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ON BAILE’S STRAND

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To William Fay

BECAUSE OF THE BEAUTIFUL PHANTASY OF HISPLAYING IN THE CHARACTER OFTHE FOOL

PERSONS IN THE PLAY

A Fool

A Blind Man

Cuchulain, King of Muirthemne

Conchubar, High King of Ulad

A Young Man, Son of Cuchulain

Kings and Singing Women

ON BAILE’S STRAND

A great hall at Dundealgan, not ‘Cuchulain’s great ancient house’ but an assembly house nearer to the sea. A big door at the back, and through the door misty light as of sea mist. There are many chairs and one long bench. One of these chairs, which is towards the front of the stage, is bigger than the others. Somewhere at the back there is a table with flagons of ale upon it and drinking-horns. There is a small door at one side of the hall. A FOOL and BLIND MAN, both ragged, come in through the door at the back. The BLIND MAN leans upon a staff.

FOOL

What a clever man you are though you are blind! There’s nobody with two eyes in his head that is as clever as you are. Who but you could have thought that the henwife sleeps every day a little at noon? I would never be able to steal anything if you didn’t tell me where to look for it. And what a good cook you are! You take the fowl out of my hands after I have stolen it and plucked it, and you put it into the big pot at the fire there, and I can go out and run races with the witches at the edge of the waves and get an appetite, and when I’ve got it, there’s the hen waiting inside for me, done to the turn.

BLIND MAN

[Who is feeling about with his stick.]

Done to the turn.

FOOL

[Putting his arm round Blind Man’s neck.]

Come now, I’ll have a leg and you’ll have a leg, and we’ll draw lots for the wish-bone. I’ll be praising you, I’ll be praising you, while we’re eating it, for your good plans and for your good cooking. There’s nobody in the world like you, Blind Man. Come, come. Wait a minute. I shouldn’t have closed the door. There are some that look for me, and I wouldn’t like them not to find me. Don’t tell it to anybody, Blind Man. There are some that follow me. Boann herself out of the river and Fand out of the deep sea. Witches they are, and they come by in the wind, and they cry, ‘Give a kiss, Fool, give a kiss,’ that’s what they cry. That’s wide enough. All the witches can come in now. I wouldn’t have them beat at the door and say: ‘Where is the Fool? Why has he put a lock on the door?’ Maybe they’ll hear the bubbling of the pot and come in and sit on the ground. But we won’t give them any of the fowl. Let them go back to the sea, let them go back to the sea.

BLIND MAN

[Feeling legs of big chair with his hands.]

Ah! [Then, in a louder voice as he feels the back of it.] Ah – ah —

FOOL

Why do you say ‘Ah-ah’?

BLIND MAN

I know the big chair. It is to-day the High King Conchubar is coming. They have brought out his chair. He is going to be Cuchulain’s master in earnest from this day out. It is that he’s coming for.

FOOL

He must be a great man to be Cuchulain’s master.

BLIND MAN

So he is. He is a great man. He is over all the rest of the kings of Ireland.

FOOL

Cuchulain’s master! I thought Cuchulain could do anything he liked.

BLIND MAN

So he did, so he did. But he ran too wild, and Conchubar is coming to-day to put an oath upon him that will stop his rambling and make him as biddable as a house-dog and keep him always at his hand. He will sit in this chair and put the oath upon him.

FOOL

How will he do that?

BLIND MAN

You have no wits to understand such things. [The BLIND MAN has got into the chair.] He will sit up in this chair and he’ll say: ‘Take the oath, Cuchulain. I bid you take the oath. Do as I tell you. What are your wits compared with mine, and what are your riches compared with mine? And what sons have you to pay your debts and to put a stone over you when you die? Take the oath, I tell you. Take a strong oath.’

FOOL

[Crumpling himself up and whining.]

I will not. I’ll take no oath. I want my dinner.

BLIND MAN

Hush, hush! It is not done yet.

FOOL

You said it was done to a turn.

BLIND MAN

Did I, now? Well, it might be done, and not done. The wings might be white, but the legs might be red. The flesh might stick hard to the bones and not come away in the teeth. But, believe me, Fool, it will be well done before you put your teeth in it.

FOOL

My teeth are growing long with the hunger.

BLIND MAN

I’ll tell you a story – the kings have story-tellers while they are waiting for their dinner – I will tell you a story with a fight in it, a story with a champion in it, and a ship and a queen’s son that has his mind set on killing somebody that you and I know.

FOOL

Who is that? Who is he coming to kill?

BLIND MAN

Wait, now, till you hear. When you were stealing the fowl, I was lying in a hole in the sand, and I heard three men coming with a shuffling sort of noise. They were wounded and groaning.

FOOL

Go on. Tell me about the fight.

BLIND MAN

There had been a fight, a great fight, a tremendous great fight. A young man had landed on the shore, the guardians of the shore had asked his name, and he had refused to tell it, and he had killed one, and others had run away.

FOOL

That’s enough. Come on now to the fowl. I wish it was bigger. I wish it was as big as a goose.

BLIND MAN

Hush! I haven’t told you all. I know who that young man is. I heard the men who were running away say he had red hair, that he had come from Aoife’s country, that he was coming to kill Cuchulain.

FOOL

Nobody can do that.

[To a tune.]

Cuchulain has killed kings,

Kings and sons of kings,

Dragons out of the water,

And witches out of the air,

Banachas and Bonachas and people of the woods.


BLIND MAN

Hush! hush!

FOOL

[Still singing.]

Witches that steal the milk,

Fomor that steal the children,

Hags that have heads like hares,

Hares that have claws like witches,

All riding a-cockhorse


[Spoken.]

Out of the very bottom of the bitter black north.

BLIND MAN

Hush, I say!

FOOL

Does Cuchulain know that he is coming to kill him?

BLIND MAN

How would he know that with his head in the clouds? He doesn’t care for common fighting. Why would he put himself out, and nobody in it but that young man? Now, if it were a white fawn that might turn into a queen before morning —

The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats. Volume 2 of 8

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