queen.
MAEVE
What is thy will?
CONAL
Do justice, Lady, between me and mine,
I am blind Conal of Knock Lane Hill.
MAEVE
Say then, oh Conal, what is this boon of thine?
CONAL
Bid Nera who was my brother, divide
The fields he stole--the beautiful green lands
He wrested from me when our father died.
MAEVE
Couldst thou then hold them with those poor weak hands
Of thine?
CONAL
Yea, Queen, weak hands are strong to grasp
The sword of justice, and my claim is just.
MAEVE
Have then thy justice, go thy ways, and clasp
To thy cold heart this handful of dry dust.
I know thee of old, thy brother who stole
It from thee is a dreamer, he has no need
Of land; he has much treasure in his soul.
CONAL
He is a man of avarice and greed.
MAEVE
Fergus, see thou that Conal have his share
Of the fields, I have other work to-night.
A Voice in the hall.
VOICE
Justice, oh Queen! Vengeance on them that dare
Deceive me and defraud me of my right.
MAEVE
What is thy right?
A WARRIOR
The love and happiness
Of the beautiful Edane, she who was my wife.
MAEVE
There is but little right in love, and less
In happiness.
WARRIOR
They have stolen away my life.
MAEVE
There is no right in life.
WARRIOR
There is the law
That gives each man his own.
MAEVE
Love is not thine,
Or joy my gift to give or to withdraw.
No law can help thee to hold fast these things.
WARRIOR
She fled away with Dary from the North.
MAEVE
In vain dost thou hope to clip the swallow’s wings.
Let those who dream of summer freely forth
Lest in their bonds they poison the deep wells of Life.
WARRIOR
I would have vengeance for my ancient name,
Disgraced and blackened by this deed that tells
My loss to the world, and mars my fair fame.
MAEVE
She has gone forth to the world; let the world deal
With her. Fear not, sorrow is at her side
And the world’s vengeance sharper than the steel
Of thy fierce sword. Thou shalt be satisfied!
VOICES
The Queen is just! Long may the Queen reign.
A VOICE
Justice, oh Queen! and blood for bloodshed.
MAEVE
Which of us all is there who has not slain
Another
A pause. An OLD MAN pushes to the front.
OLD MAN
Nay, but my son’s blood is red
On the grass: shall not the slayers die?
MAEVE
I have seen pity on a blood-stained field.
OLD MAN
Men say he cried a very bitter cry.
They bore him home to me dead on his shield.
MAEVE (earnestly)
Oh friend! have pity on the holy dead.
OLD MAN
They have no pity, four warriors can boast
They slew my son, in secret was his blood shed--
By treachery.
MAEVE
Trouble not his ghost
With this dark folly of revenge, he knows
It is well to die. He thinks thee but a fool,
Old man, to fill the world with noise and blows
For his sake.
FERGUS
The Queen grows old, she is not fit to rule.
MAEVE
Hush! there is music--
NERA is heard singing outside. The great doors at the end of the hall are flung wide open as if by an invisible force, and as NERA advances the Guards and Attendants fall back on all sides. He passes up the room and stands before MAEVE.
In the Queen’s dun a heavy curtain shuts
The sun out and the air is dark and cool.
In Tirnanogue [4] the wind-blown hazel nuts
Drop down through sunlight into a clear pool.
And knowledge dwells where the red berries are
And wisdom among the waters cool and bright,
Wherein deep sunken many a drownèd star
Burns with a secret and unearthly light.
Not in the judgment hall shall the Queen find
Wisdom, nor on the breast of warring seas,
But in lost waters where a haunted wind
Rustles the green boughs of the hazel trees.
MAEVE
I have taken from thee, oh Nera, thy green lands,
Yet would I give thee for this song great praise.
NERA untwines the wreath of primroses from his harp.
NERA
I have a gift for thee, oh Queen, my hands
Are empty now of gifts, I go my ways.
He lays the primrose wreath on the step of MAEVE’S throne and turns to go, but the people gather round him with threatening murmurs and angry gestures.
A VOICE IN THE CROWD
This is the man who has bewitched the Queen
With words.
ANOTHER VOICE
He made a mighty and a three-fold curse
And put it on her.
ANOTHER VOICE
What do such songs mean
But treason and red murder? Yea, far worse
Than all these things: contempt poured on the throne
And sovereign power of Connaught.
FERGUS (scornfully)
Let him be;
He’s but a fool.
A VOICE IN THE CROWD
Nay, not of him alone
Judge ye, but of the strife and misery
His dreams will bring on the land.
ANOTHER VOICE
Drive him forth
From Connaught.
ANOTHER VOICE
Nay, vengeance is on his brow:
He will make songs in some dun in the North
And put a curse on us.
ANOTHER VOICE
Yea, let us slay him now.
CONAL
Oh, Nera, give me back those lands of mine
Thou knowest of!
NERA
Peace, peace, hot-headed one,
Get thee back to thy cattle and thy swine.
MAEVE (to NERA)
This is a foolish deed that thou hast done.
NERA
'Tis the last folly and the last farewell!
CONAL
Traitor, give forth thy life for thy false tongue,
Thy life for thy treachery.
NERA
The bards shall tell
This tale in the aftertime and songs be sung
How a man slew his brother for lean lands
And scraggy hills, spray-swept by the harsh sea.
CONAL
Were those green fields a waste of shifting sands
Yet would I slay thee.
NERA (drawing his sword)
Even so, then let it be,
I will give battle unto thy desires
Oh Conal, knowing that this is the end.
Beyond the ivory gate burn starry fires
Where the spheres meet and rushing torrents blend
With peaceful waters, and each broken wave
Of melody flows on from sphere to sphere.
CONAL
Nay, thou shalt find but green grass for a grave,
Yea, in the end shall the green grass be dear
To thy proud soul.
They fight. NERA defends himself languidly, and is soon wounded and overcome.
FERGUS
He was no fighter, yet shall he have praise
In the aftertime.
CONAL
'Twere well he were slain,
Else will he come back after many days.
Yea, surely he will bewitch the Queen again.
MAEVE is sitting on the throne with her head on her hands and her elbows on her knees.
NERA
Wilt thou not lift my poor gift from the ground?
See it is stained with blood, oh proud Queen!
MAEVE
Nera, these magic primroses were found
In the dim wood where hazel boughs are green
Above enchanted waters.
She takes the primrose wreath in her hands. NERA watches her intently.
Withered flowers,
Oh blood-stained primroses, ye speak unto my will
With a harsh cry, a burden of bitter hours
Drowned in blind caverns under the dark hill
Of dreams. . . .
She shudders. There is a silence.
MAEVE
Now has the hour struck that is the last
Of all my hours. The busy moments cease
To vex me, crowding ever thick and fast
Round my sick soul--beyond the gates of peace
I breathe the air of that wide, quiet sea
Where music has changed the rhythm of all things
To the round measure of Eternity,
And ancient Time with dark and broken wings
Has sunk beneath the waves--
She casts aside her crown and royal robes.
O! lie thou there, thou crown of life and fate,
Now is my heart for ever and ever free
As the free stars beyond the ivory gate.
For the last time these rags of royalty
Cumber the soul: now will I find the way
To Tirnanogue--the way to my own soul,
The way to the world’s heart beyond night or day
Or love or hate or any golden goal
Of empire; the inexorable doors
Yield to the passionate rhythms of the wise.
My feet are on the elemental floors,
The fierce æthereal fires dazzle mine eyes.
I did not save thee, Nera, yet will I go
With thee--
She winds the wreath of primroses in her hair.
FLEEAS
Wilt thou then die with him, oh Maeve?
MAEVE
Nay, nay, fear not, I know
A better way. The hazel branches wave
And sway in the wind, and gentle voices call
From the deep shadows--voices that once I knew
Of those who stand in peace when the stars fall.
In such a place it seems that my soul grew
Out of the darkness long and long ago
At the world’s edge.
NERA
Oh! I will follow thee
And greet thee where the quiet waters flow
Under green boughs.
FERGUS
Nay, Queen, this cannot be.
Hast thou forgot thy kingdom and thy throne--
And us who did thy will on the red plain
Of Battle? A king’s life is not his own.
MAEVE
It is not given unto kings to reign
For more than a little while--
A CHIEF
Dost thou not know
The royal bonds that bind thy soul to ours,
Thy people, from of old--
MAEVE
Long, long ago
My soul lay deep amongst the roots of flowers
And now, my people wander o’er the hills,
The white-faced daisy and the homeless clan
Of primroses and the most loyal daffodils
Are waiting for me. Since the world began
My soul was bound with many a secret bond
Unto the intimate will of the brown soil
That fought for beauty in green boughs beyond
The wars of men, and with long silent toil
Built up the hills and flowered in the white thorn
And faded in the twilight, and at noon
Lay in thick sunshine on the growing corn
And mixed the gentle magic of the moon
With the soft sighing of the flowing tides
And a dim dream of spirit faces pale
That haunt the woods.
DRUIDESS
Oh Queen, the glory of the world hides
Much grief.
MAEVE
Nay, nay, the primroses are but a veil--
A rag of beauty hiding immortal brows
From easily daunted eyes.
MAEVE goes slowly down the room like one in a dream--nobody dares to stop her.
NERA
Oh, most wise Queen,
I will greet thee again under the hazel boughs
In Tirnanogue when the hazel trees are green.
MAEVE does not seem to hear.
WARRIOR
Nay, sorcerer, that thou shalt never do.
He stabs NERA as MAEVE goes out. A warrior rushes forward to seize the fallen crown. Others try to hold him back. Another warrior snatches up the sword of MAEVE--and the scene closes in confusion and wild disorder.
EINEEN’S SONG OF ILLUSION
(From “Unseen Kings”)
For such a cause did not Durdre die?
And many faithful lovers of old days
Who had found treason under the blue sky.
They died of grief, and the songs give them praise . . .
For such a cause . . .
For such a cause the passionate child of Maeve,
When the world’s sorrow pierced her golden shield,
But yesterday was borne unto her grave,
Dying of pity on the battle field . . .
For such a cause . . .
For such a cause, the treachery of one
Deemed true the faithful hearted weep in vain,
A sound of keening fills the heroes’ dun,
And mourners weep above the newly slain
For such a cause . . .
I think also that life is a certain long road leading to Eleusis or Babylon, but that the boundaries of the road are palaces and temples, and the greatest of the mysteries.
MAXIMUS TYRIUS
The Winged Horse shall be harnessed to many ploughs, but in the end there is freedom and the aether vibrates to the rhythm of unseen Light.
[1] Mannanan was the sea god. [return to text]
[2] The living spear of the god Ioldana had tremendous magic powers. [return to text]
[3] Angus was the god of love. [return to text]
[4] Tirnanogue, the country of the young, the paradise of Irish mythology. [return to text]
[Editor's Notes:]
[a]Padraig Pearse, Thomas MacDonagh, Joseph Plunkett, and James Connolly all signed the proclamation of Irish independence that marked the beginning of the Easter Rising of 1916. Eva Gore-Booth's sister, Constance Markiewicz, did not sign the proclamation but took an active part in military action as an officer in the Citizen Army, one of the bodies that supported the Rising. In the aftermath of the Rising, she was charged with treason and imprisoned; she was released in a general amnesty in 1917. [return to text]